The strength and fire within me quickly dissipate. I slump weakly against the side of the wall. I stop caring about my painful ears and toes, and just wrap my arms around my legs. I hug my knees tightly against my chest and curl up into a little ball. I rock slightly back and forth in an attempt to soothe and warm myself. I can’t think. I want to comfort myself with reassuring thoughts about my own strength and resilience, but I just can’t think.
I sit there by myself for several minutes, enjoying the solitude.
My mind floats away, and I am at peace again.
I remain in this state until a loud noise causes me to jump in fright. I realize that someone is opening the door of the garden shed. I gasp and freeze in panic, as my heart rate instantly doubles. Is the wedding over? Is it Grayson? Has he come looking for me? I want to move forward to grab the metal rake for protection, or maybe a sliver of broken glass from the window I smashed, but I can’t seem to make my body move. Is it him? Is he here to torture me again?
I hear the man’s breathing, and my cold fingers are suddenly reenergized. I reach forward, fumbling for the rake. I grasp the handle firmly, ready to swing it again—this time, directly into that bastard’s skull.
“What is it with you and little wooden shacks?” says Liam’s teasing voice. “I bet you were the kind of kid who played with a cardboard box even when you were given really expensive, fancy toys.”
I open my fingers and let the rake clatter to the ground. I am so thankful to hear Liam’s voice. I am so relieved that it’s him. I feel a rush of emotion pouring through the floodgates. I can’t restrain this onslaught of gladness mixed in with anguish. It shakes me to my very core. I place my face in my hands.
“Helen?” he says softly. “My god, you’re shaking like a leaf. What happened?”
A few tears tumble into my hands, and my shoulders shudder slightly. I take a deep breath, and find my resolve. “I’m just cold,” I say in a small and halting voice. It is the best explanation I could muster, and quite obviously a blatant lie.
“Of course you’re cold!” he says angrily. “You’re running through the snow half-naked like a madwoman. Do you want to get hypothermia? Jesus, Helen! I said I could fix your eyes. I can’t get you a new pair of legs, too.”
In spite of myself, a smile tugs at my lips. My moment of mirth is interrupted by a violent shiver, and I hug my knees closer to my chest. I have never felt such severe, almost unbearable pain in my nipples before. I did not know how much they could hurt. “Why didn’t you just go home?” I ask him.
“I thought about it,” he says, entering the cabin and closing the door behind him. “I got in my car and turned on the engine. But then I looked down and saw that paperback you signed for me. With that personalized inscription. ‘Please leave me alone.’ I suppose it’s the rebel in me, but I simply couldn’t let you have the satisfaction.”
“Thanks,” I tell him quietly. “Sorry I was such a bitch earlier. I’m actually... glad you’re here.”
Liam moves over to my corner of the shed, stepping over the shovels and rakes. When he’s standing directly above me, I hear the rustling of fabric as he removes his coat. In the next moment, he is laying the thick garment over my bare legs and arms.
I stare down at the coat in surprise. Of course, I see nothing, but the kindness in his gesture has caused me to feel as though he has placed a glowing cloak of magical diamonds at my feet. I am overwhelmed with emotion; I value this so much. I know that it’s a tiny, basic thing that any person should do, but not every person does. Grayson wouldn’t. When faced with someone sad and down on her luck, he wouldn’t help. He would take advantage of the situation. I am so thankful that Liam is not like him.
The truth is that I am already so frozen that his coat does very little for my temperature. Still, I treasure the thoughtfulness of the act. I probably needed a bit of sensitivity and caring far more than I needed to be warm. I carefully extend my fingers to touch Liam’s coat. It’s difficult to move my hands, because my fingers are so stiff. I run my fingers over the lining of the fabric, just to convince myself that this is real—the coat is a symbol that there is at least one good person in the world. I can barely feel the coarse fibers under what is surely the beginning of frostbitten digits, but it is reassuring to know that they are there. Liam’s compassion causes a tiny spark that begins to thaw the cold and dead parts of me that matter far more than my skin.
“It’s dangerous to be out here like this,” he tells me, crouching down to my level. “Jesus, Helen. Your lips are turning blue. We should go back inside.”
“I’m not going back into that house,” I say adamantly. “I’d rather die here.”
“But Helen...”
“No. I told you I had a bad feeling. I never should have come back here.”
Liam takes my hands into his and begins to rub them between his own to generate some heat through friction. “You’re shivering way too much. Let me go inside and get some warmer clothes and some blankets...”
“No, I’m fine.” I pull my hands away from him and wrap them around myself.
I hear him standing up and moving briskly toward the exit of the shed. “I should grab some hot cocoa at the very least, and maybe a portable heater...”
