If she rewound her memory, searching through each little moment of her existence—both those recorded within the everlasting memory of her Censor’s logs and videos and photographs of the last fifteen years and the flawed neurons of the fifteen before that, many supplemented by records from her parents and the other adults who had witnessed her growing up—Emilia wouldn’t be able to find a single moment where she was ashamed of her body. The closest she could get was a general annoyance when she’d been growing into a teenager with needs and wants, her body refusing to grow with her because being an undernourished child had taken a toll.
Eventually, her body had grown into itself… mostly. She was still shorter than average, a lot of her features skewing younger when she didn’t bother to dress her age, but she was a woman and she liked her body. Certainly, the men she’d been with liked it, never making her feel like she was lesser for being a little too small in places. Neither had most—yes, unfortunately
most
—of them come off as creepers, hitting on her because under the right light, she might look younger than she was.
Most of those creeps were gone now, vanished away by The Black Knot after a little excavating through their Censors—after digging through their hacks and finding the grotesque things and thoughts they were hiding there. Gross fuckers. At least they’d come after her, though, not realizing she was a terrifying monster who wouldn’t flinch at slicing them out of the world.
Still, the fact that she liked her body and wasn’t ashamed of it meant there had been few moments in her life where she’d been nervous or even vaguely embarrassed to be seen naked.
When they’d been little, back in the orphanage, there had been so little privacy that most of the kids hadn’t bothered trying to keep their bodies covered when changing. There had been bathrooms to slip into to change in and out of pajamas and soiled clothes, sure. Only the kids who really needed them used those—and the few little shits who’d ever made them feel bad about wanting to keep their privacy had been met with the teeth and fists and biting words of herself and the other kids who wouldn’t tolerate that shit.
Then, after coming to The Penns, there had been so many moments of her and her friends running free together. Stripping at the ocean or the nearby pond to swim. Being gross and mud-caked and dropping their clothes in the entryway, all of them squeezing into showers regardless of being girls, boys, and children already aware that their bodies weren’t ones they would have chosen for themselves.
Of course, there had been moments in Free Colonies where nudity was the norm as well. The open nudity of orgies in Seer’ik’tine, where every diverse body was worshipped. The hot houses of northern Dion before they bailed into the snow-covered fields, running and screaming and bringing smiles to the adults’ faces because there was just so much freedom in being young. Even now, there was the necessity of allowing servants to help with dressing in the extravagant outfits of Dion’s Inner Court as well, even the bottommost layers requiring such precise folds that only a masochist would try to do it themselves, rather than give in to soft, strange helping hands.
The most Emilia could remember being nervous about her nudity had been that first time with Rafe, which was so insane because he had been one of those kids she’d showered with, skinny-dipped with, just straight up flashed because she needed to change, and why would she bother asking someone who had seen her naked within days of their first, chaotic meeting to leave?
Yet, that first time with him had been different. It hadn’t been her first time, and although he’d never said as much, she thought it had been his. Broken—so traumatized by what had been done to her that she couldn’t relax enough to have sex with anyone in the wake of her assault—Rafe had been there to help her.
Rafe, who was safety and love, even if it wasn’t romantic—not at the time, anyways.
Rafe, who had crawled into her bed night after night, holding her while she cried and thrashed and woke gasping from nightmares.
Rafe, who had probably killed Warren for what he did.
Rafe, who had offered to fuck her so she could remember what it felt like to be cared for during sex—so she could flinch away from the touch of someone who knew she wasn’t flinching away from him but from the phantom feel of
violation
that had lingered over her skin even months on, that in the worst moments of the night she could still remember even a decade on.
Rafe, who had blushed so prettily as he looked at her in that dark little room, his eyes slowly taking her in despite how often he had seen her naked before.
That was the last time she could think of when she’d been nervous about her body, the realization that she wanted Rafe to like her body hitting her square in the heart until she was shifting her weight, swallowing, and unable to meet his eyes.
Every moment of that night was catalogued in Emilia’s head—precious, despite the ache of hurt that had etched itself around each of her memories of Rafe. The way he had taken her in, the tentative press of his lips against hers, the feel of his hip bones under her hands, the bumps of virtually all the bones of his too-skinny frame against her fingertips—each was burned into her mind.
This boy she had been friends with since her first days in The Penns, with his cold eyes that for so long had only ever lit up for her. This boy, who she’d fallen in love with so quickly once they started having sex, spending every night wrapped up in each other because neither of their parents had seen any reason to stop them, as long as they were being safe and quiet.
A boy who had broken her heart and yet still looked at her like he wanted to lay her out and make a meal of her. It had been years since they had fallen apart, yet, when Rafe looked at her like that, Emilia could feel her nerves rising once more.
How was it that the same boy—almost-man, now—could break her apart—rip out this core part of her personality and self-confidence—with only a slow caress of his eyes over her?
Emilia really wished he would tell her where things had gone wrong. Honestly… she thought she’d be waiting a while. Just a feeling—this lingering itch telling her that she couldn’t wait for him, that it would be decades before he’d grow into the sort of person who could admit whatever the problem was.
Mortifyingly, Emilia knew she’d wait—that wherever she was in life and love, if Rafe explained himself and even hinted that he wanted her back in his bed, back running through the woods with him, she’d fall into his arms. The thing was, even if it was frustrating that he wouldn’t just tell her what was wrong—what had happened to freak him out so profoundly that in those first weeks after their break-up he had looked almost afraid—Emilia trusted him, and black knots didn’t feel fear for themselves.
Black knots only feared for the people they loved.
Yes, sometimes that fear for a loved one shifted into a fear they themself would die, but it was only ever because they didn’t want to hurt the person they loved through their death.
