Chapter Eight
Home Sweet Home
Charlotte
W hat the hell is Silas talking about, 'our place'.
I don't dare say anything or question him. I just remain quiet as we ride in the silence of his truck. I'm still trying to wrap my head around everything that has happened in the last hour.
Despite having to get my wrist set earlier, I was having one of the best, if not the best, evening of my life with Silas. Then the night went to hell in a handbasket.
Corey kidnapped me, took me to what I think was his house and assaulted me. Silas broke in, saved me, and he killed Corey and I helped him.
What the fuck! And I liked it! I took a life, and I enjoyed it. What does that say about me? What is wrong with me? And what in the actual fuck is wrong with Silas?
He was different back there. The gentle, charming man I spent the evening with was gone, replaced by someone ruthless and violent.
Watching him, it was as if he was possessed.
Like something or someone had taken over his body, and Silas wasn’t Silas anymore.
Yet, I find myself drawn to that side of him as well.
I like both sides of Silas, the light and the dark, and that realization about myself scares me .
After about fifteen minutes of being lost in my thoughts, we are pulling down a long driveway off a gravel road. There aren't many houses this far out of town. Usually, the homes out here are pretty isolated without a neighbor for miles. This home is no exception.
We approach a nice one-story ranch home. It's a simple, unassuming house, but it also feels warm and welcoming. The exterior is brick and well cared for, with a neat lawn and trimmed hedges. It's clear that whoever lives here takes pride in their home.
"Whose house is this?" I ask, curious about where we are and who would own such a place out in the middle of nowhere.
"It's mine," Silas answers as he reaches up to open the garage door with the button on the sun visor.
The garage door slowly rises, and I catch a glimpse of a motorcycle, and an ATV parked inside.
He pulls his truck into the empty garage bay, as the door lowers behind us, closing us off from the outside world.
I sit there, frozen, as Silas hops out of the truck.
The garage is eerily quiet, only adding to my nervousness.
I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do now.
I've never been in a situation like this before.
He walks around and opens my door, his hand extends toward me in a silent offer to help me down.
Slowly, I place my hand in his, feeling a strange mix of emotions as our fingers touch.
I'm nervous, scared, and grateful all at once.
"Come on," he says gently, motioning towards me.
"I'll show you where you can get cleaned up.
" I follow his movement, my eyes landing on my shirt, now crusted over with Corey's dried blood.
I hadn't even noticed it before, too caught up in the night's events.
I feel dirty and disgusting. My breathing speeds up as I begin to panic.
Silas notices my mounting anxiety and places his hand under my chin, gently tilting my head up so that my focus is on him and not on my ruined clothing .
"Hey," he says softly. "Everything is okay. You're safe now. I'll give you something of mine to wear, and I'll take care of our clothes." I’ve never been shown this much concern or tenderness by anyone. It makes me feel strangely comforted, despite the brutality I now know he is capable of.
I manage to nod, and Silas guides me over to a door that will most likely lead us inside his home. He reaches up and retrieves a large black trash bag from a box sitting on a shelf beside the doorway.
My heart begins to race as he starts undressing without an ounce of self-consciousness. Flustered, I turn away to give him some privacy. I hear his low laugh behind me, and despite my embarrassment, I smile.
"It's alright, Char. I'm keeping my boxers on. But I need you to do the same and place your clothes and shoes in this bag with mine."
There's no way I'm undressing in front of him.
I shake my head, ready to insist that he's out of his mind.
But then I turn and find myself speechless.
It's not that he's almost completely naked, it's the ink that covers his body.
Nearly every inch of exposed skin is adorned with intricate tattoos.
Designs weave across his chest and shoulders, spilling down his arms and disappearing beneath the waistband of his boxers. He's a work of art.
I stare, unable to look away, and thankfully he mistakes my amazement for reluctance. This at least saves me from even more embarrassment.
"I'm sorry, I know this is awkward. I have to limit the amount of DNA that could be brought into my home.
It protects you just as much as it protects me.
It's mostly on our clothes so we need to take them off and burn them.
