Chapter 19 #2
She giggles, and I’ve decided that it’s my new favorite sound.
“Have you ever been to any of the places you’ve read about? I mean, when you were alive.”
I hate to admit it, but my world was pretty small. It always has been.
“No,” I answer honestly. “I grew up here, and I died here. Back then, it was a lot harder to travel, and you only did it if absolutely necessary. This house and this land are all I’ve ever known.”
“So, you were here way before they started building paranormal towns,” she states, more as a thought than a question. But I answer her anyway.
“Yes.”
She pauses then crosses her arms. “What was it like before?”
Maybe I can be more honest with her. Would it be so terrible to tell someone about my past? Aidan knows some of my history, because he was there, but it’s not something that’s been widely taught to others.
“This forest used to be home to a local coven,” I tell her, head held high. “My father was a warlock.”
Kennedy straightens. “Really?”
“That was around the late 1800s, early 1900s. I was born toward the end of their reign over this territory.”
“Wow.” She sighs with admiration. “That’s so cool.
I grew up next to a witch when I was a kid, and I remember asking her all kinds of stuff about magic.
I thought it was super cool. I used to think I could grow up to be a witch, but then I realized that’s not how it works.
” She laughs at herself. “I still have a lot of respect for witches.”
She’s talking nearly a mile a minute, and I can’t help but find it adorable.
“That’s how you knew to ask them for help,” I assume.
She nods with confidence. “I was at her house every day—her daughter became my best friend—and it used to make my mother so mad, because I was always late for dinner.”
She’s got her legs pulled up against her chest now, knees just under her chin and her brilliant hair falling into the gap. As strands of it disappear between her thigh and her chest, I think about the parts of her body that hair is touching. I think about touching them myself.
It’s been far too long since I’ve been alone with a woman.
“You know, Simone came by last night to see how you were.”
“I know,” she admits. “I ran into her earlier, when I was outside.”
“Oh, really?”
She absentmindedly traces the seam of her black pants. They look softer, and stretchier than the ones she had on before. “Yeah. She’s sweet.”
“She would probably make a good friend for you,” I tell her.
Kennedy stops her fiddling and stares at me. “What about you?”
I take a shallow breath. “What about me?”
“Do you have any friends? Besides Aidan?”
She’s pinned me, and she knows it.
“No,” I tell her honestly. “I don’t.”
She hums knowingly to herself. “Is that because you never leave the house?”
Wow. She’s really not holding back. “Are you always this blunt?”
This silences her. I didn’t mean to strike back with the same force she struck me—I doubt her intentions were to pry—but it was a reflex. I feel like a wounded animal, my scars on display for all to see. For her to see.
Mouth agape, she tries to say something, but I’ve probably made her second guess herself.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize, taking a deep breath. “I didn’t mean that.”
Her chin quivers just slightly. “But I am though.”
“No, you’re not,” I insist. I reach for her leg again, but she floats away, preventing me from making contact.
She moves to the window on the far side of the room and peers out into the darkened forest. It’s the middle of the night, probably early morning, and everything around us is completely still. The world is resting. Meanwhile, we’re in here…forever restless.
“Adults used to tell me I was too loud as a kid,” she tells me in a hushed tone. I get to my feet and move closer to hear her better. “In high school, I was told I was too quiet.” She turns her head to look at me. “I never could figure out the right balance.”
Her sheepish smile hits me like a blinding ray of sun, melting any frozen parts of myself I was hoping to keep hidden in the dark. I want to tell her so much, but as my heart begins to thaw, I settle with confiding just one thing for now.
“I’m afraid to leave the property,” I say without hesitation. “I have been for a long time.”
Kennedy’s expression doesn’t change, but she’s listening. I can see it in her eyes. They’re focused, and patient. “Why?” she asks softly.
I rub my chin. It’s a gesture I remember doing a lot when I was alive. It always helped me pause and think before I spoke. My mouth feels dry as I try to do that now. I feel nauseous, but maybe it’s just a side effect of being in my physical body again.
“I appeared here as a ghost when I died,” I confess, taking my time with the words.
“I made…mistakes when I was alive—things I felt extremely guilty for—and I thought my being here was my punishment. I stayed in the house, because going outside meant facing the people I had hurt. But then those people died, and I was still here, stuck inside with my own demons. The longer I stayed, the easier it got to just sit in my guilt. Somehow, over time, it turned into a safety net, and now I’m too scared to leave it. ”
Kennedy continues to stare at me, but it doesn’t feel invasive. Her focus on me is comforting, but I want more than just her gaze.
As if sensing this, she comes to stand in front of me. Her voice is steady when she speaks. “I’m so sorry.”
“For what?” I whisper, lingering on the shape of her lips.
“For feeling as if you had to go through that alone.”
Her words cut me deep. I feel as if a shard of ice has lodged itself in my chest, but despite the pain, I lean into it.
I lean into her, hoping for the barest touch of her skin on mine.
We linger there together in the space we’ve created, neither of us willing to move any closer without the risk of falling over the edge.
I’m seconds from throwing all caution to the wind when suddenly a howl cuts through the silence and startles us both.
She presses her lips into a thin line, eyelashes fluttering feather-like as she lowers her gaze. “The wolves,” she says.
I make a noise of agreement in my throat. “They do that.”
The quiet envelopes us again, but the moment is gone, snuffed out like a candle. The flicker of the firelight dances over Kennedy’s face as she says, “I’m going to go back to bed now.”
“Alright.”
She heads toward the staircase. As she hovers one delicate hand over the railing, she says, “Thank you for sharing with me, Theodore.”
I grin. “Call me Theo.”
I can’t see her face, but I know this pleases her. The crumbs of myself I’m providing her might seem small, but they feel enormous to me. It’s what I wanted by starting over. I hope it makes a difference.
I try not to watch her as she takes the stairs slowly and carefully up to my bedroom, but who am I kidding? What can I do when after years of depriving myself of joy, it finally forces its way in?