17. Fifteen
Fifteen
Eden
In early March, an unseasonably warm week melts the frost and softens the earth.
The pond is no longer frozen over, and tiny tufts of grass have begun to poke through the desolate fields.
The skies are perfectly clear today, and the sunlight beaming through the kitchen window warms me in my seat.
My eyes are closed as I bask in the rays, my breakfast sat neglected.
The table scoots back and forth beneath my palms. I pop an eye open.
“I bet the fish are out,” Creed says as he chews a large bite of pancakes.
“You think so?” I ask, glancing toward the window.
Creed shrugs, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Probably, it’s been warm all week.”
Attempting to tamp down my excitement, I force the fork past my lips. It’s been so long since we’ve been to the pond.
Twenty-some-odd minutes later, my boots are suctioning to the mud at the edges of the water, and I’m clutching Creed’s arm to keep my balance.
Along the shoreline, I see flashes of silver that indicate minnows are fluttering around.
Shoulder to shoulder, we squat on the edge and watch attentively.
I don’t so much as breathe too heavily, in fear they’ll get spooked and swim away.
As slow as I can, I tickle my fingertips along the water’s surface.
It’s cold, but not terrible. Some fish dart away, but after a minute, they return, checking out the odd creature that dances with them.
I grin and turn to Creed, who returns it instantly. The two of us find joy in the little things. You’ve got to, when your world is so small.
A few minnows nibble the pads of my fingers and I giggle under my breath, fighting the urge to twitch at the tickle.
In the shadowed water, I can barely make out what appears to be the silhouette of a much larger fish.
I lean forward, digging one hand into the edge of the embankment to keep my balance.
The newcomer creeps closer, probably eyeing my fingers as it’s next meal.
I’m completely enthralled, not daring to move a muscle.
Time stretches, and I wait with baited breath. Six inches, five inches, four inches. The water ripples as it nears.
Oblivious to my surroundings, I don’t see that Creed also leans forward, both of his arms outstretched. A loud splash has me rearing back and I fall onto my bottom, frantically looking around.
Eyes alight with victory, Creed holds the large fish in front of my face and whoops.
"Put it back!” I demand, baring my teeth. His triumph is gone in an instant, red creeping up from the collar of his shirt.
“Right now! Put it back right now!” I’m trembling with rage, and I reach forward to take it from his hands. The fish thrashes in Creed’s grip, flying into the air and smacking the ground. A gasp flies from my lips. I crawl toward the panicked animal, mud caking in between my fingers.
The two of us frantically try to scoop it up, but it flips and flops and I’m worried I’ll hurt it. Creed grabs it repeatedly, but it slips through his fingers and falls to the dirt.
Finally, he’s able to hold onto it long enough to launch it backwards. It hits the water with a loud plop and disappears into the darkness.
Creed stands by the water, catching his breath with his hands on his hips. Stomping toward him, I shove both of my palms against his chest, leaving soiled handprints. He stumbles back, stupefied.
“Are you insane!?” I sign furiously. He throws his hands up.
“It’s a fish! I didn’t hurt it!” His defense only upsets me further.
“What if someone did that to you?”
He scoffs, but doesn’t reply.
“They’ll never trust me again because of you!” Tears well in my eyes, but I will them away. Tucking my lips between my teeth, I bite down and use the sting to muffle my emotions.
Creed’s expression softens a bit, and he takes a step like he might reach for me. I step back.
“It’s fine. It’s only a fish,” he repeats gently. Why does he keep saying that? “Only a fish?” Is it lesser because it’s different? What would he think if he really knew what I am?
“You are just like him.” The words are written into the air before I can consider whether or not I mean them. I regret them immediately, but I don’t take it back.
Creed’s eye twitches, and this time he takes a step away from me. “Like who?” He asks. The quivers in his jaw tells me he knows exactly who I mean. He wants me to say it.
I don’t want to. But,
“My father,” I sign furiously.
