30. Twenty Eight
Twenty Eight
Cecil
I’m plagued by Creed’s words. For his whole life, I’ve been able to ignore his little outbursts; in one ear and out the other. Being isolated, his perspective of the world and how it should work is different than mine. I don’t fault him for that.
This time, though, his accusation burrows into my skin with a barbed edge.
Unable to pull it out, I writhe uncomfortably in my blankets.
It’s the dead of night, early morning still a few hours away.
If I were to fall asleep right this second, I would have at most five hours before it’s time to get up.
The ticking of the clock taunts me—a reminder of the inevitable passing of time and how helpless I am to it. I grip the pillow I’m not using and smother myself with it. The persistent tick tock is muffled and I’m met with blissful silence.
But then, the sheets feel a bit too tight. I attempt to kick out with my leg, but the cotton is tucked neatly beneath the mattress, trapping my foot. My breaths come quicker, but my air supply is limited.
“Mother fucker!” I growl into the feathered pillow, throwing it across the room.
Ripping back the blankets that confine me, I forfeit the battle.
Clad only in black cotton pants, I relish the way the chilled house cools my feverish skin. A finger or three of whiskey usually calms me on nights like tonight, so I head straight for the kitchen.
When I reach the last step of the staircase, my brows furrow. The oven light of the kitchen is turned on, a whisper of light in the otherwise pitch black room. Creed's never left it on before, and in light of recent events, I'm a little more paranoid than before. Which is saying a lot.
Just to be safe, I stop at the console table and grab one of the candlesticks. Not my weapon of choice, but it’ll do. With silent steps, I approach the doorway. Raising the candlestick behind my shoulder, I’m poised to hit someone. I hold my breath.
A figure facing the window has the muscles in my arms tightening, itching to strike.
Silver pools rimmed with red glance back towards me and I deflate, relaxing my shoulders. Without a word, Eden turns back to the glass and the distant pond.
“You scared the shit out of me,” I huff, dropping the candlestick to the counter with a clatter.
Opening the cupboard, I grip the neck of a bourbon bottle from the top shelf.
Forgoing a glass, I bring it to my lips and take a greedy swallow.
It burns on the way down, but the warmth that blooms in my stomach eases the tension in my body.
Eden is utterly still, oblivious to my company. Or she’s choosing to ignore me. Creed’s words freeze out the heat in my veins, and I take another pull from the bottle to combat it.
“Can you even see anything? It’s pretty dark out there,” I say, the sound of my voice out of place in the silence of the room. An attempt to ease my own self loathing, for sure. Her lack of acknowledgment does nothing to comfort me.
With her back turned, I take the moment to study her.
She’s wearing one of my old t-shirts, the name of a long forgotten band faded across the front.
The hem brushes her mid-thigh, and I know there’s a hole in the armpit.
Her socks are different; one made of black wool that reaches halfway up her calf.
Creed’s. The other is yellow with white stars and reaches her ankle. Hers.
I cork the bottle and place it back in the cupboard, contemplating my next move. If she wants to be alone, I should leave, but a gnawing in my gut tells me to stay.
I circle the island, and come up on her left side. Her profile is cloaked in darkness. All I’m able to make out are the whites of her eyes. They’re wide, but eerily unseeing.
“Eden?” I coax, taking a step closer.
Nothing.
“Are you alright?”
Nothing.
Tentatively, I brush my knuckles across her bare arm. The moment I make contact, static zaps, and she whirls toward me. I jerk my hand back, startled. Her eyes lose the glazed film, and she stares at me with bewilderment.
“Are you alright?” I repeat.
This rouses her further, and she scans her surroundings. Looking down at her clothes, then back to me, she furrows a brow.
“Why am I here?” She asks.
That’s a fantastic question.
“Sleepwalking, maybe?” I shrug. She looks toward her feet again, but I grip her chin between my thumb and forefinger. Angling her head this way and that, I check her pupils. Aside from visible exhaustion, she looks fine. Her eyes move with the motion, fixated on my face.
Blinking rapidly, she suddenly looks away from me. Cool fingers wrap around my wrist, and she pushes my arm back towards my chest. I release her.
