Chapter 31 #2
“Have you gone up yet?” Silas descended from the stairs, knowing the answer but using the question as a reason to speak to me. He sat next to me on the step, his shoulder nudging mine.
I shook my head and flipped another page.
He plucked the book from my hand, using his thumb to save the page I was on as he flipped the cover.
“The Devoted Friend,” he read. “Did you get tired of medical journals?”
“Yes.” I snatched it back. “I haven’t had the time to build a collection. This one was a gift. I only have time for short stories.”
“If you are receptive to poetry, I could bring some for you.”
“No more gifts.”
“That I cannot promise, unfortunately.” He clicked his tongue against his teeth and shook his head regretfully. “It is impossible to look at you and not shower you in the finest of material things.”
I blew air through my nose in a scoff, standing to ascend the stairs.
“You don’t believe me?” He followed.
“I believe you.” I kept my eyes on my book, but I couldn’t help but smile. “The wording reminded me of when you filled my tub with blood in my inebriated state.”
“Blood is liquid gold! I couldn’t think of something more perfect than the only two things that could satiate a terrible thing like me,” he joked.
“Amusing.”
“I live to please. I am sure I would have been a jester in another time.”
“So we both agree that you are a fool?”
“It is good to know that your tongue didn’t get dull while I was away.”
“I sharpened it just for you.”
“I expected nothing less,” he laughed, watching ahead as girls fluttered in and out of the rooms, organizing their things and making our new dwelling as much of a home as it could be. “They look happy.”
“Not everyone.”
“Your mood is always glum.”
“I am the reason they’re in danger.”
“You cannot control where the corrupted wander; there is nothing you could have done.”
“I could have taken the deal earlier.”
“You were considering your options, like a good leader.”
“I was being selfish,” I muttered, underlining a string of words on the paper as I climbed the third flight of stairs.
“You were acting on self-preservation.”
“Why are you defending me?” I snapped at him, peeling my eyes from the ink on the page.
“Because I know you,” he said plainly. “An immediate acceptance was not what I expected from you. I know better than to expect you to roll over so easily.”
“How curious. You are the only man I know who would chase this hard after being rejected in every way possible.” I laughed, but I was angry. “You are even self-aware that you are not wanted.”
“You are stubborn; you’re punishing yourself.”
“Punishing myself by staying away from you? Do not flatter yourself.” I scoffed as I opened the door to the flat on the top floor.
The brass doorknob was so new it was gold to the touch as I turned it, the hinges of the door producing a low moan as it opened.
“You deny yourself pleasure and happiness because you feel there are others who are more deserving,” he chimed from behind me, and I looked back at him.
Just the action itself made him keep going.
“You think of yourself as an exception. Women should be treasured, but not you—you don’t deserve it.
Women are weak and need protection, but not you—you are strong and capable, of course.
God forbid Alina is caught soft like cotton before she is spun taut enough to tether ships.
” He appeared almost bored despite the violence of his words.
“You are just trying to be hurtful.”
Silas leaned against the doorframe, effortless as he continued his badgering.
“You are a misogynist, no different than any man, and you are robbing yourself of life’s most beautiful pleasures because you cannot but keep punishing yourself for being born a woman, and nothing being made for you in this world.
You burden yourself with the world’s problems, only to mirror them in your frustration. ”
I threw the book at him, but it hit the wall instead when he moved, consequently shattering something.
He looked at me, victorious at the ruse. He nodded as if in understanding and retreated down the hall.
My attention was drawn to the glass on the floor. What a mess.
I hastily knelt beside it, plucking the shards from the floor on top of the photograph like a tray. The figures of the girls and I were bent and warped under the pile of glass.
Quickly, I salvaged what I could and set it on the table.
Wait . . . table?
I expected an empty floor plan, a blank canvas. I realized there was a reason that Silas asked if I had come upstairs recently.
The once-desolate open floor plan of the main room was decorated similarly to my shop. Dark wood furniture was spread around the room, creating many smaller collections of furniture as if to make as many nooks as possible.
In the kitchen, there was a circular table next to a window, with a couple of chairs around it. In a crystal bowl in the middle, there were oranges. I did not have to count them to know there would be thirteen.
