Chapter 21
Elle
Sterling finishes stoking the fire, the flames flaring higher, flooding the cabin with much more warmth. It wraps around everything, spreading everywhere. It seeps into the corners, into the walls, into me.
I shuffle lightly, suddenly too warm beneath the coat draped over my shoulders.
It’s Sterling’s, so it’s rather oversized and heavy.
Yet it’s been a constant comfort for me.
Though, now it clings too tightly, trapping more than just heat.
I slide it off slowly, the fabric slipping down my arms. I set it on the coffee table across, along with my half-full mug of tea that he made for me.
When I look up, Sterling’s already glancing over at me, while hanging the coat on the rack close to the door. He doesn’t look away when our eyes meet. He does this often… This quiet, unwavering stare that feels so intense.
The fire crackles in the silence. Then his eyes move to the watch on my wrist. “The watch,” he says. “Has it been helpful?”
I look down at it. The band’s too big, matte and dark, clearly meant for Stan’s wrist and style. “I…don’t know,” I say. “I don’t recall how long I’ve had it.”
Sterling leans against the couch, his arms folding across his chest. “A few days.”
I blink, knitting my brows a bit. “Oh?”
He nods, and immediately, my head swims at the thought. It feels like it’s been so much longer, as if time has been folding in on itself. But if Sterling says that’s all it’s been, then I believe him. If anyone’s keeping track, I know it’s him.
I run my thumb over the edge of the watch. “Time feels…off. For me, it stretches out and slips away at the same time.”
He doesn’t answer right away, but his posture slightly changes. There’s a brief flicker in his expression I’ve come to recognize as his subtle version of hesitation. “I know what you’re going through.” His voice drops. “Clo’s put a lot of people through it.”
He’s not looking at me anymore. His gaze is angled toward the fire, far away, as if he’s watching a memory unfold in the flames. “When did you start seeing people in this state?” The question leaves my lips before I can stop it.
“Much younger,” he says.
So we have that in common. Some of my earlier memories have crept back from the dead.
I stomped them down before they could claw out of their graves.
But the truth is undeniable. I’ve seen how Kys can affect people.
I hear the sounds of pleading voices, bargaining for more.
But I don’t know who they belong to. So I crush the thoughts down.
I can’t keep getting dragged into a past I can’t fully recall.
And all I keep remembering about my childhood are the awful parts.
At the alarming thought, the warmth from the fire doesn’t reach me now. Instead, there’s a chill.
Sterling breathes out silently and slowly.
The small gesture takes all of my attention.
Staring at him makes me momentarily forget what I was even worried about.
I study him, and in this firelight, he seems so unguarded, appearing tired in a way sleep can’t fix.
I wonder if he’s been sleeping at all lately.
Then his eyes return to mine, and I feel that gravity that draws me closer and closer to him.
Still, the chill crawls into my veins, making me shiver and unable to stop the frown on my face.
“I don’t like that look on you,” he says.
I blink again. “What look?”
His voice lowers while his jaw works. “You look…scared.”
The words stun me for a second. His gaze won’t meet mine at all now, and the tight line of his mouth makes my heart trip over itself. “Of you?” I whisper in shock. “Sterling—”
“No, it’s fine.” He shakes his head, but his metaphoric mask is cracking. The shadows in his eyes are harder to hide this close to the fire, this close to me. “I deserve it, Elle.”
“Sterling, no.”
He doesn’t respond this time, and the silence he leaves me with says more than he ever could. So I’m left staring at him, my pulse thudding too hard, too fast. It’s trying to reach him because if he thinks I could ever look at him like that, he’s wrong.
He moves closer, hesitation clinging to every line of his body like it’s unfamiliar to him, as if vulnerability isn’t something he wears well, but he’s trying. His brows are tight, the corners of his mouth drawn like he’s trying not to say something he’ll regret. But those eyes…
God, those eyes. Storm gray and framed by strands of silver-white that shine through his black-dyed hair. It’s how I’ve been measuring time lately, seeing more light in the dark. It’s a slow unraveling of a truth he’s no longer bothering to hide, from anyone, from me.
“I deserve it,” he repeats, voice ragged.
