One Drip Two Drips
Aviana
Past ??
Age 13
The bathwater was turning colder, biting at my skin the longer I sat there. It was cold, but it felt like a reprieve, a sharp contrast to the suffocating heat of Maverick’s body still seared into my back.
His sounds haunt me, echoing endlessly in my mind. His touch—God, his touch—it burns, no matter how much I scrub. I’ve lathered my skin over and over, scrubbing until it’s raw, until the water turns pink from the bleeding. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.
“Dear, that’s enough scrubbing,” her voice comes gently from the doorway.
“I can’t get him off of me,” I whisper, my tears falling freely. “The screams aren’t loud enough. Why can’t anyone hear me scream?”
“We hear you, dear,” she says softly.
“Do you?” My voice cracks under the weight of the question, filled with pain and doubt.
“I’ve called Ms. Calley for you,” she says. “She’ll be here in a couple of days. The next foster family isn’t quite ready yet, so she’s working to find another with space.”
“A couple of days?” I cry out, my voice sharp and raw, anger and despair tangled together in my throat.
“Unfortunately, yes, my dear. But don’t worry. Gideon has taken care of Maverick. He won’t bother you anymore while you’re here.”
“Easy for you to say,” I mutter bitterly under my breath.
“What was that, dear?” she asks, her tone calm but questioning.
“Nothing.” I force politeness into my voice. “Can you leave me alone, please? I’d like to finish my bath by myself.”
“Of course, dear. Just call for me when you’re ready to get out.”
I don’t turn around. I can’t. Instead, I wait until I hear the soft click of the door shutting behind her. And then I break. The tears pour out of me, spilling into the cold water. My body sinks deeper into the tub, and I stare up at the ceiling as the faucet drips rhythmically onto my forehead. Each droplet feels like a mocking reminder of time—how slow it moves, how trapped I am in this moment, in this life.
***
The rhythm of the dripping faucet plays in my mind, each sound carving its place deep into my consciousness.
“One drip. Two drips.”
“Little Bird?” His voice tries to pull me back.
“Three drips, four.”
Tears slide down my cheeks, soaking into his shirt. Nightshade’s hands cup my face, his thumb gently wiping the endless stream, but it’s no use.
“One drip. Two drips.”
“Little Bird, come back to me. Please.” His voice cracks, raw and desperate.
“Three drips, four.”
I don’t see him. I don’t feel his touch. All I feel is the weight of the memory crushing my chest.
“Little Bird,” he says again, softer this time, his voice trembling. “You’re in control. Listen to me. You’re here. You’re safe. Just listen to my voice.”
The tears blur my vision. “Please let me go. Unbind my hands. Please.”
He hesitates, his fingers twitching against my skin. Slowly, he releases my face and reaches down to untie his belt that binds me.
“There you are,” he whispers. “Shake them out. Let the feeling come back. ”
As soon as I’m loose, I collapse back against him, this time wrapping my arms around his neck and holding on as if letting go might break me.
“Little Bird,” he gasps, surprised by the force of my grip.
“Hold me,” I beg, my voice cracking. “Make it go away.”
“Make what go away?” he whispers, his arms tightening protectively around me.
“The pain.”
“Did I hurt you?” His voice is so soft, so full of guilt that it makes my heart ache.
“No,” I whisper, burying my face in his chest. “The memories. They hurt. Make them stop. Please.”
He lifts me effortlessly, cradling me against him like something fragile. He carries me to a worn couch in the corner, sitting down and pulling me even closer, shielding me from the world.
“Tell me about the drips,” he says gently, his fingers combing through my hair. “What do they mean?”
I close my eyes, my voice trembling as I reply. “After the Dillards found Maverick and me in the shed, Mrs. Dillard took me to her bathroom. She told me to wash away the ‘scandal.’” My words drip with venom, but I keep going. “I told her I needed to be alone, but all I could do was lie there in the cold water, crying until I couldn’t anymore. The only sound left was the faucet dripping onto my forehead. I started counting them, trying to focus on anything but…everything.”
His hand stills in my hair. “How many drips, Little Bird? How many before you got out of that tub?”