On the other side of the room, a bench had been placed in front of a window, a bookshelf on either side of the bench to create a nook. A tea table was placed in front of the bench with a vase on top.
Along the walls were collections of things to fill the space. There were dried flowers, framed illustrations of poisonous plants of North America, and other little curios he must have found at a market.
Several collections of furniture littered the space, neatly separated by the rugs they were positioned upon. He had chosen sage green, dark wood, and brass for most of the furnishings. I suppose it was to match the best part of the room.
Directly opposite the front door was the observatory that protruded out of the wall like an oversized bay window.
He had filled it with monstera, Dracaena, anthurium, and assorted fig shrubs.
It reminded me of the botanical gardens.
There was a couch or chair on each of the three walls of the glass room, a table in the middle with an ashtray and a lighter.
Plants hung in the corners and were placed on the floor or side tables, depending on their size.
The greenery was what I craved the most every winter.
I was the last person who deserved this. It felt like I had sold something valuable for material nothings.
I plopped down on the couch and buried my face in a decorative pillow, lying down with my knees pulled to my chest. I screamed into the suede before it turned into a sob. My body shook, but it was not from the cold.
My mind screamed at me to keep him far away, but my heart wanted him to comfort me, to hold me, to hide away from the world with me in the home he had made to cage me.
Before I knew it, I had soothed myself to sleep where I lay.
I came back to consciousness at the click of the door. Phoebe approached with a bowl.
“Apologies, I didn’t know you were asleep.” She was a bit distracted by the details of my room. “I brought soup.”
“I didn’t realize how long I slept; I would have joined you.” I sat up and wiped a bit of dried drool from my face.
“It was a long day,” Phoebe commented and sat on the floor in front of the tea table, opposite me. She slid the bowl toward me along with a spoon. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
“Truly?”
“No,” I grumbled.
“What did he do this time?”
“He bombards me with shiny things in hopes of distracting me from his foul play,” I huffed. “He is insufferable.”
“Right,” she said slowly.
“Then—then—he has the audacity to judge me for not trusting his intentions. Can you believe it?”
“I cannot.” She pressed her lips into a fine line, as if she were biting her tongue.
“Say it,” I demanded. “I know there is something you wish to say.”
“I think . . .” She paused to choose her words carefully.
“You know well that I am no fan of my brother, but with my knowledge of his distasteful spirit, in my own judgment, he may actually be concerned for you. No matter how questionable his methods, he rarely does much for anyone other than himself.”
I stirred the pieces of vegetables and potatoes in the broth, watching the oil swirl at the top.
“You are angry,” she huffed. “You told me to say what was on my mind.”
“I am not angry.”
“Then why are you not saying anything?”
“Forget it,” I conceded.
“You must understand me clearly. I do not believe you to be broken. You are traumatized by him, and in turn, also myself. It makes sense that your mind is trying to adjust, just like it did, knowing my nature. You need time. You are not obligated to accept change quickly, especially from him.”
“Then why does it feel like I am holding everyone back?”
“You are moving us forward, not backward.” She put her hand on my leg and squeezed. “We wouldn’t have what we have now without you. No one is angry with you for things out of your control. We are all grateful, the girls only speak about you in admiration and awe.”
“That is a lie.”
“It is not! I swear on it!”
“You are just trying to make me feel better.”
“You missed the most amusing banter at dinner.” She grinned, but her throat bobbed in a thick swallow, as if to make the question brewing disappear.
“What is it?”
“Luka,” she sighed. “The girls are asking. They can’t get a good read on him or you. Do we tell them if he is a friend or foe?”
“Tell them they’re not to let him feed,” I said carefully. “He can scavenge in the town, not that any local Guilds will take a stranger.”
Phoebe nodded and took in the new surroundings, watching the snow flutter by the panes of foggy glass. She moved from the floor to my side on the couch.
“Anything else?”
She bit her lip and shook her head.
“Phoebe,” I winced, “what is it?”
“Nothing!”
“Phoebe!”
“It’s nothing to worry about!” she laughed. “Just . . . the wedding is a high point of discussion.”
My only response was to grimace, taking another mouthful of soup. It burned my tongue in an attempt to delay a response.