Page 14 of Tender Thorns
“At least you’re not covered in the student’s blood like last time,” he mumbles and pulls the door open before retreating inside. The comment gives me pause. Why would Ziv be covered in someone else’s blood, let alone a student’s?
“They are not for me,” Ziv protests while ducking his head to follow the man. I stand at the entrance for a long second, wondering how this is my life. “Briar!” he barks, and I somehow get the nerve to join him in the…closet. Well, not really, because the room is far too large to be considered a closet, but the racks of clothing hanging on nearly every available inch make it seem as such. There are several unmanned sewing machines stitching away like mad. The man snaps his fingers, and every one of them promptly stops.
“Oh, I see.” The man scrutinizes me for half a second and announces, “Small, maybe extra small. I may need a new pattern. Spin.” It takes me a moment to realize the final part was an instruction for me. Reluctantly, I turn slowly. “You should eat more,” he states.
“It’s not always that easy.”
“You should make sure she eats more.” He tilts his head down and peers over his glasses at Ziv, who makes aharrumphsound deep in his chest. I don’t know why this guy is blaming Ziv or why he’s allowing it.
“She needs more than just uniforms. Tell him what you want.” Ziv gestures to me.
“Just uniforms are fine,” I reply dismissively.
“You can either tell him what you would like, or I can decide for you, little flower.” There’s no mistaking the warning in his tone, even with the nickname softening the demand.
“I don’t know what I like,” I admit softly. “I usually just take what I can find. Anything that fits will be good.”
“Get her everything she needs… Everything,” Ziv replies for me.
“I’ll need a day or two, but let me see what I can find for now.” The small man disappears behind a row of clothes, and I hear him rummaging around in the back. I’m tempted to tell Ziv this isn’t necessary, but with one look in his direction, I keep my mouth closed. His lips are pinched again, like they were earlier in the room before he flipped my bed, and there’s no mattress around to take the brunt of his anger.
“These will be a little loose on you. I don’t carry children’s clothing.” I reach for the pile of garments in his arms, but he pulls them back to his chest. “Let’s try to make it so I don’t have to. Eat.” He says the last part slowly, like I’m dumb. I feel a hot blush cover my cheeks and nod, just so he won’t say anything else.
To Ziv, he adds, “Come back in a day or two, and I will have everything she needs. I called down to Dalia to let her know you would be along and need some shoes.” He makes a point of looking down at my sock-covered feet then back at Ziv again with his eyebrows high on his forehead.
“I was going there next,” Ziv snarls, nearly ripping the clothes from my arms and giving the other male a glare that would make me pee my pants.
“Good, she’s waiting.” He spins, dismissing us, and the sewing machines buzz back to life.
By the timewe make it back to my room, I’m about ready to crawl under the mattress, just so I don’t have to look at Ziv or anyone else for a few hours. Who would have thought getting a bunch of new stuff given to you would be so embarrassing and exhausting?
After meeting with the tailor, Ziv pretty much just took over, demanding the things he thought I needed from a bunch of people, and he wasn’t even nice about it most of the time. No one seemed fazed, but I still felt bad about it.
“Fuck!” he grouses the moment I open my door. I peer back at him, wondering what could be pissing him off now. “I forgot to get you bedding.” He drops the bags of things he’s accumulated onto the bare mattress—the things he wouldn’t allow me to carry.
“Who needs bedding when I have all of this to cover up with? Besides, I’m still getting used to sleeping on an actual bed. It’s a far cry from some hay and scraps of fabric on the floor.” I intend for my comment to sound dismissive of his concern and thankful for the things I’ve been given, but when I glance over in Ziv’s direction, he doesn’t look happy. His lip is curled up in a sneer that allows me to see the tips of his sharp teeth. “I’m just saying I don’t need or expect all the luxuries.” My tone is much softer, more appeasing—a trait I picked up from dealing with my fatheron his bad days, or any day really. Mostly, I just tried to stay out of his way when my presence wasn’t requested.
“Bedding is not a luxury.” Ziv enunciates each word slowly. “Did your father have a mattress?”
“I didn’t go into his room,” I snap back, humiliated by even the idea. No daughter should know what her father’s room looks like, not even for the promise of being more comfortable. I spin away from Ziv’s prying eyes in a bid to hide my shame. It’s true I don’t know what my father’s room looked like, but not because he didn’t want me to.
The door to my room closing is my first clue that Ziv left. His retreat, other than the click, was completely silent. I’m relieved to be alone, but his departure makes me question if I overplayed my hand with my reaction. The queasy feeling in my gut tells me I did, and Ziv knows the things my father tried, maybe even thinks he succeeded in.
My head is too full of thoughts and memories I can’t face, so I plop down on the bed and untie the leather string holding my plait together. Working out the tangles in my hair will give me something to focus on, and the pain may just be enough of a distraction. Using my fingers, I slowly work from the bottom all the way up to my scalp, getting out most of the snarls in a familiar pattern until my arms are sore. Once that’s done, I don’t allow myself to slip back into useless thoughts. Instead, I sort through the items Ziv got for me, making neat little piles until everything is organized, and then I set about finding places for all the things.
The dresser will easily hold three times as much, but I still don’t put everything in the drawers. I find little nooks around the room to stash a few of the things I like best, so if someone comes in to take it back or steal it, I won’t be completely empty-handed. This kind of plan doesn’t always work. I had similar hideaways at home, but there wasn’t a way for me to bring thosethings with me. I was lucky to get out with the carved stone in my pocket.
As I’m looking around the room for one last spot to hide something, I remember the loose floorboard under the bed. Before getting on my belly, I tiptoe over to the door and engage the lock. I probably should have done that right after Ziv left, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. I debate finding something to cover the window in the door, but then I decide it could be pushing my luck. If they wanted it covered, it would be, so doing it now might draw too much attention.
It takes some finagling to get under the bed far enough to reach the hideaway and lift the board. It might not even be possible if I wasn’t so thin. I’ll probably have better luck moving the bed next time. Just as I’m about to reach into the darkness to see if anyone else left something behind, I hesitate. Anything could call the dark space home, including a poisonous creature, or it could be a trap. That’s exactly the kind of thing Philip would love to do.
Bolstering my courage, I hold my breath and plunge my arm into the hole, swish my fingers around, and yank it back out as fast as I can. With all my fingers still intact, I reach in again, still cautious, but slower this time. When I touch the cool floor below, I find it empty, so I inch around, realizing the space is much larger than I anticipated. Using the edge of the hole, I pull myself closer until my face is right over it, and then I peer inside. It’s too dark to see much, other than some cobwebs at the mouth of the cavity, but I don’t think there’s anything that was left behind, not unless some giant rat came along and ran off with it.
I only place my stone inside before replacing the board without putting anything else in it just yet, but I decide it will be the perfect place for an emergency stash. It will take time to accumulate those things.
The doorknob twisting while I’m still wiggling out from under the bed startles me, and I smack the back of my head on the bed rail. “Damn it.” I wince from the pain but finally work myself out from under the bed.
I have a few precious seconds to get myself together, since I was smart enough to lock the door, so I wipe at the front of my clothes, knowing they are too dark and stained to really show any new marks anyway.