“Twenty-nine,” I whisper. “Before Mrs. Dillard came in, screaming that my lips were turning blue. She yanked me out of the water like I was a rag doll, and just like that, the only control I had was gone.”
“I see.” His voice is steady, but there’s a storm brewing beneath it.
I look up at him, my brow furrowed. “What do you see?”
“You tried to take back your control, Little Bird, and she stole it from you. Just like Mr. Widlow stole your childhood.”
The mention of that name hits me like a punch to the gut. “How do you know about him?”
“I read your file from Cade,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.
“You what?” My voice rises in disbelief. “How could you?”
“Listen to me,” he says firmly, his hands gripping mine. “From the moment I saw you, I vowed to protect you.”
“Protect me from what?”
“From anyone and anything that dares to hurt you. I failed before but I won’t ever fail you again,” he says, his voice unwavering.
I shake my head, the tears falling again. “Nightshade, Cade said he had a detective friend and he got information that Mr. Widlow served his time. He’s free now.”
“And what about Maverick?”
I flinch at the name, my stomach twisting. “What about him?”
“Did he pay for what he did? Did he face justice for what he took from you?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, my voice barely audible. “I left five days later and never looked back. I’ve tried to forget he ever existed but being here, everything is coming back like it happened yesterday.”
“Well, I won’t forget about him,” Nightshade growls. “I’ll find him, Little Bird.”
“And then what?” I challenge, my voice trembling with anger and fear. “What can you do to a man for something he did when he was seventeen?”
He doesn’t answer right away. His jaw clicks, and his eyes burn with a fire I don’t understand. “I don’t know yet.”
I force a weak smile, trying to mask the ache in my chest. “I thought you said you were going to protect me from everything. You look pretty scary right now.”
He smirks beneath his mask. “Watch it, Little Bird. That sassy mouth of yours— ”
“What?” I interrupt, bitterness slipping into my tone. “You’ll make me do what Maverick did?”
His body stiffens, and his voice drops, low and deadly. “Never. Don’t you ever compare me to him.” Then, softer in a joking tone, “Although… if you weren’t so damn stubborn, that mouth could be put to better use.”
I smack his chest, half laughing, half crying, and he chuckles, his eyes crinkling behind the mask. The sound of his laugh does something to me, a warmth spreading through my chest, but it’s not enough to calm the storm brewing inside. In that moment, I wish I could see his face. I want to see his smile, to finally look at the person behind the shadow. To understand what it is about him that feels like something I’ve known before.
But nothing about his features is familiar. Not his shape, not the angle of his jaw, nothing. Yet, there’s something about him—something I can’t explain. It’s his scent, that leather and spice, the very same scent that lingers in the back of my mind like a long-forgotten memory.
“Do I know you?” I whisper, though the question feels foolish, like I’m asking for something I already know the answer to.
He doesn’t respond, but the silence is heavy, thick with unspoken things. I swallow hard, pushing the thought aside. The past is gone. I left it behind. But the scent, the way it makes my heart race, tells me it’s not as far behind as I wish it were.
“Little Bird,” he murmurs after a moment, his voice gentle again. “It’s starting to get late. We need to get you back to your cabin before Hazel sends out a search party if she hasn’t done so already.”
I nod reluctantly. “You’re probably right.”
Before I can even protest, he moves toward me with a purposeful grace, wrapping his arm around my waist, and lifts me effortlessly into his arms. The warmth of his body against mine feels strangely comforting, despite the tension still hanging in the air .
“Nightshade…” I whisper, feeling a mix of reluctance and safety. “I can walk back by myself. I’m fine.”
His grip tightens slightly, but there’s an unmistakable gentleness in the way he holds me, as if he’s protecting something precious. “Not tonight, Little Bird,” he murmurs, his tone quiet but firm. “You’ve done enough. Let me take care of you.”
I can’t argue with him. For once, I don’t want to. His closeness soothes something deep inside of me, and I find myself relaxing against him, allowing him to carry me through the night, past the woods, and back toward the warmth of the cabin.
The cool night air brushes against my skin, but it doesn’t matter. In his arms, I feel like I’m safe from everything. For now, that’s enough.
He walks in silence, but the weight of the moment lingers between us like an unspoken promise—one I don’t fully understand yet, but I feel it as surely as the steady beat of my heart.