Page 29 of Drowned In Silence

“Come on, Little Raven. Let’s go inside. We will have time to visit the beach later,” Elliot tells me.

Almost.

I follow him up the steps to the porch, the white paint is fresh, making Elliot’s slippers almost stick to the surface. When he opens the door, I’m even more amazed than I thought I was going to be. Light blue, white, and gray colors fill my vision. Seashells, flowy curtains, and more whiffs of salt overtake my senses.

“Do you like it?” Spencer asks, coming up the stairs behind us.

I shrug my shoulders and he scoffs. I won’t tell anyone what I actually think about this place. They would just judge me. The fact that I’ve never been on a plane before, barely ridden in a car, and never been to a place that looks as pretty or as clean as this. They would think I was mental.

“Come on. We won’t bite.”

I look to my right, tossing my hair over my shoulder shyly and staring at Elliot.

“Okay, maybe I will, but Spencer won’t. Will ya, Pen?”

“Fuck no. I know better! Last time I bit him he turned around and bit me so hard it left a bruise on my nipple for a week!” He rubs his chest like he can still feel the sting of the bite.

“Why would he bite your nipple?” I ask, my eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“I dared him too!”

I almost–almost– crack a smile, but I catch myself first. Spencer sees, but he doesn’t say anything. Good, maybe we can pretend it never happened.

“Where is the room I’m staying in?” I ask aloud. I don’tcare who answers or who shows me. I just want to sprawl out on the bed for three to five business days.

“Our room is this way,” Elliot says, gesturing to the back of the house.

“Wait…Our?”I ask, my voice squeaking.

“You think I’d let you out of my sight in a place you don’t even know?”

“Well, it doesn’t sound great when you say it like that. Fine, show me the room.” I cross my arms and wait for him to lead the way. My attitude definitely needs an adjustment, whose wouldn’t? But, I wouldn’t know where to begin anyway.

He walks us down the hall, past beautiful pictures of sun-kissed family members. They all look happy and free. A skirt blowing in the wind here, a pair of bare feet deep into the sand there. It’s almost disgusting to me that people can actually be this happy. It takes me four or five pictures to realize that I’m looking at their family. Elliots black hair is slicked back with water in the next photo, his eyes crinkled in laughter. Spencer stands next to him, an arm around his shoulder and a hand pinching Elliot’s cheek.

“That was a happy day. We have them sometimes, but not as often anymore. Growing up with them was easy, but I still had those doubts of my presence every now and then.”

I look away from the picture and to him, he’s looking at the photo, but I can see the sadness in his eyes. “What do you mean ‘Growing up with them?’ Aren’t you guys family?”

“Yes and no. Let's go, I’ll explain,” he tells me, leading me into the open bedroom. The bed is huge with a four poster frame. More white curtains swell with the breeze from the glass french doors that are cracked open. “Sit.”

I do as he says absentmindedly. The bed is the softest thing I’ve ever felt. Without hesitating, I fall back and pull myfeet up. Above me are little lights, dancing in between the fabrics that make up the top of the bed.

“What are those?” I ask. I’ve never seen something so beautiful. He peeks his head in, looking up and chuckles.

“Those are called fiber optic lights. When the sun goes down they look like stars, flickering in the night sky. Do you like them?”

“Yes,” I reply, staring at the lights like I’m on autopilot. “Uhm… Relations?” I ask, turning to look at him.

He laughs again, the sound almost effortless and free. I could live inside his laugh, bury myself in its depths and lay there for hours. “I was adopted when I was a kid.” Elliot sits down on the bed next to me, falling back and staring up at the lights. “When I was five or six, my mother died. Spencer was my best friend at the time, and his parents were always there for me anyway, so when she passed they just adopted me I guess. So, yeah. They are and aren’t my parents.”

I stay silent, letting him go on if he wishes.

“When I was about sixteen, contractors wanted to tear down my mothers house. They let me go in and salvage what I could and take anything I wanted. I didn’t find anything there, but I found this in the attic of the Martins house” He pulls a picture from his back pocket, unfolds it, and hands it over to me. “Do you recognize it?”

Tears start to fall from my eyes as I see the birthmark that matches mine.

“That’s me?” I’ve never seen a photo from my childhood. I didn’t even know one existed, but I can’t deny that it’s a tiny version of me, staring up at the boy in the picture.