Page 20 of A Silence So Divine

I do for him the only thing I know. What he taught me.

I clasp Creed’s cheeks between my hands and force his gaze to mine. His heart is so pure—so unlike anything I’ve ever known. Standing on my tiptoes, I bring his head down and press my lips to his forehead. His auburn locks tickle the tip of my nose. I’venever kissed anyone or anything, and I can only hope that he feels the affection I feel for him.

When I pull back, his weeping has quieted and he looks between my lips and eyes. The expression on his face is unreadable, and I run my thumbs over his cheeks to catch the last of his sorrow.

As I begin to step back, the feel of arms encircling my waist makes me still. Creed’s face buries into my neck, my hands trapped awkwardly between us.

The two of us hold hands almost everyday, but that’s as close as we get. This feels… strange, but good. More than good, it feels like what I imagine love can be.

I slide my hands up and around his neck, holding tight. We look a mess; I know I’m smearing my bloody clothing onto his. But neither of us care. I’ve been starved of warmth for as long as I can remember.

He was worth the wait.

Nine

Eden

Cecil slept through the night. Creed and I took to the floor next to the bed in case he woke up. Neither of us got a good night’s rest, both tossing and turning and checking to make sure our patient was still breathing. He’s doing okay, all things considered.

When the deep blue of an early winter morning bleeds through the cracks of the curtains, we give up on sleep. We need showers, and when Creed tells me to go first, I jump on the opportunity. Though I changed my shirt, the coppery scent lingers as a nauseating reminder.

Beneath the steaming spray, I try to dig out the ruddiness that’s caked under my fingernails. It’s even in myhair—rivulets of pink circling the drain. I watch in a daze, yesterday’s events hitting me like a ton of bricks. Cecil could have died if he didn’t make it home in time. Creed worries about him, and the ache in my chest tells me that, oddly enough, I do, too. It’s new, caring for others. Papa never gave me the opportunity to get too close to him or anything else, so the coinciding emotions are foreign.

The things I cared most about as a child had been ripped from me. My father made sure of it.

Satisfied that I’ve scrubbed myself inch by inch, I brush my hair and get dressed before relieving Creed of his babysitting duties. Once he steps out, I lower myself to the edge of the bed and hike up Cecil’s shirt, running my fingers along the puckered skin. It’s going to leave a nasty scar. However, if scars could suit someone, it would be the man stretched out in my bed. I can’t help but admire his imposing nature. Even unconscious, he’s daunting. There’s a permanent line between his eyebrows, presumably from years of scowls, and he hardly fits on the mattress. If it were any shorter, his feet would dangle over the edge.

Emerald eyes flutter open and my breath catches in my throat. Without realizing, I had begun raking my fingers through Cecil’s hair, absently smoothing the gnarls. He’s probably livid that I touched him, especially while in a vulnerable state. My cheeks burn and I slowly draw my hand back.

His eyes don’t stray from mine. He doesn’t look happy, but he doesn’t look angry either. He justlooks.

“How do you feel?”I ask, desperate to draw his attention elsewhere. Though I can’t imagine his answer will be anything but “awful”.

He opens his mouth to speak, but his voice cracks from disuse. Grunting, he brings a hand to his face.

“Water.”

It’s the first time he’s signed to me.

Eager to escape the tension, I jump up and race to the kitchen. As quick as I can, I return with a glass and set it on the nightstand, helping Cecil prop up on the bed. He grunts and groans, but he doesn’t complain.

The stitches hinder the movement of his dominant hand, so I hold the water to his lips. Within seconds, the glass is empty and I’m back at his bedside. This time, I keep my hands to myself.

“Do you need anything else? I can look for medicine,”I say, hesitantly turning my eyes back to his. He studies me like I’ve grown another head. Maybe the blood loss did more damage than I thought. Or maybe there’s something on my face.

Tentatively, Cecil raises his left hand and takes mine, bringing it to his eyes. I wait with baited breath for whatever he’s about to do, torn between intrigue and terror. His fingers are rough and calloused against my own, and goosebumps spread over my arm.

Without a word, he studies my fingers one by one, turning them this way and that.

Satisfied with what he’s seen, he gently places my hand back in my lap. He pulls the blanket down enough to view his scar. Still not a happy face, but not angry either.

“You did that.” It’s not a question.

My brows draw together, but I nod. Is he mad at what I did for him? Was he hoping it was his brother? Am I so beneath him that I’m not worthy of saving his life?

Cecil blows out a long breath and rests his head against the headboard, staring at the ceiling.

“Holy fuck,” he mumbles incredulously.