He throws his head back and huffs incredulously, swiping muck onto the front of his jeans. My hands tremble, and I wrap my arms around my midsection to hide it.
A wind wisps between us. He stares out at the pond, forehead creased in thought. The ruddiness of anger has faded from his cheeks, leaving him subdued.
Finally, he turns his gaze on me.
“Well, you share his blood. So which one of us is really like him?” His words are a punch to the gut, knocking breath from my lungs. The truth is a poison.
I deserve it.
I don’t get the chance to respond before Creed’s taking long strides to the house, leaving me beside the water. My heart urges me to chase him and beg for forgiveness, but my mind refuses, insisting he won’t want to be near me.
In my solitude, I allow a few errant tears to fall.
Hands filthy, I use my sleeve to dry my cheeks and lower myself to the ground, sitting cross-legged along the bank.
The sun is hot on my hair, but the wind carries memories of a chill and raises goosebumps on my arms. Shoulders back, I watch the sway of weeds and ripples in the pond.
Time passes, and the sun rises further into the sky.
Most of my life, I’ve been alone with my thoughts and it hardly bothered me at all; mindless fantasies kept me from growing antsy.
Now, though, it’s difficult. I’ve become accustomed to having a partner.
Realizing this makes me angry at Creed all over again. He’s made me reliant on him.
I’ll show him. I’ll stay out here all night.
Most of the mud on my hands is gone. With nothing but time, I waited for it to dry before flaking it off with my thumbnail. That only occupied me for so long. Now, I’m braiding the stalks of weeds together one after the other. There’s a small pile of them to my left.
The sound of rustling makes my heart skip a beat. Creed has come to me after all.
“Miss?”
My blood runs cold. That isn’t my friend. It’s not Cecil, either.
I don’t turn around. My fingers grow rigid around the stalks, bending them in half.
“Are you alright, Miss?” The stranger asks, voice drawing closer. Definitely male, but not as deep as Cecil’s nor as assertive as my father.
Digging my fingers into my thighs, my heart jumps against my breast bone. Even if this man had pure intentions, which I doubt very much, no one is supposed to know we’re here.
The longer I stare ahead, the more my senses prickle with unease.
What if he’s wielding a weapon, one I’ll never see coming?
The thought has me leaping to my feet and I whirl around.
The man is only a few feet from me, and he holds a hand out as if it’ll calm me.
The other hand is wrapped around the barrel of a gun.
“I didn’t mean to startle ya. I was passing through…” He takes another step toward me. “And I thought I saw someone sitting out here. Turns out, that someone was you.”
His words are innocent enough, but something about him is… off. It could be the large gun that hangs at his side, or it could be the way his eyes rove over my body like they have the right to do so. I wish I hadn’t worn my blue sundress beneath my jacket.
I want to dart my eyes to the house, but I’m too afraid to give him any sort of indication I’m not alone. It might scare him off if he knows I live with two men, but if he told anyone… Cecil would never forgive me. I can’t betray them.
“What ya doin’ out here all alone? Fishin’?” He asks with a chuckle, lips stretching to display yellow teeth. There are signs of aging on his face, but he’s not as old as Papa. Probably somewhere between my father’s age and the boys’.
The excuse he provides is as good as any, so I nod. He humphs, and swivels to look around. With a tilt of his head, he looks back toward me.
“I ain’t see no fishin’ poles…” His sentence trails off, and I swallow heavily.
I’ve never missed my voice so much as I do now.
Offering a polite smile, I make to step around him, hoping he’ll get the hint and leave. If not, maybe I could lead him away.
Or wait for Cecil to get back.
For the first time since I met him, I find myself wishing that he were here.
His free hand shoots out and grips my forearm.
“Where you goin’? It’s rude to walk away from someone when they’re talkin’ to ya, ya know. Didn’t your daddy teach you any manners?” He tsks, and loosens his grip enough for me to jerk my arm free. It didn’t hurt, but it was a warning.
