31. Twenty Nine
Twenty Nine
Eden
Creed and I sit crisscrossed in a patch of grass, knees touching. We watch on as men take turns tossing each other around. “Hand to hand combat training”, Veda had called it. It’s necessary, I suppose, for everyone to practice defending themselves. But every time a back hits the ground, I flinch.
Creed, however, watches with awe, eyes glued to the scene like he can’t miss a second of it. It’s ironic, considering he gagged when I got a paper cut from turning pages in my sketchbook too quickly.
The two men sparring look a bit older than Cecil.
Both sport a fair amount of facial hair, and the few lines in their forehead are deep with permanence.
The one winning has vibrant red hair and color painted all over his arms. It’s beautiful, but odd, and I make a mental note to question Creed about it later.
The red haired man swipes the legs out from beneath the other, closing out the battle.
There’s a few cheers, but most everyone is silent.
Half of the camp is on the other end of the clearing, anyway, loading and unloading guns.
Sylvie is with that group, and I try desperately to keep my gaze from that direction.
Once the men are seated, it’s Jaspers turn to step into the ring. Out of everyone, Sylvie included, he makes me the most uneasy. I’ve seen the way he watches Cecil—like a predator waiting for their prey to turn their back.
A volunteer steps up to Jasper, but he waves them away dismissively.
“I want the new kid,” he calls out, pointing in Creed’s direction. “I bet he could use some pointers, couldn’t ya?”
My gaze shifts nervously to the side. Creed looks on with confusion, trying to decipher Jasper’s words. A smile is still in place from the last battle, but his brows quiver with confusion.
There’s a churning in my gut.
Taking pity on him, I translate the words to Creed. His face blanches, and the grin on his face fizzles out.
“Come on, I’ll be gentle,” Jasper goads. There’s a twinkle in his eyes, and I see it for what it is. Not kindness, but mockery.
A shadow falls over me, and I crane my head over my shoulder. The tightening in my chest unravels minutely when I see Cecil standing at our backs.
“Not today, Jas, and not with you,” he replies firmly. His arms are crossed over his chest, chin held high. The embodiment of confidence, I don’t understand how anyone would ever challenge him.
Jasper does, of course. As I’m learning, men are egotistical creatures.
“You can’t keep baby bird under your wing, Cece. That wasn’t the deal.”
“It’ll be a cold day in Hell before I let you put your hands on my brother,” comes Cecil’s icy reply.
Those of us sitting around the makeshift ring shift uncomfortably, waiting with bated breath.
Jasper puts his hands up defensively. “Fine, fine. No baby brother,” he concedes. “You can take his place.” Flipping his palm skyward, he crooks a finger towards Cecil. The mischievous smirk on his face remains, but his eyes hold only fury. Hate.
I stare forward, too nervous to turn and spare a glance in Cecil’s direction. When his voice finally comes, the promise of pain is rolling off of the words like waves.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
The sun is warm on my back, but a chill rolls down my vertebrae. The other matches were friendly enough. No one appeared angry, and the winner always helped the other back to their feet. But this… I have a sinking feeling this will be different.
Cecil rounds the group and goes to stand in the center with Jasper. There’s a girl to my left, and she knocks her shoulder into mine.
“This will be good,” she promises, shooting me a wink. Turning her attention back towards the ring, she wraps a curl of blonde hair around her finger and gnaws at her lip.
What an odd girl.
I swallow hard and whip my head back in Creed’s direction. “Stop him,” I implore.
His eyes are wide, but he doesn’t acknowledge me at all.
Has everyone lost their minds?
Begrudgingly, I face forward. Everyone watches with rapt attention.
Even the other group stops what they’re doing and ambles toward the spectacle being made.
While Jasper removes his glasses, Cecil empties his pockets, tossing it all onto the grass.
Then, with perfectly still fingers, he begins unbuttoning his black flannel.
Oh.
The more of his chest that’s exposed, the drier my mouth gets until I’m choking on my tongue. I’ve seen him shirtless countless times, but never like this. Not in broad daylight, and certainly not when he’s exuding such… power.
The chill is gone, replaced by something I can only describe as a fever.
I blink, and Cecil’s eyes are on mine. Another, and he’s returned his attention to his partner.
The two of them square off, awaiting the signaling whistle.
Jasper’s smile looks closer to a sneer, while Cecil looks utterly calm and collected.
This is deeper than they’re letting on, and everyone else seems to know it, too.
