Ten Brutal
Osiris
The rejection stings, but not as much as I thought it would. I can see she wants to, she’s just cautious, and can I really blame her? I just showed up here and rocked her fucking world, I can wait a little longer to rock her bed. I truly would have waited ten years if I had to.
“That’s okay, Sienna. I’ll be patient.”
I kiss her cheek to show her I mean what I’m saying, then wink at her as I grab my bag and disappear into her room.
It takes her a second, but she follows and hovers in the doorway. “Um... not to be weird or anything, but why are you in my bedroom and how did you even know where it was?”
Because I got here an hour ago and learned the layout before I ever rang the doorbell. “There’s only one room,” I say like it’s obvious. “I did a perimeter check when I got here and saw two cars.”
I ignore her first question as I set the bag on her bed, but I know she’s not going to let it go.
“Osiris.” Her sharp, clipped tone makes me feel like I’m being scolded, so I turn around to see her standing there with her arms crossed and brows pinched. Yeah, she’s definitely not letting it go.
“There’s only one bed,” I respond. “One of the conditions of my parole is having suitable living arrangements, which includes a bed.”
I wave my hands at her bed, and then meet her gaze again just praying she doesn’t throw my ass out.
“That’s not a thing. Is it? A bed, specifically?”
“You can read the papers yourself if you don’t believe me. I think it’s on the second page.” I watch her flip the first page and see panic on her face as she reads. She really wasn’t ready to back up the shit she was saying to me over the phone. “I know this is a lot, Sienna. I’ll stay on my side of the bed, alright? I’m used to a fucking toddler mattress, so I don’t move much once I’m asleep.”
She softens a little and her grip on the pages relaxes. “It’s okay, I can sleep on the couch. You’re right, you deserve to sleep on a bed. Of course.”
“What? No. You’re sleeping here with me, Sienna. I’m not diseased, and I’m not a rapist.” I can feel my anxiety rising in my chest. “Plus, you’re my wife... remember?”
Judging by the flash in her eyes, maybe not. Maybe she was never serious at all. “I just need a second, y’know? You’re used to sharing space with people and I’m not. I haven’t slept in bed with someone else... well, ever, and you did kind of appear out of nowhere.”
Ever?
The thought makes me smile. “I can give you a second. I’ll take a shower.”
She looks almost adorably uncomfortable with the thought of someone else taking a shower in her house. I get it now, it’s not me she’s against — it’s letting someone into her personal space. She’ll get used to me. “Okay,” she mumbles. “There are towels in the hall closet and a fresh bar of soap under the sink.”
“Thanks, beautiful.”
I give her another peck on the cheek as I walk past her to find the towels, purposefully not grabbing clothes out of my bag even though I should. I don’t close the door as I shower, either. I don’t like how steamy small bathrooms get or how the room starts to shrink as it gets hot, and although she’s a little overwhelmed, I have a feeling she really doesn’t mind.
Still, I watch her closely when I get out and walk into her room still wet with a thin towel wrapped around my waist. Her cheeks are tinged pink as she tries to drop her gaze — but she loses that fight with herself quickly. It’s the bulge that does it. Her eyes fix on it as she stops typing on her phone, and I use all my willpower not to grin. Yeah, she wants me.
“Are you letting Lydia know you’re alive?”
“Yes, but probably not for the reasons you think. She wanted to know if I had an aneurysm when I found out I don’t live alone anymore.”
“And what’d you tell her?”
I walk closer to look at her phone myself, but she hides it. “That I’m still walking and talking and breathing, so I think I’m okay for now.”
I stare down at her with the ends of the towel in my fist. “Do you feel any better?”
She licks her lips slowly and tries not to look away. “I’m not sure. I think I’d feel a little better if you explained to me how all of this happened.”
“How I got parole or how I got arrested in the first place?”
“Both?” she says softly. “If you’re ready to tell me.”
Shit.
