Chapter Twelve
Eliza
I sat at the kitchen table with my thoughts swirling like a damn tornado. After my talk with Cheshire, my head had been a mess. While I loved the time I got to spend with him, I couldn’t help but feel guilty over my newfound happiness.
My dad was a monster. He’d done unspeakable things. It felt like I should suffer and not feel excited about getting a chance to actually have a life. It made me wonder if something was wrong with me.
The kitchen door creaked open, and I glanced up. It was Rabbit, concern etched across his face as he saw me. He stepped closer, two sketch pads clutched in his hands.
“Eliza, thought I might find you here,” he said. “I can see you have a lot on your mind.”
I just nodded, not trusting my voice. Emotions clogged my throat.
Rabbit pulled out a chair and sat across from me. He slid a sketch pad my way. “Here. I know you already have one, but I thought you might need a new one. Sometimes putting pen to paper helps sort out the demons, and if you have a lot of them, you’ll go through a lot of paper.” His eyes were kind, understanding. “Art’s saved my sanity more than once, and Jo says you’re pretty good. Give it a try. Maybe it will help you sort out the chaos in your head.”
I stared at the blank page, my fingers trembling as I picked up a pencil. Rabbit flipped open his own pad and started sketching, the pencil dancing across the page. He glanced up at me.
“Let it out, Eliza. Whatever is tearing you up inside. Art doesn’t judge.”
I pressed the pencil tip to the paper and took a shaky breath. It was time to face these demons head-on, one stroke at a time.
I drew a tentative line across the page, unsure at first. But as the pencil moved, I felt something stirring deep inside me. The emotions I’d been trying so damn hard to suppress came bubbling to the surface.
Rabbit’s pencil scratched against his paper, the sound oddly soothing. He didn’t push me to talk, just let me find my own rhythm.
My hand started moving faster, the lines growing bolder. I poured my confusion, my guilt, my longing onto the page. The sketch took shape -- a heart, torn down the middle, one half dark and twisted, the other soft and glowing.
“That’s it,” Rabbit murmured, glancing at my drawing. “Let it flow out of you. There’s no right or wrong in art.”
I swallowed hard, my vision blurring with unshed tears. The pencil felt like an extension of my soul, giving voice to the war raging inside me.
“I don’t know what to do, Rabbit,” I whispered, my hand never stopping its frenzied dance across the paper. “I’m so confused. It’s tearing me up.”
Rabbit nodded, his own pencil still moving. “I know that feeling all too well. Like you’re being ripped in two, yeah?”
I nodded, blinking back tears. The sketch pad was a mirror, reflecting my inner turmoil in stark black and white.
“Just keep drawing,” Rabbit said. “Let the art do the talking. We’ll figure this out together.”
And so I did. I poured my heart onto the page, letting the pencil lead the way. The longer I drew, the calmer I felt.
I sneaked a glance at Rabbit’s drawing -- a shadowy figure, hunched and alone, with a single beam of light breaking through the darkness.
“Art has been my therapy for years,” he said, his eyes never leaving the page. “When the anxiety gets to be too much, when the club’s problems weigh me down or nightmares from the past raise their heads, I draw. Once I’m finished, it’s like I can breathe again.”
I nodded, understanding all too well. The pressure in my chest eased with each stroke of the pencil, the knot in my stomach slowly unraveling.
“I’ve never been good at talking about my feelings,” I admitted, shading in the jagged edges of the broken heart. “But this… this feels right.”
Rabbit’s lips quirked in a small smile. “That’s the beauty of art, Eliza. It speaks when words fail us. It’s a language all its own.”
We lapsed into comfortable silence, the only sounds the scratching of pencils and our steady breathing. The kitchen faded away, and for a moment, it was just us and the art, lost in a world of our own making.
As I added the final touches to my sketch, I felt a sense of catharsis wash over me. The drawing was raw, painful, but it was also honest. It was a piece of my soul, laid bare on the page.
“Thank you, Rabbit,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “For this, for everything. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”
He reached across the table, his hand warm and reassuring on mine. “You’re not alone. Never forget that.”
