8. Six
Six
Creed
Eden’s a quick learner. Being isolated all this time, some might assume she’s lacking in the intelligence department, but I know better. There’s a fire burning behind those eyes; a cleverness just waiting to be tapped into.
When I asked if she wanted to learn sign language, I was prepared to be let down. It took Cecil and I over a year to teach ourselves, so I realize it’s a lot of work. Not to mention, getting caught speaking with your hands can have deadly consequences nowadays.
Imagine my surprise when Eden eagerly nodded and folded her hands in her lap, the picture of a perfect student.
Which leads us to now, some odd hours later. We stopped a few times; once for lunch and twice for bathroom breaks. I can tell she’s thrilled to put her mind to work; it could probably use it after the time she spent locked away.
She already has the alphabet down, which is a major improvement.
We can at least communicate with fingerspelling.
Her movements are slow and choppy, her hands not as deft as mine, but the determination is there.
We’ve made a game of it: I spell a word and she writes it on the notepad.
Pride swells in my chest with each correct answer.
The more I praise her, the rosier her cheeks get.
Has anyone ever told her how intelligent she is?
I begin the next word, “B-R-O-T-”
As if he were summoned into existence, Cecil appears in the doorway behind Eden. I jump to my feet, looking guilty as Hell. I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong, but my brother will more than likely disagree with that.
Undeterred by the chilly weather, my brother wears a plain black t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans, the veins in his arms bulging with whatever strenuous activities he fills his days with. I narrow my eyes at that. He narrows his in return.
Yeah, I’m in trouble.
He saunters around to stand in front of Eden, and she flinches when he reaches for her. My nostrils flare. He takes the notebook from her grasp, eyes roaming the page. After a moment, he tosses it onto the sofa and turns his glare back to me.
“You’re getting attached.”
My brother, always so blunt.
I scoff, straightening my spine in an attempt to exude confidence. He’s still taller by a few inches, so I raise my chin. His eyebrow quirks, bemused.
“I am not! Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Really? You’re teaching her to sign.” He motions to the notebook and then to Eden. “She is not a pet for you to play with. I told you that once I have a plan, she’s out of here. You’re only going to get your hopes up. And hers.”
My brother has always spoken to me like a child. I never take it personally because I know he’s looking out for me, but this time my frustration mounts past a point where I can smother it. Not only are we talking about a real person, but she’s sitting right there.
“Not a pet? Aren’t you the one that tied her up?”
The more I sign, the more his anger rolls over me in waves. But I’m in too deep, so I carry on.
“You left me in the house with her, what did you expect me to do?” Cecil’s shoulders rise with an exasperated breath, but he doesn’t answer. “She was trapped in that attic. Doesn’t that bother you?”
His jaw ticks as he watches me, the blaze in his eyes no doubt matching my own. It’s times like these where I think we most resemble one another.
Eden sits perfectly still on the couch, eyeing my brother like he might strike at any moment. On the other hand, he doesn’t even spare her a glance. That infuriates me more.
Nervous, Eden fists at my shirt that she’s wearing and stands. Before she can so much as lift a foot in the direction of the doorway, Cecil’s arm snaps out and he jabs an index finger towards her. Lips stretching over clenched teeth, I make out the command,
“Sit.”
The word might as well smack her in the forehead for the way she stumbles back and plops into the seat. This time, her eyes stay on the floor.
My hackles rise. I approach my brother, shoving him back with my palms on his chest. We’re both surprised by my actions, but there’s no taking it back. I’ve chosen my side.
“What is your problem? She didn’t do anything wrong!”
He shakes his head incredulously. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You don’t know what’s at risk—”
“Maybe I would if you would tell me what is going on!” I cut in hastily. My chest heaves on frustrated breaths. This is an argument we’ve had often throughout my adult years, but it’s never involved anyone else. It’s uncharted territory, and I don’t know how far he’s going to let me push him.
“There are things I cannot tell you, not even if I wanted to. I won’t have this discussion again.
If you wanna play house with this girl, fine.
But it will not last. Getting close to her…
” He pauses to shake his head. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
” With that, my brother exits the room the same way he came in.
That went somehow worse than I was anticipating. I’m teaching the girl to talk, not telling her our deepest secrets. Even if I did confide in her, I hardly know enough to tell. Cecil says it all the time: the less I know, the better.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I dig my palms into the sockets, attempting to relieve some of the tension.
