Chapter 5 #2
One of his brows rises slowly, and his mouth twists into a smirk. “Scrambled eggs?”
With a chuckle, I nod. I take it Rus wants scrambled eggs. He even has this innocent, child-like expression, silently begging me to pick that option. “Yeah, that sounds good, too.”
We both head upstairs.
The cabinet’s locked again, and the key hangs around his neck.
The cabinet is locked, and the key to open it—
Forget about the cabinet. Keep it together. Focus on Russell.
That’s easy enough. I study his massive back on the way up. A part of me wants to touch him to see how firm those muscles must be. Stupid, horny, juvenile part of me.
He starts working on breakfast straight away, while I aimlessly grab a book to look like I’m doing something. I swallow two ibuprofen, hoping they help.
Rus startles me when he brings out a huge pack of eggs, all different shapes and colors.
“Annie and Sally’s eggs are the best thing in the world.
They have close to twenty chickens,” he says excitedly once he notices me looking in his direction.
“And they love ‘em like their children. Hope they’re all safe,” he adds, tender concern behind his words.
I chuckle at the thought of a bunch of loud, dusty, squeaking chickens stuck in a small cabin with their owners. I wouldn’t even be surprised if that were the case.
“It’s nice knowing where your food comes from,” I say.
“Do you want ham in it?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Rus gets on with the cooking. Soon, he starts humming a melody to himself, before it turns into whisper-singing.
His voice, low and deep, resonates at the back of his throat.
It sounds like a charming old country song.
And it almost feels like he’s testing the waters.
When I say nothing, he scrambles the eggs and sings a little louder.
His voice is surprisingly harmonious. Soothing even.
“Sounds familiar,” I note quietly when there’s a long enough pause. I’d hate to interrupt him.
Russell turns to me with raised brows. The air’s filled with the mouth-watering smell of eggs and ham.
It makes my stomach grumble. Admittedly, I haven’t had a properly cooked meal since Felix and I broke up.
I haven’t been exactly taking care of my health or paying attention to nutrition.
It’s been more in the realm of coffees, energy drinks, protein bars to satiate me, and a lot of instant noodles…
“An old folk song. Maybe your mom sang it to you?”
All the comfort instantly leaves my body. Fighting a disgusted grimace, I face away. “I doubt that,” I murmur.
“I have a ton of records with songs just like it. You’re free to put them on. It’s going to be a long few days with the blizzard raging like that,” he says, unease behind his words, “so sitting here in silence probably wouldn’t be much fun.”
He points to the small table with an old record player. A bunch of vinyls are stacked on the ground next to it. Beats doing nothing and letting my thoughts consume me, so I get up and go check them out.
Anything to get my mind off her.
The sleeves of those records are practically ancient. The corners show wear; the paper’s stained with dirt and dust, and only yellowed, flaking tape holds a lot of them together. There’s clearly a lot of history behind each of them.
But none of them look as antique and striking as the gramophone itself. I haven't seen one with a horn like this in years and years. In a museum, maybe. No one really uses those anymore. Even with vinyl records coming back into fashion, people use those fancy, compact record players, not this.
The horn is wooden, and so is the box containing the engine. Though it’s clear this thing has been around for a while, with plenty of scrapes on the edges, the veneer is still shiny, and the small engravings have incredible detail.
As I glance to the corner behind the gramophone stand, I notice some plate weights, barbells, and dumbbells hastily lying around a tattered adjustable bench that’s pushed right to the wall.
Is this really all he does? Runs the store, plays old music, sings, and works out? I let out a deep, contemplative exhale. The more I think about it, an existence like that doesn’t seem too bad.
Actually…I almost envy him.
I put on a random record that speaks to me.
The pleasant, calm tunes fill the room, soaking into the wood, complementing the smell of burning logs and crackling fire.
Rus finishes cooking shortly after, and we eat in silence, simply enjoying the music and looking out of the window.
It’s different from gobbling down food from a plastic package with a phone in hand while glancing at the screen of my laptop.
It’s all so peaceful that I almost forget about my headache.
The day drags.
Rus brings a massive bag of walnuts from downstairs and starts cracking them to entertain himself, while I pick up one of the few fiction books on his shelves. Something about soldiers at war. I don’t care much for it, but it’s better than nothing.
He throws a few at me after seeing me glance in his direction. Rus’s aim is great. My catching, not so much. He laughs as I sink down with a frown, rolling the walnuts around in my mouth. I use the book to cover my face and hide a smile that won’t stop growing.
At some point, I nod off on the couch.
I wake up to Rus heating the potato soup from yesterday. My head continues to hurt. In fact, I think it’s getting worse.
We eat, and then I keep reading. Rus does some push-ups, sit-ups, lunges, and lifts weights in various exhausting-looking ways.
He makes it look so easy, and I feel awkward watching him because I’m just sitting doing nothing while his shirt slowly darkens with sweat, and the scent of it mixes with his pheromones, making them that much more enticing.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
In the evening, I take some more ibuprofen and finish reading the book. Rus glances up at me in surprise. He’s nearly done with the walnuts at this point. His hands must be killing him, but then again, he could probably break those shells even without the metal cracker.
“You finished it?”
“Yeah.”
