Chapter 5 #2
Our eyes met, and he smiled at me. His cold touch pushed my hair behind my ears.
I thought he was going to kiss me, and I’d held my breath in preparation for it.
But through a level of respect I’d never known a teenager to have, he didn’t.
He stared at me for only a moment—the sweetest moment.
And he paid me a compliment. “You’ve got beautiful eyes. ”
“What, all sad and teary?” I laughed, trying to take away the pain inside, trying to force it out.
“They don’t look like that all the time.” Woodrow’s fingers shifted into my lap, into my clasped hands nestled on the flowered cotton of my dress. He got to his feet and pulled me from the ground. “Come on, let me cheer you up.”
“How?” I asked, praying that it be possible.
“We’ll find Ness, then go for a picnic. You’re probably starving, seeing as she ran off with the cookies.”
“I don’t like them anyway,” I voiced as our hands parted.
“I asked if you wanted something different?” He looked down at me as I stood at his side. He was so tall. I wasn’t exactly short, but he was a good half a foot taller.
“I didn’t want to be ungrateful.”
“You shouldn’t have to be hungry, either.” He smiled again. Each time I saw the curve of his mouth—the shine of white teeth—I felt a little more at home. I felt safe, even as he guided me through the darkness.
The sandals on my feet proved to be a bigger nuisance than they had been for the entire day. I’d fallen over them multiple times, as they were a size too big. Wynter, for a very small woman, had boats for feet.
I hit the floor, shocked by the pain of landing awkwardly on the roots of a tree. I dwelled in my pain, glued to the ground.
Woodrow moved closer; a new expression sat on his face.
Hunger, a different kind to mine. His eyes lingered on the exposure of my lace thong.
But he blinked away anything he was feeling, stretching out his arm, with the same respect as before.
“I guess I’ll have to keep a hold of you this time.
” He laughed, pulling me to my feet, before asking if I was okay.
We sat a small distance from the water’s edge. The daisies brought me peace as their signature scent wrapped around me.
Nessie and I were eating the remainder of the picnic. She had also devoured half of the packet of cookies before Woodrow and I found her, huddled in some grove, just as he’d suspected.
She was starting to get bored now, so she up and left, moving to the peaceful stream, a hand full of potato chips in her tiny fist.
It was no longer morning; midday had crept up on us and left without so much as a hello.
I sat on a pink towel, not a blanket. It was Nessie’s—the life-size dolls printed into the design were quite the giveaway.
I feasted on a giant sandwich, toasted and delicious. My fingers struggled to catch the falling contents that tried their best not to be eaten.
“Is it good?”
“It’s so good,” I spoke with a full mouth, again, forgetting the manners I’d once been taught.
A dazzling smile moved back to his lips before the view was blocked by the banana he was about to consume.
“Do you want to try some?”
“I can’t.” His response was vague, like his expression—his pretty smile had faded to nothing.
“Does it hurt to eat?” I asked, purely through curiosity. I covered my mouth as I spoke, unable to stop eating for a single second when the taste was so good.
“Heavier foods do.”
“Were you born with it?” I asked, before realizing, he probably didn’t want to talk about it, or he would have, without me prodding him for answers.
“No. I was fine until around four or five years ago.”
“Do you miss food, like the foods you could eat back then?”
“I do. . . but I’d probably miss living a little more if I were to choke to death, who knows.” He shrugged off such a serious statement.
I frowned at him, while dissecting my sandwich, wondering if any of it would be safe for him to eat without him choking to death.
I pulled out the tiniest piece of pepperoni—a piece my teeth had already cut into and ripped apart.
“Open your mouth,” I whispered, moving on my knees to close the small gap between us.
“I don’t eat meat.”
“You’re vegetarian?”
“For the animals.”
“Wow, that’s certainly a dedication to your love for them.” I dropped back, resting my weight against my feet. “Let me guess, you’d like to be a vet?”
“Maybe. . . but I don’t think that will happen. My dad wants me to work with him. . . doing whatever it is he does.”
“But you don’t want to do that?” I asked, eyebrows raised. I didn’t wait for his answer. I didn’t need to; I already knew it. “You should do what makes you happy. A good parent will understand.”
“He isn’t a good parent.” Woodrow’s mood dropped, along with his now slouching shoulders.
I didn’t know how to respond. I could see why Woodrow would have an issue with his father, and sure, the guy gave me the ick, but I couldn’t comment on it. It wasn’t my place.
I placed the pepperoni on my tongue and sucked the flavor free until it tasted of nothing, and then I swallowed.
I lifted one piece of bread from the small chunk I had left of my sandwich, and I searched for something else I could offer him.
He’d packed it, layering multiple types of meat on a hummus bed, snuggled in with veggies.
