Chapter 6 #2
Wren puts the wood next to the fireplace and comes up to help.
With some pointing and guiding, I have him put a piece of cloth and two small containers—one for water, one for seed—inside.
He then interlocks the flaps on top but holds them open so that I can slide my hand in, gently releasing the bird, before quickly closing the box.
For a few seconds, the magpie stirs in there. Once it’s calm again, I place the box on the floor by the fireplace, far enough to receive warmth without risking accidentally overheating it.
Wren and I look at each other, sharing a pleasant sense of accomplishment.
“What time is it? Do you know?”
“Around eight thirty.”
“Mhm… Do you want some coffee, or are you goin’ back to bed?”
He rubs the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. Well, he’s looked borderline in pain and stressed ever since I met him, but right now, he does a little more than even last night.
“I’m gonna stay up. Don’t think I’ll be able to fall asleep again,” he says.
“I’ll go turn on the generator for the water heater.
I was fixin’ to go through some of my old clothes to find you somethin’ to wear, so you don’t have to be in jeans and this one shirt for days.
Gotta be uncomfortable.” I can’t help but glance down at him as I speak, and for some reason, I get all uneasy when he notices.
“You can shower and change. I’ll get coffee and breakfast ready in the meantime.
Oats today. Don’t want you getting sick of eggs,” I add with a shy smile.
Wren smiles back. “Thanks, it’s… I think that will make me feel better. You should open a hotel, you know? You’re a great host. Rich people from the city would fucking love to come here. They’re crazy about connecting with nature. For a few days at a time, in a controlled environment, at least.”
“Oh, hell no!” I laugh and face away. That idea is pretty terrifying. “I ain’t good with people.”
“Right…” Wren says with a snort, heavy sarcasm behind the prolonged word, and he lifts his chin up, smirking at me.
I don’t know how he can think I would be suitable for that. I can never come up with stuff to talk about, and I say things before thinking about them properly. Things that probably shouldn’t be said out loud. Above all else, no one really gets me most of the time. Humans are confusing creatures.
“Lemme do what I…said,” I mumble and scurry away.
I get him everything he needs—a clean towel, a baggy shirt, pants I wore probably in my teens, and after a bit of a wait, even the hot shower I promised.
Once he comes out, still drying his shiny blond locks—well, they’re darker and almost brown when wet—Wren looks like a different person.
It might only be in my head, but it’s as if he shed some of that anxiety with his clothes, and I enjoy that relaxed expression on his face.
He flutters his pretty, light lashes at me in excitement when I present him with a bowl of steaming cinnamon porridge, and gods, it makes my chest feel all airy.
“Thanks,” he says as he sits down across from me. He smells good. Clean. Which only gives way to the scent of his pheromones.
Leaning back in the chair, I run my spoon through the oats. “You like a sweet breakfast, then?”
“Yeah. And…I can tell that you don’t,” he notes in a lighthearted tone.
I purse my lips. “It’s fine. Could probably use losin’ some weight, anyway.”
Wren takes a few bites, but something is clearly on his mind. As he swirls the food in his mouth, his gaze fixes on me. “You looked like you were going to take me out downstairs. Had this scary intensity in your eyes.”
My stomach clenches. “I’m sorry about that.”
“No, no, I…” Wren pushes his wet hair back in a way that makes it seem more like a nervous habit rather than because it’s in the way.
He should dry it properly before he gets sick.
“It’s alright. I was just wondering— Um, it must’ve been hard.
Serving, being in combat. I can’t imagine.
Can’t really conceptualize signing up voluntarily and going out there, knowing you could lose your life.
I guess I’m too much of a selfish coward for that. ”
“It’s not like that at all,” I say firmly, and his eyes snap back to my face from where he’d looked down at the table.
“I know I said earlier that I don’t believe in all that religious stuff, but…
either way, everybody has their purpose, right?
I was born big and strong, so it felt only natural to walk a path where I could use what the gods had gifted me.
And like I already said, havin’ other people, smarter people, telling me what to do, felt like the right thing. ” Mostly.
I’m not sure he likes that answer. Knitting his brows, he studies my face, thoughts flashing behind those solemn blue eyes.
“But was it something you actually wanted to do?”
I open my mouth, an urge to be honest—completely honest, like I wouldn’t be with anyone else, even my family—taking over me. So I let it.
“I didn’t want my parents to die, but they did.
I didn’t want life to go the way it has, but that didn’t matter in the end.
I needed some purpose, and it gave me that.
Did I want to kill people? Hurt people? Even the ‘hostiles’?
No. Did I want someone to just give me orders to fulfill without having the pressure of wrestling with the consequences?
Yeah,” I admit. “That’s why I never wanted to stay long-term or move up the ranks. Are you against it?”
Wren raises his brows questioningly in response.
“The army, I mean. Some people are opposed to it on principle.”
“No,” he says quickly with a sharp blink.
“Not…really. Has good and bad sides, like everything, I guess. I just can’t imagine risking my life for anyone else.
Like I said, selfish and cowardly.” He points at himself.
“It’s fucking ironic, considering I don’t actually value my life all that much,” he mutters.
His eyes dart around my face before he fixes them on the porridge in front of him, as if he said too much and now doesn’t know how to deal with it.
Every so often, there’s this ugly sort of hurt I catch behind his eyes before he pushes it away that makes me feel so…
I reach across the table, studying his dark expression with a concerned frown. Before I can manage to touch his chin to tilt his head for him to face me, he jerks it in my direction himself, staring at me as if something startled him.
“Do you still have a headache? You look kinda green.” The urge to touch him becomes overwhelming, and my worry only makes it worse, so I do. He lets me put the back of my hand over his forehead, even as he sits across from me with his breath held.
“A bit,” he whispers.
“You’re a little hot.” He’s been out of the shower for a while. It shouldn’t be that. “I really hope you’re not getting a—”
“You did say it was stupid for me to sleep in the car,” he blurts before sharply moving away from me. I withdraw my hand, flashing him an apologetic expression, but he is already looking to the side again.
I can’t stop thinking about the darkness behind his eyes.
It translates into his scent, making it slightly sour and wrong.
And the longer I’m around him, the stronger this uneasy feeling inside me grows.
A feeling that something bad went on in that house.
That’s why he was so terrified of being stuck here, of not being able to leave, and even slept in his car instead… isn’t it?
Mrs. Compton was a woman with something dark and distant in her gaze, too. I just never considered connecting that with her son’s disappearance. Maybe I should’ve. Should’ve suspected something. Should’ve known better.
Why did no one think about that?
I want to ask Wren about it, but I have no right.
My heart hurts thinking about not knowing, but I figure bringing that up would hurt him even more than it would help me.
“Does your offer of me getting stuff from downstairs still stand? I-I saw some nut mix there,” Wren says, shooting up from the table so abruptly I have to grab onto the edges to stop it from toppling.
He looks panicked, like he can’t bear being around me. I nod quickly, my chest constricting and my stomach growing heavy with a bad, bad feeling.
“You wouldn’t mind if I got some to put in my porridge…?”
“No, of course not. Go on and help yourself.”
I hardly get a chance to finish the sentence and he’s already heading downstairs.
My entire body twitches in his direction, wanting to follow him. It’s almost an instinct, but I stop myself.
He clearly needs space. Whatever it is that I said or did that upset him, we’re locked in here together until the storm is over, so I will give him that.
With a sigh, I look down at the drying porridge. I’m not even hungry anymore.
Those eyes…
I hold my hand over my chest, pressing my fingers into it to somehow relieve the mounting pressure and make it stop hurting deep inside.
Can’t stop thinking about his eyes.