My brother’s words hold more weight than I would like, and I struggle to ignore them.
There’s nothing I can do about the situation right now, other than make the best of my time with Eden.
Who knows, maybe Cecil will change his mind and the three of us can stay here together.
She could use our help, and I could use someone to talk to other than my shitdick of a brother.
I drop my arms and approach the couch, my socks sliding along the ancient area rug.
Her eyes are still downcast, her expression vacant.
It’s unsettling how she disappears into her own mind.
Yesterday, I thought my brother had choked her, but he insisted that she fainted.
At the time I thought he was full of shit, but now I’m unsure.
It could be a coping mechanism her brain conjured up to protect her from whatever hellish things she’s endured.
I squat down until we’re eye level with one another. Her black hair hangs like a curtain over her face, serving as a lousy line of defense. The eye that peeks through flickers up to mine, and I’m shocked to see… remorse?
With her left hand, she raises it to her chest and practices a new word.
“Sorry."
The tension in the air is so thick, I think if I picked up my steak knife and threw it across the room, it would bounce back and stab me. With how miserable I am, I’d welcome a good ol’ stabbing.
For reasons beyond me, Cecil insisted on eating dinner at the table with Eden and I.
Even when she tried to escape with her plate, one pointed look from my brother had her tucking her tail between her legs and joining us at the kitchen island.
The dining room seemed too formal, with its engraved wood and ornate place settings.
However, if it meant avoiding my brother’s hovering gray cloud, I would eat at a table with eleven empty chairs.
I want so badly to ask Eden if she’s enjoying the dinner.
Something as simple as mac and cheese is out of place in the cynical setting of this house.
The idea of her father carrying a bowl of elbow shaped pasta past that creepy painting and up the attic stairs would make me laugh if it wasn’t so depressing.
The way she’s pushing it around with her fork suggests she’s never had it.
While I bounce my leg and Eden withdraws into her shell, Cecil is cool as a cucumber. He periodically tosses his dark hair out of his face, or wipes his mouth with the napkin. The epitome of nonchalance.
Bastard.
Once dinner concludes, Cecil takes all of our dishes to the sink. I gape at his back. I’m gonna need a neck brace with the whiplash he’s giving me. At least I don’t have to clean up.
With Cecil’s back turned, Eden turns her attention to me and stares, waiting for direction of what to do. It’s not late, but there’s not much to do once the sun sets.
“You b-e-d,” I spell slowly. Her head bobs once and she pushes her chair back, but Cecil must speak, because her head whips towards him.
There’s a flicker of apprehension that crosses her features before she heads to the sink.
My brother points to a rag on the counter.
She begins drying the dishes, placing them in the cupboard.
Of course he’s going to boss her around. She’s not in a position where she can deny him and he knows that.
Approaching them, I attempt to snag the rag from her. Cecil grabs her wrist before she can hand it over, and the blood drains from her face. My thoughts drift to how I held her face earlier today. She didn’t have that expression from my touch. If anything, she calmed.
And yeah, I feel a little smug.
“I can help with the dishes,” I say, reaching for the rag again. He doesn’t release her arm. Eden looks like she might be sick from the tug of war.
Cecil looks down his nose at me, displaying his authority. The humiliation of how easily he bosses me around infuriates me even more. My eyes itch to roll into the back of my head.
“No, you made dinner. If she’s going to stay, she’s going to contribute.”
“This is her house, we’re the ones who—” I begin, the argument dying as soon as it came.
His gaze holds no room for negotiation and I deflate.
Making her do chores is a walk in the park compared to what he’s capable of, so I concede without another word.
Eden doesn’t look too upset, anyway. Nervous? Definitely. Terrified? No.
Baby steps.
“Get ready for bed. I’ll keep an eye on her.” With that, Cecil turns his back to me and I have been thoroughly dismissed.
I begrudgingly head out of the kitchen, pausing before I turn for the stairs. Itching for one last look at Eden, I glance back.
It’s not her expression that catches my attention. Brows furrowed, jaw tight, Cecil traces every inch of her with his gaze.
As I lie in bed that night, it hits me that the look wasn’t one of anger or contempt. Not even close.
And that scares me even more.