“No—no. Liam. Please don’t leave. Just stay with me?” I can’t believe how pathetic I sound. I can’t believe that sentence even left my lips. My embarrassment is quickly assuaged when I feel the floorboards creak as he moves back over to my corner, and lowers himself to sit next to me. I am relieved to have him near me, but I am swiftly seized with a fear that he will get too close. I remember Grayson’s hands on my body, and the gun against my chest. I remember the disgusting, degrading kiss. I flinch away from Liam, pressing myself against the wall of the wooden cabin. I feel a sudden suffocating claustrophobia. I am not usually one to dislike small spaces—in fact, I usually prefer them—but being confined in close quarters with other people is entirely unnerving.
I am grateful when Liam maintains his distance. He does not try to embrace me or move any closer; not even under the pretense of keeping me warm. He seems to be able to sense my anxiety. When he sits beside for over a full minute without trying to touch me or even asking why I’m upset, I begin to relax. I stop holding my breath, and I feel the erratic pounding of my heart slowly ease. I reach down and lift his coat, arranging it so that it covers his legs as well.
“Can I at least keep trying to warm your hands?” he asks me. “I’m worried.”
“Yes,” I tell him softly, “but I think my toes are the real problem. They feel like they’re going to fall off.”
I feel Liam slide his coat over my ankles to study my feet. “Helen... okay. This is going to sound awful, but you need to listen to me.” He speaks in a brisk and commanding tone that I haven’t heard him use before. “Put your feet in my lap.”
“In your lap?” I say awkwardly.
“Yes. Unless you want to risk losing your toes.”
“You’re probably exaggerating,” I accuse him, but the cold is so agonizing that I am beginning to grow desperate for any warmth. I try to flex my toes, and wince, because even that tiny bit of motion hurts like a bitch.
“I’m not really exaggerating. It’s damn cold out here. But I won’t let you get severe frostbite,” he tells me firmly, “because I’ll drag you kicking and screaming back into that house before any permanent damage is done. However, if you don’t follow my instructions right away, you’ll probably develop blisters and swelling so painful that you can’t walk for days.”
I make a face, for this sounds almost as unpleasant as my feet already feel.
“Trust me,” he says. “I’m a doctor.”
“You know that every time you say that I get even more suspicious, right?” I ask him lightly.
“Feet. Lap. Now.” He demands this while vigorously rubbing my fingers.
Biting my lip, I angle my body perpendicular to his and place my feet in his lap. I carefully rest my toes
against what should be the warmest part of his upper thigh, while still being as respectful and polite as possible and not plunging my toes directly into his genitals. Unfortunately, I am so numb that I can’t feel any of his body heat and it offers no immediate relief to my stinging pain.
Liam arranges his coat more closely around my legs as he continues to rub my fingers.
“Thanks,” I tell him softly.
“You don’t need to thank me,” he responds, and there is a bit of anger in his voice. “I’m just trying to keep you all in one piece. Jesus. It’s like you’re determined to sabotage yourself! If being blind isn’t bad enough, you have no appreciation for your fingers and toes. Your body parts aren’t just expendable, you know!”
“No,” I tell him. “That’s not what I meant. Thanks for not asking what happened in the house.”
“Oh,” he says in surprise. “Well... you’re welcome. I figure that if you want to tell me, you will.”
I am quiet for a moment, except for the noise of my teeth chattering and my short, rapid breathing. “Can I sit a little closer to you?” I ask quietly.
“Sure,” he says, but he moves toward me instead, pinning me into the corner of the shed. He slips his arm around me, trying to cradle me in a cocoon of comfort and warmth.
I lean forward and press my shoulder against his body, trying to burrow into the warmth of his armpit. My ears and nose have been stinging with pain, and I press my face against his chest to steal the heat of his torso, through his tuxedo jacket. My feet are still positioned in his lap. I am shivering quite uncontrollably now, and running out into the snow no longer seems like it was the perfect rebellious and dramatic idea. It feels like it was immature and self-destructive. I wouldn’t have cared if Liam hadn’t followed me; if it was just me alone, shivering and getting frostbite and possibly dying, I might be comfortable with that. But forcing him to take care of me? Making him deal with my stress and my crisis? That’s selfish of me, and it’s not right. I feel so childish and needy, and I hate myself for being like this.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble against his chest. “I didn’t mean to involve you...”
“I involved myself,” he responds. “Are you feeling a bit warmer? Does it hurt anywhere?”
“Just my ears and face,” I say quietly. My nipples are also hurting a great deal, but I am far too embarrassed to mention that. The cold is starting to make me sleepy.