And as I looked into his eyes, seeing the understanding and compassion shining there, I realized I’d found my place in this world, here with these tough men.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the words I was about to say. “It’s just… I felt so confused, Rabbit. About Cheshire, about everything.”
Rabbit set down his pencil, giving me his full attention. “What about Cheshire, Eliza?”
I bit my lip, the guilt twisting in my gut. “I know I shouldn’t feel this way, not after what my father did. But when I’m with Cheshire, it’s like nothing else matters. He makes me feel safe, understood. Desired.” My cheeks warmed. “Then I think about the lives my father has destroyed, and I hate myself for being this happy.”
Rabbit’s eyes softened with empathy. “Eliza, listen to me. Your feelings for Cheshire… They aren’t wrong. You can’t help who you love. And after everything you’ve been through, you’ve more than earned the right to find happiness wherever and whenever you can. Your father’s sins aren’t your own.”
“But how could I love him, Rabbit? How could I feel anything but disgust for myself, knowing what my father did to the people in this town?” My voice cracked, the tears threatening to spill over. “I may not have known about it, had no power to stop it, but I feel tainted because I share the same blood as that man.”
Rabbit leaned forward, his gaze intense. “I’ll say it once more. What your father did, that was on him. Not you. You weren’t responsible for his actions, Eliza. You hear me? You need to let that shit go.”
I nodded, a single tear escaping down my cheek.
“And as for Cheshire,” Rabbit continued. “He’s a good man. He cares about you, Eliza. Anyone with eyes can see that.”
I sniffed, wiping away the tear with the back of my hand. “It’s so hard, Rabbit. It feels like a betrayal to everyone else who’s suffered at my father’s hands.”
Rabbit shook his head. “No one would ever think that, Eliza. I’m not sure what the plan is yet for handling the town. If we find those missing girls, and they come home, they may tell people your father was responsible. I don’t know if Cheshire and Hatter are going to tell them the truth, that we handled the problem and the sheriff won’t be an issue anymore, or if they’re going to fabricate something.”
“Thank you, Rabbit,” I whispered. “For understanding, for not judging me. And for the advice. I’ve never felt so at home anywhere before. All of you feel more like family than my father ever did.”
He smiled. “That’s what family’s for, Eliza. And yes, we’re your family. We love you, no matter what. Never forget that.”
I felt a weight lift from my shoulders. I didn’t have all the answers, but I knew one thing for sure: with my Underland family by my side, I could face whatever came next, even if it meant battling my own demons.
Rabbit flipped through his sketch pad, revealing page after page of intricate drawings. Motorcycles, portraits, abstract designs. They were all really good. Good enough to hang in an art gallery.
I studied the sketches, marveling at the raw emotion captured in each line. “I didn’t know you were so talented, Rabbit,” I murmured, tracing a finger over a particularly haunting portrait. “These are beyond amazing.”
He shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “It’s not about talent. It’s about expression. About letting go of all the shit that weighs me down and just creating something. Anything. I never know what’s going to end up on the page.”
I nodded, understanding dawning. My gaze fell to my own sketch. “Art therapy.”
“Exactly. And the best part? You can do it anytime, anywhere. Whenever you need to let it out, just pick up a pencil and let it flow. Doesn’t matter if you’re alone or with a group of people.”
I flipped to a new page in the sketch pad he’d given me. As I put pencil to paper once more, I felt a sense of purpose, of direction. I might not be able to change the past, but I could face the future head-on. One sketch at a time.
Time slipped away as Rabbit and I lost ourselves in our artwork. The kitchen became a sanctuary, a place where we could bare our souls without fear of judgment or ridicule. Although, I knew no one here at the clubhouse would ever condemn me for my thoughts and feelings. Not unless I did something to hurt myself or the club.
I glanced up from my sketch, studying Rabbit’s face as he worked. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his hand moving with a surety that came from years of practice. In that moment, he looked different. Lighter, somehow. The nervous energy that seemed to be such a big part of him melted away when he was drawing.
“I never knew how much I needed this,” I confessed.
“I’m happy to draw with you anytime. I know Jo showed you her poems. Did you see her sketchbook? She’s one hell of an artist. I know she’d be happy to draw with you any time.”