I pulled out a carrot—thinly cut. I rolled it in the hummus for a little more flavor.
I placed my sandwich on a napkin at my side and edged forward.
Woodrow stared at the carrot in my fingers as it moved closer to his lips, and he lowered the banana, opening his mouth.
“Is it hard?” he asked, pulling back slightly.
“Nope.” I emphasized the flimsiness with a light shake, and he opened wider for me.
I placed the food on his tongue and gave him space, knowing he’d be hiding the action of him swallowing it any second.
His eyes closed, taking in the flavor, of what, to most people, would be considered bland food. He chewed for what felt like half an eternity before his hand moved to his throat, and he swallowed.
“Was it good?”
“So good,” he repeated my words. “Everything my mother makes for me is overcooked. I don’t know if she does it for my well-being or to spite me.” He laughed, but again, it hurt him, in more ways than one.
“Lots of teenagers have issues with their parents.” I tried to understand, but I couldn’t.
“Yeah. . . hopefully they’ll grow out of it.” He winked at me. He’d have laughed again if he could have.
But he couldn’t. So, I did it for him.
Woodrow’s steel gaze fixed behind me, fascination glowed on his face under the sunlight.
I turned in the direction of his gaze. A bunny, cute and fluffy, perched itself at the side of our basket, chewing on the leafy greens of our picnic.
I was scared to move; scared in case I’d scare it and it fell to a watery death.
“Move slowly.” Woodrow’s bright smile landed on me, and I felt heat radiate from him.
The excitement on his face was contagious, and it had me focusing on how damn cute I thought he was. Woodrow, not the bunny, but sure, the bunny was cute, too.
It took me a minute to pull my eyes off Woodrow.
I’d known the guy for two days, and somehow, I’d already developed a crush on this toyboy.
Younger guys weren’t what I usually went for, but he enchanted me with his pretty eyes and quips.
The issues with his throat, which his family saw as an eyesore, didn’t bother me, and neither did his lack of muscle.
To me, he was perfect. My perfect distraction.
The bunny hopped past me to Woodrow, who was waving a bigger leaf in its direction. The small cross, dangling from the rosary necklace looped around his wrist, jingled as he offered the gift from the salad bowl we’d barely touched.
The small animal jumped straight into the space between his lanky crossed legs and rested there, accepting the leaf as a gift of their newfound friendship.
“Oh, my gosh! Oh, my gosh!” Nessie rushed over, all excited and high-pitched, splashing water everywhere.
But the bunny didn’t startle.
It found comfort under Woodrow’s touch as he gently stroked its soft coat.
“Shh. . . you’ll scare it off.” He smiled at his sister, giving her instructions that she happily followed.
Nessie looked at me as she plumped down at my side; her white dress dirtied by her enjoyment of the outside world. “Woodrow is really good with animals. One time, Daddy shot a dear, but it ran off. Woodrow found it; he saved it.”
“How?” I asked, wondering if he had powers to do more than enchant.
“He wrapped up its leg in a bandage. The deer let him do it. It didn’t even bite. He wants to be a vet.”
I watched as he swallowed, his hand leaving the bunny for a second to cover his throat. But he was too late.
Nessie grabbed his fingers, closing hers around them. “You don’t have to hide. I won’t tell Momma.”
He blinked twice, agreeing. Gratitude in a silent message.
Nessie smiled back. Her little hand rubbed the bunny’s fur. Her clammy skin wasn’t as calming as Woodrow’s soft touch, which the bunny was already craving.
“Can we keep him?”
“Don’t tell Daddy,” Woodrow whispered. “You know how he feels about animals.”
Silver eyes moved to me. Woodrow’s hands moved again through the fur of his new friend. He relaxed a little, finding peace in this unplanned session with the apparent therapy animal.
Fuck, maybe I needed to find myself a bunny, too.
“I won’t tell.” I wouldn’t tell Ville anything.
Any secrets Woodrow had, I was happy to share. Happy to keep.
“Where is the bunny going to live?” Nessie interrupted our moment.
“Shall we build him a hutch, near our den?” Woodrow suggested.
“Yes! Yes, yes, yes! I love that idea!”
“Go collect some wood. I’ll get some nails from Daddy’s shed.”
“Okay!” She rushed off on her search, racing like she knew exactly where to look.
Woodrow stood, bunny in arms. His hand down, his fingers spread, ready to pull me from the ground. “Are you coming?”
In the last moments, watching him with Nessie, and seeing how much love she had for him, I struggled to understand how a monster who they both feared lived inside him.
Maybe I shouldn’t have trusted him.
Maybe I should have kept my distance.
But I didn’t. I reached for his hand, and I enjoyed the feeling as our skin touched.