16. A Passing Storm Silene
16
A Passing Storm: Silene
T he water around me is hot, thank God. I wasn’t sure if it would be after the extensive shower I took, ensuring I was as clean as I possibly could be before filling the tub.
The storm that rages outside is frightening, and the tension still hasn’t left my shoulders. I know breaking the door down first would have been the better option, but after the power went out, I don’t think I had it in me to continue arguing my point. I don’t think I could pretend I wasn’t scared out of my wits any longer than I already have. Not when it’s just a stupid fucking storm. A stupid storm and three days worth of blood and grime coating my body, while my mind feeds me half-truths and circumstance forces me to stand beside those I don’t trust.
I don’t know how long I’m in here before the door slowly creaks open, slightly followed by quick raps against the white wood. I know who it is before I see him. Know exactly what the lean, muscled arms will look like before they even come into view. Know there’s no reason for my body to stiffen more, but it does anyway when I choose not to look at the man who I hated long before I loved.
The man who I’m supposed to hate now, who I’m supposed to be ready to kill. But I’m not. I would rather keep running from him until my very last breath if it meant I didn’t have to be the one to watch the life slowly dissipate from his eyes as he accepts his fate. I don’t want to do it, yet I’ve already vowed to be the one who does.
“We found a couple towels and blankets. They’re not much, but it’s something. We also took down the rest of the curtains in every room.” His voice is soft and uncertain. It’s…different from what I’m used to hearing from him as he places a towel and large strip of dark fabric from one of the curtains on the counter top in neat square folds. Meticulous, for no reason, since I’m about to use them anyway. Though it may be to keep himself busy and facing away from my body just a few feet away from him.
“You know there’s nothing you haven’t seen, Ronan. You don’t have to be so cautious right now.” The words are lighter than I feel. His shoulders jump slightly as a quiet laugh escapes him.
“You know I would never just look without your express permission, love. And that wasn’t it.”
A sharp intake of breath is my only response as I continue looking at his back and the way his muscles move underneath his shirt as he continues his listless movements.
“If you want me to turn around, just say it. Use your words, Silene. You’ve never had a problem with them before.” Uncertainty is replaced by teasing, and his tone of voice is far raspier than it should be. I realize this was my goal when I said what I said. To ensure that the version of him I’m used to has come back to me.
“No.” His head bobs up and down for a second before lightly tapping the folded fabric with a loose fist. “Okay, well call out for me if you need anything then.” He’s heading out and before I can even stop myself—let alone think about it—I’m saying his name.
“Ronan-”
“Yes?” His hand is already on the doorknob, but he remains unmoving. So still it almost seems like he’s holding his breath waiting for my next words.
I guess I was doing the same too, though, as I release a long exhale before slowly speaking again. “Stay. Please.”
“Okay.”
That’s all he says before he’s closing the door and dropping his hand to the side. Slowly, with his back still facing me, he walks backwards. Each step is measured and deliberate until the heel of his foot hits the wall of the tub, and he lowers himself to the floor with his back resting against the cool porcelain.
I watch as small water droplets soak into the material of his shirt. Watch as he brings his elbows to rest on his knees and cradles his head in his hands and breathes deeply. Evenly. The silence stretches around us, molds itself into time while I drag my hands through the water.
“What do you remember?” It’s a shaky and whispered question, one I don’t know why I’m asking when I know the information has the ability to destroy me, and possibly even contradict what I’ve come to remember myself. I suppose it could be the cover of the house and the warmth enveloping me that’s allowing me to feel brave enough to ask. The tension that is slowly seeping from my pores and replacing itself with something akin to settling.
“I remember us.”
Strong. That’s really all I can say for the way he’s speaking right now. The conviction in his voice. Only three words, but possibly the most honest thing that he could have said. I’m not sure if it was what I was expecting him to say, but I would be a fool to believe only I remember who we are to each other. Even if not wholly, there is enough. I truly believe that’s why every look is one of confliction when our eyes meet. Longing and grief on his end. Want and hatred in my own.
