No. That’s a lie.
I can see a little boy.
The welts on his skin.
The darkness in his surroundings.
The fear in his eyes.
The same fear that’s now on Queens’ face as she bends over in front of Elsa’s assault.
I grab her by the arm and pull her back so harshly, she slams straight into my chest.
She tries to fight me off, her hands still pointing in Queens’ direction. The latter is crouched on the wet ground, coughing and trembling under the rain.
Elsa isn’t seeing that. She’s not seeing anything except for the black rage covering her vision.
Just like them.
She’s just like them.
No. She’s not.
This is Elsa. My Elsa.
And no fucking one will take her away from me. Not even herself.
I wrap my hand around her neck and squeeze.
Her arms stop flailing about. She blinks a few times. When she finally looks at me – like really looks at me – her gaze fills with horror as if she’s just realising what she has done.
“Don’t go there again,” I whisper.
If she does, I’ll have no choice but to follow her. She'll hate what I become like when I do.
She nods once even though her eyes are lost, I pull her into me and wrap my arms around her back as she hides her head in my chest.
For a few seconds, we stand there as the rain beats down on us.
“Make her go,” Elsa murmurs in my chest. “Make her go away.”
“Leave,” I order Queens.
She stands and opens her mouth to say something, but then her gaze strays behind me and her mouth falls open.
Her bright blue eyes widen with fear.
Pure, unhinged fear.
Still staring behind me, she opens her car door with trembling hands and slips inside. And then, she’s speeding out of the driveway.
Still cradling Elsa close to my chest, I glance behind me.
Nash stands at the entrance with both hands in his pockets.
A rare cruel smirk lifts his lips.
23