I promise as soon as we are inside, I'll get you something to wear and you can get a shower. "
I nod again, feeling my cheeks burn. I drop my gaze to the concrete garage floor because I can't bring myself to meet Silas's eyes. I force myself to start undressing, first peeling off my shirt, then reaching behind to unhook my bra, my fingers trembling .
"No, you can keep that on," Silas stops me. "And your panties. I'll take those from you once you're inside the bathroom. You can just hand them out to me."
"Thank you." I whisper the words. He didn't have to stop me. He could have taken advantage of the situation, allowing me to undress completely, leaving me vulnerable, but he didn't. He respected my privacy, something else I’ve never experienced before. Not with my mother, and sure as hell not with any of the low life men she brought home. But Silas... He’s different.
I know without a doubt, despite everything I witnessed tonight, I'm safe with him.
Silas opens the door and guides me into the house. When I enter the kitchen, I’m taken aback by how clean it is. It's spotless, a far cry from the cluttered mess I'm used to at home. A lone coffee maker is the only item that takes up space on the pristine kitchen counters.
We continue on, walking through a spacious living room, the minimalist style continuing with dark, masculine vibes.
A large black leather sectional dominates the room, with the only other item in the room being a large TV mounted to the wall.
It's strange to see such a sparse home, devoid of personal touches. No pictures, no mementos, no clutter. This goes beyond keeping a tidy home. This isn’t just tidy, it’s practically barren.
As we move through the house, I notice the same empty feel throughout.
It's as if Silas doesn't want to leave any traces of himself behind.
I feel a twinge of sadness at the absence of family photos or decorations.
It's like Silas doesn't truly live here in his home.
He is just merely existing within its walls.
The lack of personal items makes me wonder if he's trying to hide who he truly is.
"Do you rent this place?" I ask, too curious as to why it feels so impersonal and sparse to not to ask.
"No, it's mine. I own it. "
Next, he leads me down a hallway. When we reach the first door on my right, Silas pauses behind me and reaches inside the doorway. "There is a bathroom here," he tells me as he flips on the light so I can see inside. It's a small half bath, with just a sink and a toilet.
“We are going to the last door on your left.”
I follow his instructions, passing a room to my right, and open the last wooden door.
Stepping inside, I take in the room. A large king-size bed dominates the space, taking center stage.
It's clear this room is very much his, from the dark bedding to the clean lines of the furniture.
Just like the rest of the house, there are no personal touches, except for a vase of white roses on the dresser.
Being inside Silas's bedroom feels like a privilege, an invitation to a part of him that he keeps hidden from the world and no one else sees.
Silas disappears into his walk-in closet, coming out a few moments later. He hands me an oversized t-shirt with the Lancaster Sheriff's Department logo and a pair of black sweatpants.
"Here.” He hands me the stack of clothing. “These should work. They're going to be too big, but that's all I have."
"It's perfect, thank you."
Silas moves us towards the last door in the room and reaches around me to open it, revealing an en-suite bathroom.
"Feel free to use whatever you need in the shower. I'll wait just outside the door. When you're ready, just hand your clothes out, and I'll take care of them." I notice the apology in his eyes as he adds, "Sorry, it's all men's products. I wasn't exactly planning on having a guest."
It’s hard to believe the man offering me his bodywash, being so thoughtful and kind, is the same man who I just watched brutally force glass down someone's throat earlier.
It's like there are two versions of him existing simultaneously.
One filled with darkness and the other with an unexpected softness.
I can't help but wonder which side of him is real, or if they are two halves of a whole—a complicated and troubled whole.
"It's fine, Silas, don't worry about it.
I can guarantee it's better than what I'm used to.
" I offer him a small smile, hoping to reassure him.
My eyes drift to the roses on the dresser.
They are such a contrast to the otherwise stark space.
Then a thought crosses my mind. What if he wasn't the one who put them there?
"Do you live alone?" I ask, motioning towards the flowers. There's a slight hesitation in my voice, unsure if I'm overstepping some boundary with my question.