Page 21 of A Silence So Divine

Offended, I clench my teeth.“What?”

Raising an eyebrow, Cecil lolls his head to the side to look at me. And then hesmirks. Oh my God, he’s completely lost the plot. A thatch of hair hangs limply over one of his eyes.

“I could kiss you.” He says it weakly, voice raw despite the water. Shimmering eyes and curved lips have my brain feeling fuzzy.

The man was gravely injured. He’s delirious.

I gather what’s left of my resolve and straighten my spine. “No thank you,”is my response.

And then he laughs.

It’s dinner time, and I’m filling a bowl with beef stew to take to Cecil. Creed and I have spent the day taking care of him, switching on and off. He slept most the day, anyway, but he’s feeling well enough for some of his bite to return. For lunch, I made him a peanut butter sandwich to which he rolled his eyes, grumbling that he wasn’t a toddler. I informed him that I survived off peanut butter for weeks and didn’t have anyone to complain to.

He huffed, but ate it without another word.

Creed has been collecting and chopping firewood most the day, insisting he “feels” an ice storm brewing. I don’t understand how he could possiblyfeelthat, but I trust him enough not to question it. Part of me thinks he has a hard time seeing his brother this way, and is avoiding the room.

I shuffle through the house, a steaming bowl in one hand and a glass of water in the other, balancing a couple rolls in the crook of my elbow. The man has quite the appetite, as I learned from the peanut butter sandwich debacle.

I wrestle to open the door and tiptoe through the room, placing his meal on the nightstand. Cecil is asleep, again, and I don’t want to startle him. Leaning over his frame, my hair tickles at his chest as I pat his cheek. He hums low in his throat and stirs, squinting at me.

“I have to clean the stitches, but I brought dinner,”I sign, motioning to the bowl. This piques his interest, and right on cue, his stomach growls.

A breathy giggle escapes me. My eyes grow wide and Cecil snaps his head toward me. For a moment I think he might say something, but he quirks his lips and looks away.

“Fine, but make it quick. You two have starved me enough for one day.” He sighs, and my lips pull down into a frown. Does he think that’s what I was trying to do?

“I would never—”I begin frantically. Cecil catches my wrist.

“I’m teasing you, Eden. Relax.” He sounds exasperated, and I huff in response.

I try to help him into an upright position, though I don’t manage more than fluffing the pillows behind him. I couldn’t lift his weight if I tried.

“Let’s change your shirt,”I tell him, hoping he doesn’t argue this time around. Surprisingly, he acquiesces. Halfway over his head, it gets caught and he shifts side to side to escape. The shirt has lifted hair off his neck, and I catch a patch of discolored skin right at the base of his skull. Curious, I lean closer, a nervous flutter beginning in my stomach. It’s a symbol. A familiar symbol, seared into his skin.

The shirt drops to his lap and I stand dumbly before him. I could ignore it, that would be the wise thing to do, but my mind is already racing and there’s no catching it. I know that mark, having seen my father wear it my whole life. An oval with a cross through it, and smaller circles on each point. It was etched into a ring Papa kept on his pinky, glinting at me every time he’d point an accusing finger in my face.

I should leave it alone, but I can’t. I was beginning to think I was safer with them than I was Papa. The doubt slams into me like a sledgehammer.

“What is that?”I’m too frazzled to beat around the bush.

“What’s what?” Cecil responds coolly, but the firm set of his jaw gives him away. He knows.

“On your neck. Why do you have that?”My breaths are coming in short pants now; my fight or flight screaming FLIGHT FLIGHT FLIGHT.

He cocks his head to the side and narrows his eyes. “It’s a scar. I’ve had it since I was a kid.” Liar. We both know he’s lying, and with the look on his face, I’d say he’s daring me to call him out on it.

I want to tell him that I know; that Papa was a bad man and he wore the same mark. I want to ask him why he came to my home and where my father is. I want to ask if he knows about me, and if he’s been planning to kill me all this time. There’s so much I want to say, but I’m paralyzed by the fear of what the answers might be.

Creed wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me, would he? He probably doesn’t know about his brother, either. Maybe I’ll tell him, and we can figure it out together. Maybe it’s a misunderstanding. Or maybe I am crazy, like Papa said.Delusional, dangerous little girl.

“Can I have my food now?” The sound of his voice has me sucking in a gasp of air, and I realize I must have stopped breathing. The tingling in my fingertips warns me that I’m on the brink of fainting.

There’s nothing I can do at the moment, so I push it down, down, down.Later, I tell myself. Cecil isn’t going to be honest, so I have no choice but to turn on wooden legs and grab his meal.

Settling the stew in his lap, he begins to eat. He keeps his gaze averted, and I do the same. The ease that I’ve felt around him is long gone. At every turn, I’m reminded of the dangers of this world.

The moment the spoon clatters in the empty bowl, I grab the dish from his hands and flee the room. He doesn’t try to stop me.