“She died in childbirth. It’s the only picture I’ve ever seen of her.” Cinder’s voice is thick with emotion. “And it’s painted by my father’s hand. When I’m with this painting it’s my family, all of us together.”
“You look like her,” I point out, nudging her with my shoulder.
A lop-sided smile springs to her lips.
I swear my heart almost beats.
I’m ready to let the silence fall around us again, but she goes on.
“When I sit in front of this painting, it’s like I’m with them. I can feel my mother’s love. My father used to tell me how excited she was for me to come into this world. That she wanted a girl more than anything, and she would be so proud of me. When I look at this painting, I’m part of a family unit and I’m not alone anymore. I actually. . . belong.”
“You belong with your friends,” I point out, trying to ignore the almost painful squeeze in my chest.
You belong with me.
“Yeah.”
“Wow,” a laugh burst out of me. “That was completely unbelievable. Do you really not think you belong with them? Goldie, Snow, Rap, all of your friends at the Poison Apple adore you.”
Cinder shrugs, avoiding my gaze. “It's very nice,” she says again in a completely unconvincing tone.
I study her for a moment, realization dawning. “But you don't fully let them in, do you? You keep a part of yourself locked away, even from the people who love you most.”
Her eyes snap to mine, a flicker of defensiveness in their violet depths. “That's not true. I'm close with my friends.”
“Are you?” I press gently. “Because I've seen the way you are with them. You laugh and joke, but there's always a distance, a wall you keep up. It's like you're afraid to let them see the real you.”
Cinder opens her mouth as if to argue, then closes it again. Her shoulders slump almost imperceptibly.
“And it's not just them,” I continue softly. “You do the same thing with me. We've been through a lot of the same things, but I still feel like I only know a fraction of who you are. You're always holding back, keeping me at arm's length.”
She stays silent, but I can see the truth of my words hitting home in the way she worries her lower lip between her teeth, the way her gaze darts away from mine.
“I think I understand why,” I murmur, turning to look at the painting once more. “After what happened when you were young, after your father died. . .”
Cinder inhales sharply beside me, and I know I've struck a nerve.
If I could find those fucking monsters who attacked Cinder as a child. . . Perhaps when I’m not on Castle-arrest anymore, I’ll go hunting for some rogue vampires. Make them pay for what they did to her. For the scars they left behind.
If that is who is responsible for her pain. Another theory has been forming since our tryst in the gardinium maze.
We sit quiet for a moment, the only sound the distant ticking of a clock echoing through the empty halls.
“But this painting,” I say at last, “it's different, isn't it? With your family, captured like this. . .it's safe to feel that connection, that love. They can't hurt you here. Can't let you down.”
Slowly, Cinder nods. “When I look at this, I'm part of a family again. I'm not alone anymore. I belong.” Her voice cracks on the last word, and she clears her throat. “But out in the world. . .it's not so simple.”
“No,” I agree quietly, “it's not.”
She doesn't respond, just continues to stare resolutely at the painting. As if she has refuge as long as she has her eyes on it.
I know, deep in my bones, that I want to be one of the people she lets in. One of the ones she trusts with her whole, unguarded heart.
No matter what it takes
I don’t deserve her, but fucking hell I want her more than I want anything else.
“It’s not safe.” It’s barely a whisper from her perfect purple-painted lips.
