9. Seven
Seven
Eden
Dreary days bleed into a gray lump of time.
Before I know it, a month has passed since Creed found me.
Time moved so slowly up there that it flies by nowadays.
Being stuck here with another person is far more exciting than being alone.
Getting to spend time with Creed, getting to know him, is the happiest I’ve ever felt.
He’s introduced me to a whole new world.
Every day, Creed prepares our meals. Cecil will walk through the door with armfuls of groceries every week or so, but all the cooking is left to the younger of the two.
Papa hated cooking. We survived on simple meals—bland and colorless, same as my life here. Hot meals were few and far between. I didn’t even know good food existed until I met Creed.
As a result, I’ve quickly put on weight.
The changes in my body are fascinating. Before my baths, I’ll stand in the mirror and trace my curves.
I’m still slight and tall, but I look like a woman.
My hips flare out and my cheeks are appley, squinting my eyes when I smile.
It’s lovely, and I think of all the ways my father would chastise me if he could see how vain I’ve become.
Part of me is overwhelmed by the changes I see in myself. I’ve never felt so alive.
My vocabulary in Creed’s language grows by the day, and we’re able to hold conversations with minimal finger spelling. I don’t say much, adjusting to the addition of a companion. It’s bizarre that someone actually wants to know my thoughts.
I find myself wishing I’d known him all my life, and sometimes it feels like I have.
While our friendship has blossomed, there hasn’t been much progress with Cecil. He refuses to sign to me, so when he speaks, his brother is left out of the conversation. It bothers me almost as much as it does Creed.
Though Cecil is gone most of the day, we’ve gotten into a nightly routine.
After dinner, we stand hip to hip at the sink and I help him clean.
On the off chance that he does speak to me, it’s usually a comment on my dish washing and drying abilities.
You missed a spot, there’s still water in that glass, blah blah blah.
I don’t ever reply. The man scares me almost as much as my father did, but the fact that he’s handsome takes the intimidation and turns it on its head, creating an emotion that I don’t have a name for.
Speaking of Papa, I’m beginning to accept that he isn’t coming back.
Whether he died or abandoned me doesn’t matter.
What matters is the shame I feel, because I’m relieved.
How terrible am I? In the first week, I would try to explain to Creed that they couldn’t stay here and that my father would punish all of us.
Each time, he would shrug and tell me Cecil had it under control.
Despite the strange circumstances and the depth of Cecil’s disdain for me, I trust that these men wouldn’t lock me away again. And for now, that’s enough.
Each day is colder than the last, and today marks the first snow of the season.
Creed and I stand at the window, shoulder to shoulder, eyes trailing flurries that chase each other along the breeze.
The warmth of our breath creates growing ovals of fog.
His childlike glee is contagious—I can’t help but shoot him a smile of my own.
“Today is the day, little bird.” There’s a twinkle in his eyes.
My smile is gone as quickly as it came.
“Not today, maybe tomorrow,” I respond, crossing my arms over my chest and avoiding eye contact.
“That’s what you said yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that. And the—-” I swat at his hands. His lower lip protrudes. “Please? You can’t hide in here forever. When’s the last time you went on a walk in the snow?”
My mouth tugs down in the corners. I tilt my head to the side as I ponder his question. The last time I was in the snow was probably… I don’t know. He reads my expression, and his eyes soften.
“I’ll stay right beside you.” Creed nudges his shoulder into mine to emphasize his promise, and my resolve slips.
“I don’t even have the right clothes,” I begin, my response enough to have Creed whooping and clapping his hands. We both know he’s won. It was only a matter of time; he’s been on me about this since our third day together.
The floorboards squeak around us as he scoops me into a hug. He jumps up and down, making me woozy. I grin despite myself. It’s so hard for me to be angry with this boy—how does his brother manage it?
Creed sets me on my feet and smacks a wet sounding kiss to my forehead. He’s so amped up, he doesn’t even show offense when I cringe and wipe it away.
“I’ve got an extra coat upstairs. Don’t move!” He says before racing towards his bedroom, each of his footsteps rattling the candelabras that adorn the foyer table.
