Page 42 of When Sinners Fear
Sitting on my own deck seems like one of those dreams I’ve been living in, despite knowing I’m here. The broad stretch of trees is as still as the evening is, and the loose ripple of the stream flowing through the garden helps ground me. I’m not grounded, though. I’m still back there – still fearful of the door opening and the pain coming again. That’s as far from my own nature as I’ve ever been. I’m not fearful. Never have been. I’m too process oriented for fear – too methodical and disciplined.
“You want some more food?” I don’t even look at Dante as he comes out and hovers beside me. I can’t. I’m self-conscious of my own weakened state, and ill at ease with the thought of him knowing that about me. Doesn’t help that all these damn burns are on display and covered with cream and patches after the doc did his work on them. “Knox?”
“No.”
He sits his ass down on one of the loungers near me and drinks from his glass, remaining quiet. Guess he doesn’t know what to say to me given the state I’m in. I don’t want him to speak, anyway. I’m in a world of my own at the moment, and the only one who understands that world is the woman who was in it with me. Probably still is, in reality.
“Where’s Peyton?” I ask.
“In one of the guest rooms.” I move to stand, trying not to wince.
He’s up instantly, hand coming towards me to help.
“No,” I snarl. “Don’t.”
He backs up to clear the way. “You want Abel instead? He’s out front.”
My head shakes, as I leave him to go upstairs towards the bedrooms. Every damn step feels like a mile walked, but I open doors without thinking or announcing myself, searching for her. She’s eventually found sitting on a bed with Mariana in the third guest room, the one furthest from my suite. They both look up at me – Mariana smiling a little and Peyton looking riddled with unanswered questions. They’re probably not questions I want to answer, but if it helps her sleep a little more soundly under a safe roof, she can ask them.
“Are you okay for me to leave?” Mariana asks her. She nods, still looking at me rather than my sister. “Not too long,” she says to me, as she walks past and squeezes my good shoulder. “Doc says plenty of sleep.” My head turns to follow her as she quietly closes the door, and I eventually look back at Peyton. She’s perched there with one of my clean, blue shirts drowning her, wet hair from the shower, and still covered in bruises I put on her.
Neither of us speak for a while, and I can’t help but think about the fact that there aren’t any bars between us now. The room’s clean, the wooden floors smooth, the dark green walls are painted, and the air is fresh and free. It’s a world away from where we’ve both been and, regardless of the fact that it’s all mine, it seems lost on both of us.
Leaning on the door, I keep looking at her rather than interrupt the silence. I’m trying to remember what she looked like before all this, but for some reason that imagery doesn’t sit right anymore. All those clean lines and pert features seem as lost as these walls are. We’re still just those two animals we became – still battered and butchered. Whilst that should have gone now we’re out of there, it hasn’t.
Eventually, I make a move towards her to break the silence. “What did the doc say?” She shifts backwards on the bed until she’s under the covers and as far away from me as she was when I was at the door. I stop and frown. “You don’t want me near you?”
She blinks. “I don’t know what I want.”
“Fine. Sleep then.”
“I don’t know if I can do that.”
“You want me to stay?” She looks at the sheets, then around the room, then at the door. “No one’s coming in, Peyton. Dante’s here until I make him leave. You’re safe.”
“I don’t know him. He seems angry.”
A light smile crosses my lips, and I move to the soft chair in the corner of the room. He is angry, furious even. “He won’t touch you. He’s mean as hell, but you’re in my home. He’ll protect everything about me. That includes you at the moment.” I sit and lean back gently, easing my ribs down slowly. “Sleep. I’ll wait till you drift off.”
She shuffles down in the bed and keeps looking at me, soft blinking eyes and no smile at all, but it doesn’t take long before the blue disappears under her lids. Her hand lies gently on the sheets, partly stretched towards me. I gaze at it, feeling at odds about having it in mine or not. It became the norm back there, a way to comfort each other in some way. We’re not there anymore, though. We’re out here where I’m who I am and she’s who she is.
“Knox?”
“Hmm.”
“Will they come for us again? Or come for you?”
Just let them fucking try. “No. You’re safe now.”
My own eyes close, too, after a while, and I drift lightly back to that place we were at. Dark descends in my thoughts, and memories of pain hammer at my senses. It’s enough to wake me with a start, breath heaving and body tense for more battering to come at it. I look sharply around the room for threats. There aren’t any. She’s sleeping soundly, and I’m still sitting in a chair in my own home.
Sighing, I lift myself and head over to her. First time I've seen her sleep without shaking her way through it. My fingers reach for hers gently, drawn there without my consent. She doesn’t make a move from her curled-up position. No flinching. No grab onto me either. So, I leave and head back down into the lounge. Both Dante and Abel are there waiting for me, both drinking my whiskey, both looking dour and ready for war.
Abel stands and comes up to me, taking the back of my neck in his hand. I flinch at the contact, body going rigid. “We’ll talk soon. Rest.” His forehead presses to mine and lingers before he pulls back and looks at Dante. Dante nods. And then Abel’s gone.
I frown, unsure about my reaction to his hands on me. “He never was any good at that kinda shit,” I mutter, walking for the deck again. I sit and rest my head back, feet up on the table.
“Yeah, well, I’m here for that.” A low chuckle comes out of me. He isn’t much good at it either. “Drink?”