“Thank you, Rabbit,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “For this. For everything.”
He reached across the table, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. “Anytime, Eliza.”
And in that moment, I realized Rabbit was my friend. A true friend, who saw me for who I was and accepted me, flaws and all. I’d not had a friend, ever. I’d never realized what it would feel like to be close to someone like this, to be accepted. Now I had many. Jo, Rabbit, and everyone else here. Except Cheshire… he was something more.
“Probably should wrap it up for now,” Rabbit said. “Jo will be in here any minute to start dinner. I bet she’d love some company.”
I nodded. “I can help too. I’m not the best cook, but I can at least do something, even if it’s chopping vegetables.”
We packed up the supplies, and Rabbit held out his hand. “I’ll take it to your room and leave it on the bed.”
I handed it off to him and waited for Jo. It didn’t take her long to enter the kitchen, a smile on her face.
“I saw Rabbit. He said you’re my helper tonight?”
“Yeah. But I told him I’m not a very good cook.” I wasn’t sure if I’d be a help or a hindrance.
“That’s okay. I’m not the best either. I’m learning as I go.” She placed a hand over her belly. “Need to figure all this out before the little one gets here.”
My eyes went wide. “You’re pregnant?”
She nodded. “Yep. Hatter hasn’t told everyone yet, though, so keep it quiet. Only Rabbit and Cheshire know.”
I made the motion of locking my lips. “I won’t say anything.”
“I trust you, Eliza. Now, come help. We’re making chicken wraps with onion and bell pepper.”
“Sounds yummy.” I moved closer to her. “What do you need me to do?”
“Well, you can start by setting the table. Then you can get the tortillas from the cabinet and warm them.”
“Um, how do I warm them?” I asked.
“Grab a skillet, set the heat to low, then place one on it. Let it sit for thirty to sixty seconds, flip it for another thirty seconds, then move on to the next one. It shouldn’t stick. If it does, then you’re leaving them on too long. They won’t still be hot when the boys come in to eat, but they’ll still be tasty.”
I did as Jo said, and as I warmed the tortillas, I watched her slice chicken breasts into small strips. She pulled out one bottle of seasoning, and I kept waiting for her to grab more. Didn’t recipes usually call for several?
She eyed me. “I haven’t told the guys, but I only use seasonings that either have no sodium or are low in sodium. I even have a salt substitute. This particular blend is just warm enough to have a good flavor without being too hot.”
Once she had the chicken cooking, she alternated between stirring the chicken around the skillet and slicing bell pepper and onion. I wondered why she was doing it that way, when I realized she still had chicken strips to cook. She shifted the cooked ones into a serving bowl, then started cooking the next batch.
Jo pulled out a covered skillet and put a little oil in it, then turned on the burner. Once I heard the oil sizzling, she dropped in the peppers and onions, stirring them at regular intervals. The second batch of chicken went into the serving bowl, and she turned down the heat on the peppers and onions before covering them.
“One last batch of chicken and then we can eat,” she said. “Want to go tell everyone? Looks like you’ve finished the tortillas. You can place the plate on the table.”
I set them in the center of the table and went into the main room, then drew in a breath and yelled as loud as I could, “Dinner is almost done!”
March chuckled from where he’d been sitting a few feet away, but I heard booted steps coming down the hall. At least it seemed they might have all heard me. I went back to help Jo finish up, and once we sat down to eat and I had my first bite, I stared at Jo in awe. The meal was simple, yet so incredibly good.
“Sometimes I make cilantro lime rice and black beans to go with it,” Jo said. “But not always. There are times simpler is better.”
“You did good,” Hatter said. “They came out perfect.”
Jo winked at me. “Eliza warmed the tortillas for me and set the table.”
“Maybe I can help more next time, since I know what to do now.”
Jo nodded. “Sounds good. I should have done the prep earlier, but…”
If she’d tried to come to the kitchen earlier, she would have seen me drawing with Rabbit. I had a feeling that instead of letting us know she was there, she would have backed off and given us space.
Meals with the club really did feel like a family affair. I wondered what the holidays would be like.