His eyes go wide, and his lips curl into an impressed grimace. “Wow. You’re a fast reader. Was it any good? Haven’t gotten to that one yet.”
“It’s not really my genre, but…yeah, it was decent. I don’t think I read super fast or anything,” I note with a smirk and place the book back where I found it. My eyes hurt a bit from staring at the small letters all day, but there isn’t much else to do.
“Mhm. I always had trouble keepin’ up at school.
Brawn over brains. I guess that’s why I joined the army.
And I…well, I suppose I liked the idea of not having to make any hard choices.
Less chance of messing up if there’s someone more knowledgeable makin’ them for you.
Following orders and not asking questions is easy.
Only…sometimes that leads you to start worrying about whether you’re doing the right thing when you don’t agree with everything that’s going on.
Life seems to get complicated no matter what you do. ”
There’s genuine, unabashed vulnerability in his voice. A lack of confidence that feels almost unnatural for someone like him.
“I never liked school,” I say quietly as I brush my fingers across the spines of the other books. It’s just more war stuff. Ugh.
A cookbook. Nah.
Hmm, a memoir? A military memoir. Great.
“And math? Hell, I was absolutely the worst at math. You’d think I have brain damage or something when I try to solve a math problem more complex than what you can count with the help of your fingers,” I say.
Russell’s chuckle resonates somewhere deep inside me. It sounds better than his singing or the song playing on the gramophone.
As I sweep my gaze past the book titles, head tilted to the side, I come upon one that sends ice through my veins. I pause, my lips pressed tightly together almost against my will, in some terrified instinct.
‘Divine Dualis Sovereign: The Origin of Species’.
This is a book I’ve seen before. It’s basically the book for the religion. It covers nearly everything there is to know. I’d go as far as to say that every venus family has it in their house. Everyone around here certainly does…
And so did she.
I gulp, shifting on my feet as my insides twist, an uncomfortable, prickling heat rising in my throat. Might just be the bile.
“Do you believe in it?” I ask, maybe too quietly for him to hear.
Rus raises his head with a confused “Hm?” and then fixes his eyes on where my finger rests. He squints to see the book.
“The venus gods. Alis and Dual. All that…stuff. You believe in it?”
The fire lashes inside the fireplace, tall and strong, but my hands feel like I’ve stuck them into a raging, freezing river.
I zone out, caught in one of the many memories of seeing this very book in her lap.
She used it to justify her actions. To legitimize them.
Often. Worst of all, I think she genuinely believed it, too.
“This bond between an alpha and omega…what you’re feeling right now…is sacred. It isn’t wrong. How could it be? We are to embrace it in its purest form. Do you not feel our bare nature pulling us together? Why would this feeling be here if not to be acted upon?”
Black spots fill my vision, and it feels like I might throw up or pass out or both, but then Russell speaks, his voice snapping me to reality.
“Well, I was brought up with it,” he says lightly, completely unaware of my anguish.
He keeps opening the walnuts with the nutcracker, each of the sudden snaps making me jolt slightly.
My insides twist and ache. “Didn’t think much about it ‘til I moved out and joined the army. I mean, I don’t think much about it these days, either.
I guess that’s to say I ain’t super religious,” he concludes with a tight laugh.
I narrow my eyes. “But do you believe it? That we were made by these gods for a greater purpose? That we’re special? Undeniably rigid in our true nature?”
“This is the only way to help me. Don’t you want that? To help your mama? You must surrender yourself to it, Wren. It will feel good. How it’s supposed to be. Do not make me beg.”
“We’re different from betas, sure. But I don’t think that makes us better or ‘special.’ Just different.
I’ve seen things that make believin’ in some greater power kinda hard, but…
I dunno.” He sighs. “I hope there is something good at the end of this for everybody. Venus or not. I had this sarge in the army who told me not to burden myself with stuff I can’t control or influence, big or small, and I’ve been stickin’ to that mentality. It’s served me well so far.”
I blink away tears and dig my nails into my palm to get a grip on myself.
“Yeah,” I rasp, averting my gaze. I need to clear my throat to be able to speak without letting him know how close to disintegrating into a stumbling mess I am.
At least my brain is letting me talk. That suffocating barrier isn’t there for once.
Not yet. “My head’s killing me. I’ll go to bed early if that’s alright. ”
I hear Rus get up, but I’m too scared to turn to see what he’s doing.
To my surprise, he walks to the gramophone.
“Course,” he says softly and turns it off before returning the record to its sleeve with striking gentleness in his movements, like he’s handling the most precious thing. “I’ll find something quieter to do.”
“Sorry to be a bother.”
He makes a disgruntled sound. “You’re not.”
I feel his gaze on me, but don’t turn. I worry too much that if he sees my face, he’ll know something is up.
In bed, I lie with my back to him, facing the crackling fire.
That horrible feeling grips me again. I need to leave. I need to be alone. Holding it together in front of another human being is tiring. It’s so damn exhausting it hurts deep in my bones. It hurts with every breath, every blink, every word.
“Sleep tight,” he adds after a while, and it makes my heart skip a beat for some stupid fucking reason.
I don’t even respond. I just pull the thick blanket over my head and wish for everything to go away. Or for the sweet release of unconsciousness, at least.
Definitely not for the blissful state of peace the pills downstairs would bring.
Not that.
Not that at all…