It’s not that I’m trying to keep my crime a secret. I just hate reliving that night more than anything else, but I understand why she feels like she needs to know, and right now that’s easier to dive into than the parole bullshit. “Yeah, okay.” I step away, moving back toward my bag to pull out a comfortable outfit. “Can I maybe have some of that wine with you?”
“Are you allowed?” she asks. “I thought you couldn’t drink while on parole.”
“Substance abuse wasn’t one of my charges. I can’t do drugs, but drinking isn’t in my rules. I don’t plan on driving or anything, so no laws will be broken.” I shrug on a black t-shirt and then pull up some briefs underneath my towel before I take it off, watching her eyes as they drop down to my bulge yet again. “Even still, you telling me you wouldn’t break one tiny little rule for me?”
She looks startled by the question for a second, like no one’s ever called her out for being so uptight before, but she recovers quickly. “You’re right. Sorry. Dumb question.”
“No question is dumb,” I respond, stepping into my sweats a second later. “These are so much more comfortable. Can’t believe I thought I missed jeans.” I adjust myself since her eyes are back on my junk, then grin when they flick up to my face. “Come on. I think wine might help you too. Plus, I’ve never had any.”
A little apprehensively, she locks her phone and heads to the kitchen to get the bottle. Skipping the glasses, she uncorks it and hands it straight to me. “It’s more potent than you think.”
“Really?” I take a sniff of it and then pull my face away. “Gross. This tastes good?”
“Better than beer,” she laughs. “It’s kind of an acquired taste. Just try it.”
Nervously, I take a small sip from the bottle and try hard not to gag. It’s fucking disgusting. “That’s... brutal. Pour us both a glass.”
“Yeah?” She giggles a little and pulls two out of the cupboard. “Did you have any kind of alcohol in prison?”
“No. They made it, but it smelled worse than this. Plus, I didn’t like the idea of drinking in a cage with a bunch of drunk dudes. For a while I didn’t think I’d ever care to try it at all, but I’ve missed out on so much I just want to try as much as I can now.”
At least until I’m convinced this is real. That I really am free.
Sienna nods slowly as she stares at her glass. “You were really young. What do you regret missing the most?”
I take another sip of the foul liquid before I respond. “That’s a simple question with a not-so-simple answer. I guess if I had to pick, what I missed out on most is youth. I didn’t get to enjoy much of high school or anything that comes along with it, because I was only a sophomore for like two months. School started in September and I was arrested November 13th. It was my sixteenth birthday.”
I glance up at her to see if she’s watching me, but she seems very interested in a spot on the ground just near my feet.
Maybe it’ll be easier this way.
“Remember when I told you I hung out with the old man next door?”
She nods. “With the frozen dinners and Seahawks.”
“Yeah.” I take a deep breath and just dive in. “Well, both of my parents were drug addicts. They’d fight all fucking day and night and drink bourbon for dinner, so I’d usually go to his house on the really bad nights. I never knew what I was going to come home to after school. Sometimes my mom would be on her shit, and I could handle that because it meant my dad was gone. But when he was on a rampage... let’s just say it meant someone was going to bed bleeding, and it was rarely him. Every year they got worse and more violent, and I’d end up at Mr. Enoch’s house three, sometimes four times a week. He’d patch me up, feed me, and talk the whole time like he didn’t know I was silently crying. He knew though. The night it happened, he told me “one day you’ll be bigger than him, and he’ll learn his lesson” but I didn’t want to wait for some day in the future to have some fucking peace. I couldn’t handle it anymore, and I honestly thought he’d end up killing my mom before that day ever came anyway. She was a shit mom, but that didn’t change the fact that she was all I really had.” I watch her closely as she slowly begins to connect the dots of what I’m telling her. “When I got home that night, he was forcing himself on her. I could hear her cries and how she was begging him to stop.” Closing my eyes, I rush out the rest of the story as quickly as I can. “I grabbed the closest knife from the kitchen, and... made sure he couldn’t hurt either of us anymore. I thought I was protecting her.”
I just never expected her to hate me for it.