For Rafe to be afraid… Emilia knew whatever had happened must have been bad. Knowing black knots so well, she could probably take some educated guesses as to what the problem was, but at the same time…
At the same time, the most obvious conclusion was stupid: that Rafe had been afraid of hurting her, that something had happened that made him think he might.
Except, Emilia had enjoyed Rafe hurting her! They had played hard and Rafe had always been so controlled, never even leaving marks because while their parents had been okay with the sex, neither of them had thought they’d be okay with the occasional violence of it. There had been hickies, scrapes and scuffs over her knees and arms from running, tripping, stumbling as Rafe chased her—things they could pass off as
normal
and simply the result of her being a wild child. There could have been more: bruises over her body from Rafe’s firm grip, handprints over her throat and hips, teeth marks on her skin.
Emilia would have let Rafe leave those marks. Were they together now, nearly grown and out of their parents houses as they could be, Emilia would have let him play the way he loved, then let him kiss the marks of his affection better.
There had never been a single second where Emilia had worried that her friend—her momentary boyfriend in all but an actual conversation—would ever hurt her in ways that would either land them in trouble or that she wouldn’t like. Considering that there had been a time when just a boy touching her had sent her mind spiralling back to the blurry face of who she now knew to be Warren, getting to a place where she could surrender all her safety and control to Rafe had been a lot. Even now, she trusted him to keep her safe, so if he really was worried he was at risk of hurting her…
Fuck, if that was the case, she’d really missed something!
Maybe he was just afraid of loving her too obsessively, as black knots were wont to do?
Probably, she should stop thinking about it, both her instincts and Censor trying to drag her away from obsessing over Rafe. There were more important things to worry about! Namely, that she’d accidentally flashed her ass at Olivier!
It really had been an accident, the fucking door not completely clicking closed and then just slowly sliding open when she tried to figure out which of the serums that man had gotten her went on first. They were from Falrion—odd, and probably way too expensive—and nothing she was familiar with. In combination with the music she’d had playing in her head, her Censor set to ignore most of the world because this was technically a vacation, and she’d wanted a moment to breathe and just be a girl getting ready for bed with far too much product, the door hadn’t registered until the towel dropped.
Then, Olivier’s harsh intact of breath had hit her, loud over her music because her Censor had also been set to pay attention to him—she would feel pretty fucking back if something happened to him while she was busy putting on serums and creams and the adorable law school sweater she’d stolen from his suitcase, especially considering the ryohua on board. It would be awful if the ryohua were actually there to hurt her, and he got caught in the middle! Unlikely, but also…
Unlikely, but the risk of being targeted for her association with the Dionese Inner Court, her coren’taz, or just her father was always a risk—a risk she really didn’t think Olivier could even guess at. It didn’t matter that he’d heard some of the stories of her time in Seer’ik’tine from Lan’za; people who weren’t actively part of the diplomatic scene didn’t understand the power of any coren’taz, let alone theirs. Fucking stars! Even her school friends hadn’t really understood it until the summer when Hurinren and Yujao had come to visit. It was just easy to assume she was overstating their power and influence, rather than accept that she was accidentally set to be friends with so may future leaders—that she would have stories of their childhood foolery and fuckups to hold over their head, even if her own power as a random civilian would be limited.
So, despite his brilliance, Emilia didn’t think Olivier fully realized how much power she held—how if someone popped up and tried to kill or kidnap her just for being friends with this or that person, she would barely blink an eye.
Olivier would blink.
Olivier, who had seen her ass and then bolted out of the room, and was now running down the hallways and getting further and further away… Fuck was he fast. Where was he even going? Had he even taken the room key?
Tugging the sweater on, Emilia poked around the room, wondering where the man would have put the key and what she should message him.
Sorry, I didn’t mean to give you a show?
Like what you saw?
Was my ass so terrifying that I’ll have the room to myself tonight?
And here I thought you loved butts, and mine is definitely the best I’ve ever seen~
Chances were, most of those would just make it all the worse. Emilia had seen the way the man looked at her occasionally, and while it wasn’t outright lust—and there was definitely a lot of frustration lingering in the gaze—she did think he wanted her, probably. Had he run off because he hadn’t wanted to act on that want?
“But why~” Emilia whined, finding no sign of the key and deciding to just assume the lawyer had taken it with him. “If he asked, I’d say yes~”
[
Emmie:
sorry
]
[
Emmie:
that door is terrible and i was listening to music
]
[
Emmie:
didnt mean to flash you
]
[
Emmie:
please come back?
]
[
Emmie:
im clothed now!
]
[
Emmie:
promise!
]
Emilia was, in fact, still bottomless, and she disappeared back into the bathroom, tugging on the underwear she’d taken from Olivier’s suitcase because he had only brought one pair of sweatpants and was currently running through the ship in them.
If Olivier did come back, and she wasn’t at least wearing underwear, he’d probably leave and go find Grenner to demand she be sent home. Emilia wouldn’t even blame him—seriously, just the accidental flashing was inappropriate, regardless of how comfortable she was in her skin!
Still, as she looked at herself in the mirror… Emilia couldn’t say the sweater that didn’t even cover her ass and the underwear that pressed tightly into her thighs was much better than being naked. Each of the triplets loved seeing her in their clothes—loved it enough that when she wanted to be railed, all she had to do was slip on some of their clothes.
Was Olivier like that as well? Turned on by people wearing his clothes?
If so… she wished him luck.
[
Olivier:
I’ll be back soon.
]
Despite his message, he was still running away from the room, and somehow, Emilia thought it was going to be a rough night for both of them.
.
!
Arc 9 | Chapter 333: These Moments Burned Upon My Brain
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