“Now, why don’t ya tell me where ya came from?
This house here,” he motions to our home a good fifty meters away, “is cursed. Pretty girls like yourself shouldn’t be wandering around these parts.
Ya never know what evil is waitin’.” Despite the eerie words he’s spouting, his sneer borders between amused and corrupt.
The longer my silence, the more his suspicion grows. Eyes narrowed, he passes his weapon back and forth between large hands. He’s not much taller than I, but what he lacks in height he makes up for in weight.
The chances of me being able to fend him off is slim.
“Wait a minute.” He snaps his fingers. I flinch. “Are you one of them no-talkers?” As he says it, his face lights up like he’s a lion and I’m a gazelle that stumbled into his cave.
Denying it is futile, so I choose to lift my chin and hold his stare.
“I’ll be, the Brothers’ll be thrilled when I come back with you.” He says it so casually, like he isn’t talking about abducting me.
My pulse skyrockets, and my only option is to race to the house.
I only make it one step before his grip is in my hair, pulling my back flush against his front.
The gun clatters at our feet, and his free hand goes around my midsection.
I squirm, but his body is like steel against mine, completely immovable.
My breath comes as quick gasps, and I try with all my might to rip his hold from my hair.
The feel of lips against my ear has me shuddering. “I meant it when I called you a pretty thing. Maybe if you’re good, I’ll put a bullet between your eyes before the others can get their hands on you. A mercy of my own. How’s that sound?”
Both fates are unfathomable.
My muscles burn as I twist and writhe, unable to get even an inch between the two of us. With dwindling strength, I pause to try and gather my wits.
He must take my stillness as compliance, because as soon as I stop moving, he’s dropping his hand to the hem of my dress and sliding it up my thighs.
I begin fighting like a wild thing, tossing my head back in hopes it’ll make contact with his nose, bucking my hips and clawing at the knuckles on his hands.
My feet are swept from beneath me. The air is forced from my lungs as my cheek is pressed firmly to the damp Earth.
Twigs and burrs scratch at my flesh, and the cold air against my backside is my only warning that he has pushed my dress up to my hips.
The rough hand in my hair forces my head down, my neck screaming as I fight to lift it. His weight makes it nearly impossible for me to breathe, and the adrenaline coursing through my veins has me losing feeling in my hands and feet.
A calloused palm runs up the back of my right thigh and begins prying it from the other. Ringing fills my ears. My mouth drops open.
All the fear and fury that has been trapped within is suddenly pouring out of me with my voice as the conduit.
I scream, and scream, and scream.
An invisible fire consumes me from the inside out, and the weight on my back shifts just enough for me to flip underneath him. His fingers find my throat, but it doesn’t do any good. He has lost.
My hands grip each side of his head. Blood vessels in his eyes burst one by one, contrasting to the milky blue of his irises. A beautifully grotesque juxtaposition.
Every fiber of my being is uncontrollable, and I can’t form a coherent thought.
All I’m aware of is the gruesome sight before me.
Blood pours from every orifice on his head, dripping into my face.
It’s all I can smell, all I can see, all I can taste.
Overhead, buzzards circle, eager for the carrion that’s soon to come.
All at once, the man goes limp. My arms tremble with the effort to keep his body from crushing mine. With one desperate shove, he slumps beside me. The moment I’m free, my mouth clamps shut.
Everything is still.
Pushing myself into a seated position, I wipe haphazardly at my face. My hands are covered in crimson as well, and I only smear the blood around instead of ridding myself of it.
With a dead man beside me—the man I killed—you think I’d be frantic.
But I hardly feel anything. There’s a niggling thought of what Creed’s reaction might be.
He’ll be terrified of the situation, but mostly of me.
How could I have ever thought that anyone would love me and I could love them in return?
Dangerous, delusional little girl.
With a blink, my mind shuts off, and I slip away.