“You want me to walk you back to bed?” I offer, inclining my head towards the door.
“No, thank you. Good night.”
With silent steps, she disappears down the pitch black hall.
Flummoxed, I twist back towards the window and peer out the pane.
The fields are perfectly dark, aside from one single moonbeam that illuminates the pond.
The three of us are rolling back into the Refuge camp much too soon. If I had it my way, I wouldn’t include Creed and Eden whatsoever; they’d be locked in a safe house until the Brothers were completely extinct.
However, if I want the help of the Resistance, I have to show them that I’m willing to make sacrifices as well. Even if I’m not.
In the past week, I’ve had to square things away with Curran.
I convinced him that in order to truly break Eden, I would need to keep her with me.
He agreed, but reiterated that I had the month to prove her allegiance.
There’s no way the Resistance would be ready to fight in that short a period, so when the time comes, I’m not sure what I’ll do.
No time to worry about the future, though, when the present is equally as horrifying.
Today is the first day of training.
Will I be putting a pistol in Eden’s hand? No. Will I be showing my little brother the correct way to silently choke someone to death? No. Could they both learn some self defense? I guess.
It’s still early, people ambling around the camp with mugs of coffee. The smell makes me groan, wishing I had poured myself a third cup before leaving the house. After my run in with Eden, I got maybe an hour of sleep before it was time to get up again.
If Curran’s men don’t kill me, sleep deprivation will.
Someone tugs on my earlobe, and I spin around with a curse on the tip of my tongue.
Veda’s beaming smile greets me, and I roll my eyes.
“Aren’t you a little old for shit like that?” I ask in annoyance, swatting away her hand when she reaches for my ear again.
“I’m just trying to get you riled up so you’ll be ready for the hand to hand training today.” She steps around me and signs Creed and Eden a good morning.
“Breakfast?” She offers. “I made waffles.”
The two of them exchange a glance, and Creed nods for the both of them. Veda motions them towards the RV, and before they take off, his fingers lace through Eden’s. It looks innocent enough, but I know he’s proving a point.
It’s an alliance. Them versus me.
Veda hangs back, waiting to speak until the door is shut behind them.
“They’re very close, aren’t they?” She says, a curious lilt to her voice.
I grunt noncommittally.
“And what about you?” Her blue eyes flick over to mine. She’s wearing the same expression she did the night I carried Eden to the truck. My hackles rise.
“What about me?” I shoot back, stuffing my hand into the front pocket of my jeans.
“Are you close to her?”
Desperate for something to do, I dig the cigarettes from my front pocket. There’s one left. Only once the cigarette has been stuffed into my mouth and lit do I respond. As I speak, a puff of smoke dissipates into the air.
“I look after her.”
Veda hums. In the span of three more drags, she merely stands there, watching me.
“Jesus Christ, what? Why are you being like this?” I finally spit, flicking the cigarette to the ground unfinished. It’s done nothing to take the edge off. If anything, I feel worse.
“I’m worried about her, Cecil.” Her admission catches me off guard, and I shoot her a look.
“Yeah. Me, too.”
“Are you?”
“Of course I am!” Heat rises up my neck.
The source of her questioning is lost on me, yet I’m defensive all the same.
I’ve been caring for this girl for months, albeit in my own way.
It doesn’t have to mean anything, it was merely the choice I made.
Plus, Creed loves having her around, and I want him to be happy.
It’s as simple as that.
Veda turns to me fully and grips my shoulders. Her eyes are burning with something I can’t place. Gone is the woman who offered up waffles. With a squeeze of her fingers, she begins speaking in a hushed tone.
“She is not built for this. She has incredible power, but she is afraid of it. If you care for her at all, you will be gentle. Do you hear what I’m saying to you?”
Her words strike a cord, and I’m left breathless. It’s not exasperation that I feel, or outrage, or even annoyance. It’s much, much worse.
Helplessness. Deep and unyielding.
Veda spoke aloud what I’ve been warring with since I found her tied to that pole in the Sanctuary.
“Yes,” I rasp. “I hear you.”