I can hardly breathe properly, hearing him say those words again. “No, you don’t,” I say, soft but certain. “You’re the one who saved me, Sterling. I wouldn’t be here without you—”
“You were there because of me.” His words sound like they hurt to say. They’ve certainly hit me deep, so I can only imagine how it feels for him, to say something so painful out loud, however astonishingly untrue it is.
But I don’t know what to say. My mind’s frazzled from the way he’s talking with such restrained rage, but it’s what I want.
I want him to stop hiding himself from me.
I want more and more of his real self showing.
I want all of him. But how do I even begin to express that much want, when I can barely contain it?
He moves slowly, stopping right beside me, his eyes piercing into my soul. He’s close, so close. Yet still not close enough. Heat rolls off of him, licking at my skin. He looks like he’s bracing for me to react. But I don’t move.
He’s waiting for me to say something, but all I can do is look at him, because what he just said is unbelievable.
How could this all be his fault? Clo had me in her clutches.
She even manipulated Stan. And for some reason, she cut Sterling off, making sure no one knew he existed. But now I do, because he saved me.
“Do you not remember, Elle?” His voice drops even more, worn thin. “The…bodies?”
I blink. I do remember. It’s been clear in my mind for a while now.
Bodies, lifeless eyes staring at nothing.
The memories have been there, merely waiting for me to acknowledge them.
I’m not quite ready to, but Sterling’s bringing them to the surface for me to face.
But why does he bring them up now? Why hold on to that part of the past?
When I know we’ve both seen worse—no, we’ve had no choice but to endure worse than that moment, and none of it defines us at all.
“Elle?” he prompts, quieter this time, as if he already knows the answer.
“Yeah…” I whisper back, tilting my head up to meet his gaze fully. “I remember a lot lately.”
He hisses in a breath. His fists flex.
“It’s okay, Sterling,” I tell him, keeping my voice and gaze steady. “They were bad people, weren’t they?”
His eyes flicker with guilt, or perhaps regret. “You were scared of me,” he whispers.
“No.” I shake my head. “Not you. The bodies. They reminded me—”
“—of your family?” he finishes, far too quickly, far too accurately.
My heart stumbles. “How did you know?”
There’s a pause that stretches too long between us. I don’t press him. I would never, but I see it in his eyes. “Clo had files on you.” His throat bobs. “I read them all.”
My brows knit together, searching his gray eyes, getting lost in how they match the silver-white in his hair. The bits of silver in his hair looks like light fighting through the dark. I get so lost that I don’t know what to say, but Sterling kneels in front of me, his deep voice sounding raw.
“If you want…” he says, so much softer than I’ve ever heard him speak. “I can help you remember.”
My heartbeat’s in my throat. He leans in, closer than before, his breath brushing against my cheek, the scent of smoke and earth between us.
“Everything,” he whispers. “You can remember everything, Elle.”
I don’t know how I’m still breathing, because Sterling’s so close.
All I’d have to do is move, merely a little, and our lips would meet.
I shift a tad. He stiffens slightly, as if his first instinct is to retreat.
So I reach for his hand. My fingers glide through his, threading together perfectly.
“Are you offering because you want me to have the choice,” I ask, “or is this your way of apologizing for something you shouldn’t feel bad about in the first place? ”
His fingers twitch in mine, tension rippling through him, but he doesn’t let go.
“It’s not your fault, Sterling,” I say. “Clo already had her eyes set on me, for however long, before you and I ever even met.”
A sound escapes him, more breath than voice, tight and broken. “I know how long. Just ask me.”
My heart hammers. I feel it, trying to reach Sterling again.
But my mind is hazy, losing sense over the painful slip of memories, worsened by the sudden return of my withdrawals.
I’m not feverish anymore, but it seems like it.
The edges of my thoughts begin to fray again.
Dark memories stir beneath the surface of my mind, uninvited.
They always come back when I least expect it.
The memories are never whole and never kind.
My skin prickles as scenes play in my mind.
My parents’ faces. My father’s panicked expression, my mother’s pleading eyes.
The small body in my arms trembled, but I tried to be steady for the both of us.
The world tips slightly from remembering too much at once.
The sort of remembering that doesn’t offer answers, only ache.