Page 8 of Palingenesis

My thoughts trail back to home, to Henry, and how ridiculous he’d think I am for even entertaining the thought.

The night is as thick as the disappointment that swirls in my gut.

“Gods this is so stupid.”

The back of my neck heats, and with shaking hands, I pull out the cookie.

I can feel that it’s broken in half through the paper towel, and another wave of embarrassment rushes to my cheeks.

Not only am I entertaining the fantasy, I can’t even do it right.

Henry can never know about this. I’ll never hear the end of it.

He’ll call me childish. Ignorant.

Stupid.

My jaw clenches.

The pit of my gut twists with the urge to turn and run away, to hide the quiet piece of me that would believe something like this and silence the hope deep inside me that yearns for something bigger than me to exist.

“There has to be something,” I mouth, setting the cookie on a small, open spot next to something that appears to be a locket, weathered with years longer than I’ve been alive. A family heirloom, maybe. It has a tiny, reluctant tug at the corner of my lips as I unfold the napkin and flatten the edges just enough to show what’s inside.

I breathe in a sigh that smells of richness and the same damp earth that seems to cling to Bearcreek even into the late-night hours and straighten to my full height.

“It’s not much,” I whisper up to the stone gaze that watches over the town. “But here.”

I gesture to the dessert as if the statue will understand and tap the tips of my clawed hand against my other palm, twice with a twist.

“Cookie,” I sign and say, then repeat it again. “Cookie.”

Heat floods my face and I lick my dried lips before shrugging and turning away.

As ridiculous as I feel for signing to a statue in the middle of the night, I suppose if I’ve got anything worth offering up, that would be it.

Just … a piece of knowledge that not many attempt to obtain, but it’s so damn easy to find, to have.

All it takes is to try.

Chapter 5

Shannon

I laid awake late into the night, staring up at the shadows thrown across the ceiling. They almost tease me, something like a set of watchful eyes. I’m only still heated, my cheeks flushed, and so damn glad I was alone when I left those cookies.

What the fuck was I thinking?

Henry’s been knocked out next to me for hours, his pressed pajamas in place, and not even a hint of reciprocating the head I gave him earlier.

Not that I really need it, or want it from him specifically, but fuck. It’s been six months since he’s bothered to even try. Our sex life has condensed to demands of me on my knees and his cock down my throat. Quick. Emotionless. Dull.

So fucking dull.

It’s been almost as long since I was able to write anything of value.

Huffing, I roll over to face him and instead, find a wall of pillows wedged between us.

Go figure.