Bella Forrest [Forrest - The Gender Fall

E verything hurt . Every time I struggled to break through the thin web of sleep holding me, I was confronted by the pain. In my hand, in my arm, in my head. Was I dead? Was this the afterlife? Was I finally paying for all the horrible things Id done?

No, something whispered, reassuring me. This is reality. I struggled as fragments of memories washed over me. A woman with the face of a bulldog, a vicious smile twisting her lips. A boot coming down on my wrist. The flashing silver of a knife as it came for me. A ball of fire that threatened to engulf me.

Sleep was a refuge, the sweet blackness beckoning me in, cradling and hiding me from the pain and confusion. I was tempted to just surrender to its embrace, but a part of me held back, turning toward the light. Something in me burned with an urgency denoting importance. Something was happening. Something worth facing the pain.

The thought created a buoyancy, forcing me to surface. Something was drilling into my consciousness: the sound of urgent voices. My eyes snapped openand a weak groan slipped from my mouth as daggers of bright electric light stabbed deep through the two treacherous orbs, jabbing hard into my skull.

I clenched my eyes shut as pain and panic twisted my muscles. Someone whispered fiercely, Hold her! and hands like vices locked around my limbsall except my right wrist. I tried to lift that hand to defend myself, only to find it was heavier, more painful than I remembered. Something touched my hand and guided it downward. The touch was agony, and I groaned again.

The menacing woman reappeared in my minds eye, taunting me, and I fought harder as I recalled who she was. Her name was Tabitha, and she was going to hurt me. I needed to free myself, but belatedly remembered that she was so much stronger than me. Too strong. I couldnt let her win. I couldnt And there was something else going on, something that needed my attention, something I couldnt sleep yet.

Slowly, insistently, something warm and loving cut through my terror. A strong, steady voice, reaching through the hysteria, urging me to relax. I couldnt understand the words, but the tone itself felt like a warm blanket draping over my injuries. It told me I was safe. I was alive. That woman was gone, and I didnt have to fear her ever again. The voice was powerful, yet it was also gentle, reassuring.

A face flashed in my mind. A manhis green eyes haunted, a scar across his right cheek, wavy brown hair that gleamed black in the shadows and bright as chocolate when the sun hit it.

Viggo, my mind whispered, and I felt myself smilethen forced myself to stop as half my face erupted in tight, creaking agony. I took a deep breath, trying to soothe the aching area. It took a moment, but the pain receded. My mind felt clearer again.

I shouldnt hurt this much. Not if I was with Viggo. If I was with Viggo, I was safe. But something in me knew that wasnt right. Sometimes danger followed us. Was it danger that had woken me? My heart thudded hard against my aching ribcage. If nothing else, I needed to know what was reality and what was just delirium. I forced my eyes open, slowly this time.

Light, less stabbing than before, but still too bright, streamed down on me, and a brown pattern flew over me, unfamiliar, disorienting. It took me too long to realize what should have been simple. We were inside a building I was staring at a ceiling.

My head bobbed up and down on something firm, but not hard. I could feel fabric under my fingers. There was a smell of sweat, but something underneath it. A scent that reassured me with its familiarity. I was in Viggos arms. The thought was absurdly comforting, although everything still hurt, my environment still swinging dizzily before me.

His voice continued to murmur above me, and I turned my face toward the source, listening. He was saying something something different now. I couldnt understand the tone anymore. It was determined. But worried? Was that regret?

I wished I could understand what he was saying.

And then, abruptly, the voice turned to a different tonesharper, harsher, more desperate. Then it hushed altogether. The sensation was like sitting by a window, reading, only to become aware that the grasshoppers had stopped singinga sign that a predator was among them, in the bushes, waiting to feast on the first brave soul who started to sing. The quiet convinced me, again, that something was horribly wrong. And yet the ceiling above me continued swaying before my eyes, moving past me, as though our flight was uninterrupted.

I tried to speak, just a word. A question. But my mouth felt like it was stuffed full of cotton, my jaw a taut spring, impossible to uncoil. I rounded my lips, forcing sound out anyway.

Wha?

Shhhh, someone replied, and our movements seemed to increase in tempo, vertigo swelling in my stomach with the motion. I briefly closed my eyes, trying to fight the nausea. Stabbing pain bloomed from my sides every time Viggos body jostled. I swallowed, my mouth going dry. But when I opened my eyes again, I realized I had a sense of directionwe were moving downward.

I tilted my face away from Viggos body, and suddenly I could hear the thump of feet hitting stairs. I burrowed my head back into Viggos shoulder, and the sound faded. I slowly sucked in air, still trying to calm my stomach.

Someone was talking. His voice was familiar, but muffled, as if I were listening to it underwater. I tilted my head slightly, and suddenly his voice was loud again, so sudden after its absence that it felt as if the familiar voice were shouting from inside my skull. Owen. I sagged in relief as I recalled his name. The recollection was strong enough to cut through the pain, and I clung to it. It was hard not to. It helped keep me in the present. Something was happening. I needed to be a part of it. If I could just figure out what it was

I tilted my head again, only a little, determined to be ready for the burst of noise this time. The sound got louder, and I was preparedfocusing on Owens voice. Intensity and foreboding flooded his tone. He was conveying information, but his words were coming so fast I could barely understand them.

One worda phrasestood out. I hung on to it, repeating it like a mantra. Matrian patrol. I couldnt recall why I knew it was important. It was more of a feeling, like having someones name on the tip of my tongue. The more I pressed, searching for the information, the more it eluded me, like trying to catch butterflies in a meadow.

I took a deep breath and then stilled myself. I let my mind relax, and the answer came to me. We were in serious danger. It was fear that had woken me.

Memories flooded me thenfemale guards bearing a crest. Explosions. Screams of terror and confusion. Gunshots. It was confusing and disjointed. Is any of this real? The thought frightened me, and I felt my hand tighten around something, a whimper escaping my throat.

Big hands on my shoulder and thigh squeezed back, reassuring me with their casual strength. We had stopped moving; I tried to look around, figure at least