The whistle echoes through the trees, and they launch at one another. My breath gets caught in my lungs. Jasper throws punch after punch, but Cecil easily dodges each one. It’s like a dance, the two of them perfectly in sync.
Jasper’s next blow lands, but barely, and Cecil’s able to grip his arm and twist it behind his back. Jasper bares his teeth, eliciting a guttural yell of frustration.
Eventually Jasper is able to kick back with his boot, narrowly missing Cecil’s shin. However, this loosens his grip, and they’re back to facing one another, toeing around the parameters of the circle.
Gone is any amusement from Jasper’s face; he looks outright vicious.
It’s much of the same: the hits, the dodges. The more time that passes, the heavier Jasper’s breaths become. He’s fatiguing quickly, and I’m beginning to relax.
Cecil is able to swing forward and deliver a punch right to Jasper’s gut, and he doubles over.
I wince, although I’m cheering internally.
There’s a whoop from the crowd, and this only infuriates Jasper further.
Righting himself, he launches toward Cecil with a newfound fervor.
Many of his hits miss, but one high kick lands on Cecil’s hip, knocking him off balance.
Jasper seizes the opportunity, and brings his fist underneath Cecil’s jaw.
His head snaps back, extending a sweat coated throat. I hear the clink of his teeth. Someone calls out, reprimanding Jasper for a “cheap shot”. Cecil staggers momentarily, attempting to catch his balance. Blood is pouring from his nose, his eyes tearing.
“Come on!” Jasper yells. “COME ON!”
The thrumming of my heart floods my hearing, and numbness begins to spread from my fingers and toes. My molars grind painfully as I attempt to will away the panic, my palm pressing to my throat.
Jasper is able to knock Cecil onto his back.
The whistle is blown, but it does nothing to deter Jasper’s rampage.
He follows Cecil to the ground, fists slamming into an already bloody face.
Again, and again, and again. Anywhere he can make contact.
Cecil’s eyes are closed, arms raised in a futile attempt to protect himself.
Terror is sharp, and sour, and flooding my mouth.
Creed shoots to his feet, but that’s as far as he makes it. He’s white as a ghost, and utterly frozen. Members of the group shout at Jasper, but no one intervenes. No one steps forward.
Why is no one stopping him?
Fear and self-control are at war, tearing me in two.
Blackness clouds the edges of my vision, rolling in like a storm.
I want to look anywhere else, but I can’t tear my eyes away.
Blood coats Cecil’s face, and I squeeze my eyes shut, unable to bear it.
When my eyes open again, a new image flits before my eyes.
That man, covered in blood, lying on top of me as I try to free myself from his weight.
The past and present rapidly switch before my eyes until I don’t know which is real. The despair in my gut crawls up my throat, its nails sinking in, unwavering in its ascent.
I fight, and I fight, but I’m losing. My chest burns, my head throbs.
As I slip out of consciousness, my lips part on their own volition. Air crowds my lungs, but it's too much, too fast.
I don’t want to hurt anyone. But I can’t stop it. I can’t.
I can’t.
My senses implode.
And then nothing.
Incessant tapping on my cheek stirs me, and I wake with a jolt. Emerald eyes are mere inches from mine and a startled gasp gets caught in my throat. The expanding of my ribs aches, and I clutch at my chest.
Relief softens the crease between Creed’s brows, and he rests his forehead against my shoulder for a moment. The pressure is slight, but it borders on suffocating. I recognize the room. I’m back on Veda’s slouchy old couch.
Feeling claustrophobic, I wriggle beneath Creed until he gets the idea and scoots to the edge of the couch. He hovers, because that’s his way, but he’s careful not to touch me.
“What did I do?” I ask urgently. The details are hazy, but I know blood. And fear. And Cecil.
Creed reaches for me and I jerk back without thinking. He releases a slow sigh.
“You protected him.”
Tears well in my eyes. I can’t erase the vision of a handsome face coated in crimson.
“What did I do?” I repeat.
Both of us know what I’m really asking. And his unwillingness to answer is all the confirmation I need.
The dam breaks, and heaving sobs wrack through my body. Throwing my palms over my mouth, I stifle them to the best of my ability.
No matter what I do, or where I go, the Darkness has control.
Is this truly all I was made for?
Creed squeezes himself beside me, lying down. His spine is pressed to the couch back, and he pulls me into his arms. This time, I relent. Turning into him, I bury my face in his chest.
I cry and cry and cry, until there’s nothing left.