27. Talon
Talon
The door to my room opens and her mother sneaks out and across the hall to where Mack stays when he’s here.
Interesting…
Toby’s room is before mine, so I sat in the doorway while they spoke. Listening to everything her mother told her.
And I thought my family was fucked up.
Sure, living with four bachelors seems like a lot of testosterone, but none of them have locked us up, or tried to murder us. Though, I’m sure the thought has crossed my fathers mind once or twice.
Her mother’s poor excuse for her name made me roll my eyes, but I guess we all make mistakes.
Standing up from the doorway, I walk softly toward my room. I don’t know why, but a small, miniscule part of me wants to see her. She’s been under my skin for months, and now I’m seeing her every time I close my eyes.
She’s laying in my bed, wearing one of her band t-shirts that she loves so much, and a pair of skin tight leggings. The moonlight from my window casts her hair in a blue light. She’s on her side, facing the door, eyes closed, face relaxed in sleep.
Her hands folded under her head that's resting on my pillows. Something stirs in my chest, and I can’t determine if it’s good or bad. A heaviness settles there and weighs me down, watching her sleep.
I know this isn’t wholly my fault, but damn if my brain isn’t shouting that I made a mistake. Her mother’s not terrible, a little liar, that’s for sure, and Mack? He knew all of this, yet still allowed her father to live.
I’ve never known a Hemlock to leave a job half finished. Creed would never have left anything that could have come back to hurt Fern, so why was his brother so complacent about letting Cin’s father rot in prison?
My thoughts spiral around everything that I’ve learned, and I sit on the edge of the blow up mattress beside the bed and run my hands through my hair. I may have done some nasty things to her these past few months, but I’ve never hurt her physically, and I feel violent about the fact that someone else has.
Everything feels so fucked. I hate this girl, but I hate seeing her broken so much more.
The bruises that mark her face and neck are my fault, and I’m not sure how I can make that up to her. Or if I even can, if she lets me. I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t.
Standing, I pull out one of my drawers and grab a pair of swimming trunks. I need to do something that gives me control.
The pool outside is heated, thank God, because the only other way I know how to let off steam is to hit something, and I don’t think that will help anyone at the present moment. Diving into the deep end I stay under until I hit the opposite wall.
Lungs screaming for breath.
When I surface, I gulp down the late April air. The pool steams around me, along with my breath. White puffs of air release with each exhale. Laying back, I float, closing my eyes and letting the water drown out any noise.
My ears fill with the salt water, effectively silencing the world around me. When my brain shuts off, I dive back under, swimming laps and allowing my body to do what I’ve trained it to do.
My muscles burn with effort. I don’t know how long I’ve been in here, but I enjoy the way my body cuts through the water, legs propelling me through the surface. Stopping, I tread water in the deep end, tilting my head back and watching the stars.
“You really are a Fish Boy.”
Whipping my head back toward the house I see her. Cin is standing in the doorway right on the threshold, as if she couldn’t decide if she wants to come out, or stay in. The lights Fern had Creed put up cast her in a soft yellow glow, making her bruises stand out against her skin.
Her eyes are devoid of emotion, voice deadpan, and it feels like an anvil sits on my shoulders. After everything I put her through, she never once lost her edge. Her fight never wavered, but now? Now she looks like she’s given up.
“What are you doing out of bed?” I ask, still treading water. Afraid to move, thinking if I do she might run, and this time I don’t want her to.
She looks around at the back yard, it’s dark, and the moon only highlights bits and pieces.
“Cin, you should be in bed,” she looks like she’s about to turn, but steps a tentative foot outside onto the cement.
“I can’t sleep,” she admits softly, “I keep seeing his body.”
Fuck.
She’s talking about the guy she killed, her face tells me everything and nothing. It’s disturbing how well I can read her. But I spent months doing it, watching her, learning what gets under her skin.
“I can get Mack…”
“No,” she cuts me off.
Slowly, she makes her way over to the edge of the pool and sits, dipping her feet into the water. Forgetting to pull up her leggings, the water laps above her ankles, soaking the fabric there. She doesn’t seem to care as she begins to quietly cry.
Double fuck.
I don’t know what to do, her tears fall, but she’s silent. Nothing like the wailing I’ve seen other women do. That anvil presses harder as I watch her. My body floats closer, as if my proximity will do anything to help her.
When my feet graze the bottom of the pool I stand and walk the last few feet in waist high water, to where she sits.
“I killed him,” she whispers, and I almost miss it.
“You did what you had to do,” I shrug, judging by the bruises on her neck, I’d say it was him or her. I’m glad she chose herself.
She scoffs and runs a hand under her eyes, “he was a person.”
“A person who was going to kill you,” I shout, and she flinches. Goddamnit, “sorry,” I say.
“What?” Her voice lifts and her eyes shine with unshed tears.
“I didn’t mean to yell.”
“No, no, what did you say?” Her head tilts to the side, and one corner of her lips tip up. It’s the first sign I’ve seen of the Spice I know since she got here.
I scoff, “I said ‘I’m sorry.’”
“I didn’t know ‘The Great Asshole’ had it in him.”
I stare at her, and for the first time in my life, I don’t want to be the great asshole.
I just want to be Talon.