“I remember the first time we met and how utterly intrigued I was by you at first glance. How beautifully violent you are. I remember our home. Cooking together—or really, watching you save the meals I tried to cook for you which turned into cooking lessons every Tuesday and Sunday night. I remember us in this house. I remember the first time we came here. I remember your favorite color and how it varies depending on the season. How you finally let me catch you.” He stops to take a deep breath, and I count the seconds.
“You have to breathe, Silene. Breathe for me. In four seconds, I’ll count with you. One… two… three… four… good. Hold it for a few seconds. Three… four… Now exhale.”
He’s doing it now, just as he’s taught me. Like the memories resurfacing are causing him physical pain. His head stays hanging low in his hands while his fingers grip his hair in frustration.
I let myself watch him. I allow myself the pleasure of observing his every movement while he can’t see me. I allow myself to welcome the onslaught of thoughts regarding him and all that we had once been. The storm outside is forgotten for a brief moment, my thoughts drowning out the noise before thunder tears through the peace, and then my body is tensing again and my eyes are squeezing shut. I vaguely hear the sound of his clothes rustling and then footsteps. It sounds as if he’s leaving at first, but then the tearing sound of fabric interrupts the silence, and soon, I hear him approach me once again.
“I remember just how much storms terrify you and why.” His voice startles me even though it’s no more than a whisper, and when I turn to look toward him, he’s on his knees before me. His outstretched hand holds a torn piece of the curtain he’d brought in earlier, and his eyes are closed. Closed to give me privacy, I realize as I hesitantly reach for the torn cloth in his hand.
“Blindfold me.”
The two words fumble from his mouth into the air, and my arm stills halfway between us. His breathing appears normal, but when I really listen, I can hear the tremble in it. I can see the slight shake of his hand as it extends its small offering to me.
“Please. So I can help you.”
I only try to talk myself out of it for a few seconds before I close the distance between our hands and a shaky exhale lands in the space between us. I’m not sure if it belonged to me or him, but I make sure to hold my breath when both my hands take hold of the fabric and let it move in between my fingertips until they’re both holding separate ends. I hold my breath as I cover his eyes and tightly tie the fabric behind his head, then adjust the front to make sure his eyes are fully concealed.
Regardless, he turns his head away from me for a second afterwards.
“What’re you doing?” I ask and watch as he adjusts the fabric on his own and turns back in my direction.
“Ensuring I can’t see anything.”
Something about the way he made sure before chancing a look at my bare skin sends a wave of appreciation and longing through my body, making me wish that we were anywhere but here, in a time and place where we’re different people than we are right now. His hand slowly reaches out again, and this time I don’t hesitate to meet him halfway. The second our hands connect, I watch as his fingers run the length of my palm before wrapping around my wrist, his thumb rubbing small circles over my pulse point.
“Turn your back toward me, but don’t move your hand. Please.” His command is the same as every other word he’s spoken since he walked in unannounced: soft, steady, and sad. I’m not sure why he doesn’t bother to mask the emotion. Not sure why I’ve done everything he’s asked of me, either. But I have, and I don’t stop as I use my other arm to push my body in a different direction against the floor of the tub.
His fingers are still wrapped loosely around my wrist, now resting lazily on my shoulder. I have to resist the urge to lean into his touch as he slowly slips his hand away from my wrist and creates a trail from my shoulder to my scalp with his fingertips.
“May I?” I just nod my head, knowing he can feel the movement, and my body relaxes as both of his hands gently brush through my hair and massage my scalp. I can’t help the sigh that escapes me, nor do I think I would’ve stopped it if I could have. All tension seems to fade away as my shoulders sag forward. My body slumps against the side of the tub, and my head tips back. He keeps going for a while, letting the moment stretch between us.
“What do you remember?”
I know I should’ve been expecting this given the fact that I just asked him the same thing, but I was hoping it wouldn’t come so soon. I don’t answer him immediately. Not because I don’t want to, but because I’m not entirely sure of what to say yet. All of my memories are so clear, yet the picture they paint isn’t one where all the pieces fit together.