Less than five minutes later, I’m drowning in an oversized puffy jacket. He pulls the hood up over my head and I'm fully aware that I look ridiculous. Dressed in his cotton pants, my old lace up boots, and a coat from his closet, I’m like a child playing dress up.
The way he bites at the inside of his cheek to stifle a chuckle proves my point. I raise my middle finger between us, a gesture he taught me last week. He barks out a laugh and uses his index finger to boop me on the nose.
“You ready?” He asks, satisfied with the amount of layers he’s forced me into. I’m not ready in the slightest, but I force a thumbs up.
Creed opens the door. The crisp breeze makes my eyes water and steals the breath from my lungs.
It’s the first taste of real, fresh air that I’ve had in years.
It’s pleasant for a short moment, and then it’s too much.
It’s like a shock to my system. The blinding white is such a stark contrast from the dark tones of the house.
My pulse roars in my ears and I retreat a step.
A warm hand wraps around mine and I falter, looking to the boy next to me.
So patient, so kind, I think if there is a God then he must have sent Creed to me.
What I’ve done to deserve him, though, I have no idea.
If only he knew what I was capable of, he would never touch someone like me. Selfishly, I hope he never finds out.
Without releasing my hand, he tosses his chin towards the yard.
I want so badly to please him, that I feel my feet moving forward while my brain scrambles to catch up.
Snow crunches beneath my boots and I’m mesmerized by the impressions in the white powder.
They will fade soon enough, but for now, it’s my stamp on the world.
Slowly but surely, we make our way down the porch steps and wander through the field that leads to the pond. My free hand grazes through the brittle weeds, scratching against my palm.
When I was small, I would come and watch the fish beneath the surface.
I never tried to catch them, too worried that I would scare them and lose their trust. My father thought that you show love by possession, or control.
I’ve never felt that way. If you care for something, the kindest thing you can do is let it be.
We spend the better part of an hour wandering the grounds.
The property is shrouded by the shadowed woods, save for the north side where the driveway is.
I’ve never even traveled to the end of it, so I don’t have a clue where it leads.
Considering Cecil’s grocery trips, there must be a town somewhere nearby.
The possibility of me leaving is higher than ever with Papa’s absence. I should want to, shouldn’t I? So why am I so afraid?
The sun has begun to kiss the horizon and our lips are violet from the cold, so we make our way back to the house. His hand never strays from mine. It feels so natural, like he’s the other half that I’ve waited my whole life for.
Creed breaks my thoughts with a tug, spinning me around.
“Last one to the kitchen has to peel potatoes.” Mischief twinkles in his green eyes.
I tap my finger to my chin, feigning uninterest before shoving him away and hightailing it towards the porch.
I may not be very fast, but my legs are long and my determination gives me an advantage.
A squeal of delight is trapped behind my teeth as I round the house.
I chance a look behind me to see how far Creed is, and the moment I turn forward again, I smack directly into the hard wall of someone’s body.
The air whooshes out of my lungs and I throw my hands up.
Desperate not to fly backwards, my fingers find purchase in the collar of a shirt.
There’s really only one person it can belong to.
Holding my breath, my gaze follows a sharp jawline, deliberately avoiding his eyes. Large palms are wrapped around my elbows, and he very slowly inches me back. Even after I wrench my fingers from their hold on him, Cecil holds my arms tight.
With nowhere to go, I’m forced to look up. His lips are turned down, but I’ll take that over a full-fledged scowl. We’re so close that I feel his warm breath against my hairline. It smells like cinnamon, and my stomach flips.
“You’re outside.” His voice is quiet, husky. Like he’s telling me a secret. In my peripheral vision, Creed comes to a halt and tentatively watches our interaction. His expression probably looks a lot like my own. Struck dumb with anxiety.
With my arms trapped, I can’t respond.
“Hmm. Good.” With that, he releases me and brings the hood back up over my head. I’m aware that my lips have parted and I’m gawking at the man, but I can’t get myself to stop. This bizarre gentleness is more intimidating than the disdain.
The moment Cecil’s inside, Creed is asking if I’m alright, worrying over me like a mother hen.
“I’m fine,” I reassure him, not able to take my eyes off the window that Cecil passes by.
Creed shakes his head and starts climbing the steps.
“What the hell was that?” He asks no one in particular.
I was wondering the same thing.