Page 24 of A Silence So Divine

Though I don’t trust the man holding me, I can understand what he’s telling me. So, I raise and lower my chin.

He searches my face in silence, breathing heavily through his nose. Can he read me as well as his brother? Their eyes are the same, so why do they see me so differently?

“I never believed in any of that shit, but when youspokeand your… the blood. I’ve never seen anything like that.” I can see the wheels turning in his head, and I almost wish he would stop talking. This is what Papa spent all these years protecting me from. All the unspoken things.

“There are a lot of people that would love to find you.Huntyou. Terrible, fucked up people. Keep my brother out of it, and I’ll keepyouout of it. Deal?”

There’s no reason for me to trust him after what he’s done, but I’m out of options.

So, I sign back,“Promise.”

Eleven

Eden

The bruises heal at a snail’s pace. After ten days, I’m able to walk around without a scarf or turtleneck. The freezing temperatures made a good excuse; Creed never brought it up.

Cecil did, in fact, rip his stitches. The story was, he got up to use the bathroom and tripped. No one asked me to re-suture them. According to Creed, after a long argument, Cecil convinced his little brother that he could sew the torn half back up himself. And he did.

After my run-in with Cecil, I have withdrawn. My friend instantly took notice of my change in behavior. Every day he asks for help with dinner, or to read a book together, or play a game of cards. I’ve given in a couple of times because I can’t stand the disappointment on his face. Mostly, though, I feed him an excuse and retreat to my room.

The bed belongs to me again, any traces of blood washed away. Even though the sheets are clean, it feels odd to sleep where Cecil had the week before. It’s like I can still feel him here, his shadow left behind. Hovering.

Now that he’s healed enough, Cecil is back to leaving each morning. I, however, haven’t stepped outside in days, the bite of air cold enough to take my breath away. How he’s able to get to and from the house with the amount of ice covering the ground is beyond me. Creed teased that his brother can’t freeze if his heart is already made of ice. I didn’t smile at that.

Today, I’m curled in a chair by the window of my room, absently sketching in my notebook. Mindlessly, I swirl the pencil round and round while I stare off into space. Every day, I’m haunted by the faces in that folder. Each one seared into my mind, refusing to be forgotten. That little boy… I shake my head to rid myself of the image.

Looking down, I realize I’ve begun to draw the emblem that mars Cecil’s skin. Over and over again, in a chaos of lead. I tear the paper from my book and crumple it up.

The door behind me opens. I know it’s Creed, and I know he’s come to pester me about leaving my room. It’s not that I don’t feel guilty, because I do, but I don’t know how to behave around him. Any sense of security has crashed down around me.

That night, after I promised to keep Cecil’s secret, he helped me to my feet and led me back to Creed’s room. The details are blurry; I think I went into a state of shock. What I do remember is him tucking me into the bed, and using a cloth to wipe the blood from my cheeks. There was a tenderness in the way he touched me, and I know it was born out of guilt. He almost killed me. It scared him.

Well, that makes two of us.

The notebook is ripped from my hands. I bare my teeth, forced to lift my eyes to the boy in front of me.

“Enough of this. I want my friend back.”The stern set of his jaw is out of place on his kind face. He holds his chin high and his shoulders back, glowering at me over the tip of his nose.

I reach to retrieve my notebook, but he holds it high above his head.

“Give it back. I’m working on something,”I tell him, stretching to my full height. With his palm, he pushes me back into the chair. I blink in surprise.

Flipping through the pages upon pages of scribbled nonsense, he rolls his eyes.“No need, it’s shit.”The crude word is enough to hurt my feelings. He’s never mean to me.“Get up, we’re going to read some books Cecil brought back.”

The notebook sails across the room and lands with a thud, undoubtedly ruining some of the pages. My frustration mounts and this time when I jump up from the chair, he doesn’t stop me.

“What is wrong with you!?”I ask.

“Me? What’s wrong with you!? You won’t even look at me!”His nostrils flare, a vein in his neck pulses. Unbridled anger has him resembling his older brother more than ever.

“If you want to be alone so badly, why don’t you go back up to your cage, little bird? I won’t bother letting you out this time,”he taunts. My face heats with fury and shame. For the briefest moment, remorse softens his features, but my hand wipes it away.

The sting of my palm is my first clue that I smacked him. Though I’m angry, I don’t feel the swelling in my chest that warns of overwhelm. On the contrary, it actually feelsgood. Like air being released from a near-bursting balloon.

Creed is stunned; jaw dropped and eyebrows halfway to his hairline. There are red fingerprints on his left cheek. Before I can think better of it, I swat him in the chest again. Fight back, my mind pleads.

My hands take on a mind of their own. I begin pushing, shoving, desperate for him to dosomething. The pent up rage and panic and sorrow comes pouring out of me at once.