His frustration at my lack of answer is palpable, and I can almost taste it in the air. I can feel it in the way his hands slow their movements and make their way to rest on the base of my neck and shoulders. I can hear it in the long sigh that escapes him.
“Si—”
“I remember us too.” It’s not a lot, but it’s a start. A slow one maybe, but one that gives me time to piece together another sentence that will make sense. Stepping stones, I suppose. Little bits at a time that eventually create something whole and tangible.
“Pieces of us, really. Not everything.” I can hear his breathing, hear the shakiness as he gets closer and brushes his lips against the skin where his thumb rests on my shoulder before he sets his forehead against me too. The metallic tang of blood and dirt invades my senses, but I welcome it. Welcome the feel of him, even if it isn’t very much. I welcome my own betrayal, as I lean further into his touch.
“I remember why we’re here.”
He lifts his head off me, and I miss the warmth that disappears with him as I realize the water is now cold. Realize just how uncomfortable it is and how much I’m shivering, though I’m unsure if it’s from the temperature or his proximity.
“Why are we here?” No sooner than the question is asked, there’s a creak that sounds out through the house. A creak, long and groaning, on the top step. It breaks me from whatever trance I’d fallen into before both of his hands leave my body. Turning, I watch as he stands, facing away from me before removing the blindfold.
“Ronan, it’s probably just—” Another loud groan invades the eerie silence. The air around us stills as the only sound is the quiet pitter patter of the passing storm and the drops of water falling off of my skin and into the full tub.
“That came from up here. Everyone else is downstairs” Sharp, cool words in a hushed tone. This is the Ronan I remember, the one that I kept my distance from in the start. A true leader whose observations had kept him alive when everyone else failed. The one who is always right, even if it is frustrating to admit.
A third deep groan of the wooden stairs gives way and so does a curse from Ronan. Quickly grabbing the towel off of the bathroom counter, he extends it as far behind himself as he can, ensuring his gaze doesn’t fall upon me when I stand. My bare body is completely on display, and yet there’s no sign of him trying to push through boundaries I’ve set to see it. I hate that he’s being so sweet, that his touch has been nothing more than gentle and caring. That in my weakness, he has remained strong. I hate that he hasn’t given me more reason to hate him, even if I already have one.
“Someone else is in the house. Three steps creaked, they can’t be any bigger than me. Get dressed.”
“Ronan, what are you talking ab—”
A scream pierces the air. Loud and terrified and something I’ve heard enough times to know who it belongs to. I’m fumbling to wrap the towel around my body, but Ronan is already shooting through the door, faster than I can blink, and sprinting down the stairs. Three creaks followed by pounding footsteps, and I realize what he meant. He listened to each of us descend the steps in order to differentiate who is who in our comings and goings. Something I didn’t think to do, only noting the way it groaned under my own weight on the first one.
The scream doesn’t last long, before a large thud sounds through the house. Grunts follow before there’s three more bangs, loud enough to echo, in rapid succession.
Then silence. It permeates the air as I wrap the towel around me tighter, grab one of my discarded blades, and step into the dimly lit hallway only illuminated by the bathroom light and trickles filtering in from the downstairs area.
I turn my head to the left, toward the end of the corridor where the only point of entrance is and slowly make my way to the door. Soon, I’m walking through nothing but darkness, relying on my eyes adjusting to make out the outline of the door and knob.
I can’t hear anything or anyone behind me, but I also hear nothing ahead as I grip the cool metal and open the door. The bathroom is just as we left it. Dark, somewhat damp from the dripping water, and the window closed. Sealed.
Locked.
No one able to get in unless they shattered the glass that remains in one piece. This only means one thing. Something I had already guessed, but was ignored when I brought it up. I ease out of the bathroom, glancing at the door that remains shut to the left of me. And when I set my hand upon the knob and turn…it still doesn’t budge. Not even a fraction of an inch. But I know the answer is in there. I know that there is something in there.
“Si, what’re yo—” In an instant my trance is broken, and my dagger is leaving my hand and flying in the direction of the voice.
His voice, though it’s something I realize just a little too late, and can only watch as the blade soars through the air as all my breath leaves my body.