13. Ophelia #2
He pauses and stares at me. I sense his gaze flick to the side of my face with the scar, then rest back on my eyes.
I’ve always had slightly different colored eyes.
People assume it’s something to do with my injury, but I looked this way before I was hurt.
It’s called heterochromia, and it’s more common than people think—especially in people with blue eyes.
It’s just a genetic mutation that means I produce more melanin in one eye than the other, but it still adds to me feeling like I’m different than everyone else.
When I was little, I didn’t even think about it, because it was just who I was, but as I got older, I became more aware of how I didn’t look the same as everyone else.
Some people have one blue eye and one brown, but my case is more like I have one albino eye, which is an extremely ice-blue color.
I suspect how I look is part of the reason I was taken.
I hate to think of it, but it comes rushing back to me, and I can smell him, hear his voice, see his thin lips break into a smile.
He saw this girl with white-blonde hair and eyes that were two different colors and decided it must mean something.
He was always seeing meaning in things that really meant nothing.
A particular species of bird crossing his path meant we weren’t allowed to wash on a Friday, or the rain falling on a particular day indicated we should all fast for the next forty-eight hours.
I can look back now and understand, at least in part, how crazy it sounds, but at that time, we believed he had a direct line with God, and if we didn’t do as God commanded, we’d be jeopardizing our eternal soul.
“This is new.” Cain lifts his hand and cups my cheek. The air freezes in my lungs at his touch.
If Malachi touching me had been worryingly exciting, this is overwhelming. He’s my childhood friend, and his touch is both familiar, but oh-so-different, too. His hand is rough in places, with callouses, I think. Does he work with his hands like the men in the commune did?
I can’t speak as he holds my cheek so softly and gently as if it’s a baby bird in his grasp. His thumb brushes over the raised, twisted scar running down the side of my face. When he speaks next, his voice is thick like he’s choking on something.
“Who did this to you, Angel?”
Angel. My heart slams against the cage it’s housed in, that name hitting my emotions deep. The way he says it is full of so much angst, too. As if he can’t bear to see the scar. Does he think it’s ugly? I hate the idea. I don’t say anything in reply to his question.
His jaw clamps shut, the muscles twitching. He stares into my eyes as though he expects to read the answer in my gaze.
My breath catches in my lungs and my eyes fill with tears. I can’t answer him, not yet. I’m not ready to speak about it. Not with him, of all people. There’s something between us that feels deep and wide, like a canyon, and if I step any farther toward the edge of it, I risk falling in.
I’ve already told Camile more details than I’ve told Cain, but for some reason it felt easier talking to her. Maybe it should be easier to speak to Cain, since we already know each other, but perhaps it’s because my relationship with Camile is a blank slate that makes talking to her simpler.
His touch on my face feels incredibly intimate—maybe even more so than if he was kissing me. His skin is warm and dry, and I want to lean into it, to press my cheek into his palm and close my eyes and just be with him.
A male voice hisses in my ear. Sinner! Fornicator! You’ll burn forever!’
With a yelp, I yank away from Cain, dislodging his touch. I practically fall off the bed in my hurry to get away.
I hate myself for reacting this way. Cain’s face twists in hurt, his eyebrows drawing down over his gaze.
How can I possibly explain to Cain that it isn’t him?
That it’s the voice of the man who once ruled my life with threats of eternal damnation.
I spent my most formative years being told he knew every thought that went on inside my head, and I can’t shake the belief that he’s always with me.
Always knowing. Always seeing. I know it’s crazy to still hear him, but I do.
“Ophelia, what’s wrong?” Cain gets to his feet, confusion across his handsome face.
A tear spills down my cheek. “Please, just go. I can’t do this.”
He seems distraught. “Fucking hell, Fee. I hate that someone hurt you.”
Automatically, I lift my hand and cover the side of my face with the scar, hiding it from him.
His blue eyes narrow, his lips thinning.
He shakes his head. “I swear, if I ever find the person who did this to you, he’ll be the one who’ll end up with a cut face.
I’ll take a blade to the inside of his mouth and cut up through his cheek so he ends up with a Joker’s smile.
” Cain mimes the action of what he wants to do, pulling his balled fist up along the side of his face.
He must see my eyes widen in horror as his expression morphs from fury to dismay. He reaches toward me. “Shit, I’m so sorry. That was too much.”
I shake my head, unable to cope with him being so angry. He scares me this way. Men do when they get angry because I know bad things can happen. “Please, just go, Cain.”
I’m scared but also mortified at my reactions to everything that’s happening. I know I’m acting like an idiot, but I can’t help the way I feel, and I still find it hard to regulate my emotions and my responses. Right now, I want Cain to go and let me have some time to decompress.
“Can I at least take your cell number? I’d really like us to stay in touch.”
I can give him that much. I take my phone out of my pocket, pull up the contact I have set as ‘me,’ and hand it to him.
He flashes me a tiny smile. “Thanks.” He copies the number into his own phone and drop calls mine. “So you have my number, too,” he explains. “In case you need it.”
He hands me the phone back, and I nod. “Thank you.”
My cheeks and chest are flushed with heat, and I know I must be glowing.
It’s one problem with being so pale—when I’m embarrassed, I light up like a red bulb.
I also know that it makes my scar stand out more than normal.
And on top of that, I still hear his voice, speaking as though he’s standing right behind me, whispering in my ear.
Who am I trying to kid by thinking I can come somewhere like Verona Falls and fit in with all the other students?
I’m a complete freak, and everyone will find out about it.
The longer I stay, the more people will see the real me, and they won’t like her.
I can see it now in Cain’s eyes as he slowly backs away from me, his hands raised, then he turns and leaves.