I feel one of Liam’s hands leave mine, and a warm palm is pressed against my exposed ear. He gently rubs my ear between his fingers, and I wince at the pain. I feel his fingers under my chin, lifting it so that he can examine my face. He presses his thumb against my nose, massaging it gently, followed by my cheeks. He leans down and breathes hot air into my face, and it tickles my eyelashes. He skirts his thumb over my frozen lips, while breathing more hot air onto my skin.
“Um,” he says awkwardly, suddenly pulling away. “Sorry about that.”
“About what?” I ask in confusion.
“You know...” He clears his throat. “The situation in my lap.”
“Oh!” I say in surprise. I’m not sure why, but I try to wiggle my toes around to figure out what he’s talking about. I am almost disappointed when all I feel is the burning pain of my toes. “Unfortunately, I’m too numb to feel anything and I hadn’t noticed.”
“Dammit. Then I shouldn’t have mentioned it,” he grumbles. “How humiliating. Can you please stop poking your feet around now? That’s not helping.”
“Is something happening in your lap?” I ask innocently. For some reason, this is somewhat amusing to me. The gentle beginnings of a smile cause the corners of my lips to crinkle, and this hurts my face as though my skin is made of ice which has begun to crack and shatter.
“Helen,” he says with warning. “Stop teasing me. You refused to go inside or let me go in the house and bring something warm back—so I’m improvising. This is the best I can do.”
“Thanks,” I tell him sincerely. I lean forward and press my face against his chest again, but this time it’s not entirely for warmth. “Why was there a situation in your lap?” I ask him.
“Oh. I was just thinking of ways to help you get warm... and for an instant, the thought of kissing you might have crossed my mind.”
Luckily, my face being hidden against his chest conceals my surprise. “Thanks for not doing that. I don’t think I could handle it right now.”
“You don’t have to keep thanking me for being a decent human being, Helen. Besides, logically, my armpit is warmer, so you should probably stick your face there—it was just a fleeting thought I couldn’t control.”
I try to conceal a frown. I told him on the car ride over here that I had changed my name, and no longer wanted to be called Helen. My recent encounter with Grayson has only made it worse. I hate that name. I hate the way he says it. I hate everything associated with it. I wish that I could escape it, but I already tried that once. Someone still found me and brought me home. How could I escape even further? How could I really get away and disappear from all this?
My thoughts take a sinister turn, and I start wishing that Liam had not found me. I start to grow comforted by imagining a perfect silence and darkness, one even more complete than my usual silence and darkness. I think that Liam senses my train of thought, for he rubs his hand up and down over my back.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks softly.
I can’t respond. How can I tell him these thoughts? How can I tell him that I am wishing I would freeze to death? He will think I’m insane. Still, I can’t stop wishing that my existence would come to an end, so that I would never have to be afraid, anxious, or alone again. The last of those three qualities, the loneliness, is not something that I have allowed to bother me in the past. But after feeling a brief period of hopefulness and happiness, brought to me by Liam and his dorky friend Owen, I’m not sure how I can return to my previous life. After imagining for hours how glorious it could be to have my vision returned, and after hugging my dad again for the first time in years, and eating scrumptious cupcakes—how can I give up all of this? Worst of all, is this precious feeling I currently have.
I feel like Liam has dropped everything to take care of me—not just to prevent my potential frostbite, but to comfort me emotionally. He hasn’t mentioned it, but it is quite obvious in the careful way that he is holding me that he’s not just here because I’m a patient. There was no need to follow me out into the backyard to check on me. Coming to the wedding at all was unnecessary, especially after I told him not to. Heck—it was crazy that he sought me out specifically for his experiment when there were probably dozens of other excellent candidates. Why would he go out of his way to be so nice? Everything he’s done for me has been over-the-top and extraordinary. I haven’t had to ask repeatedly for assistance, or pressure him, and grow to feel uncomfortable and desperate. He has just taken action, so easily and happily, almost completely without prompting. We did make a few silly bargains, but I think that was mostly having fun. He has helped me and been there for me, almost as though he might enjoy doing things for me.
And he’s here right now. Suffering through the cold with me. Protecting me. From the weather, from Grayson, and from myself.
For the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel important to someone.
I feel like the center of his world.
It’s ridiculous, I know—and I won’t be foolish enough to say anything of the sort. It’s just that since my mom died, I haven’t felt this kind of sympathy and understanding. I haven’t had any intimate connections with any other people—I haven’t had anyone in whom I could confide. I’ve only known Liam for a few hours, but he really does feel like an old friend. It’s so easy to talk to him, like we might have always been around each other, moving in the same circles, reading the same books, sharing the same experiences. I know this is insane and untrue, but there’s just something calming about his energy. There’s something true and solid in his voice.
Gone is the boisterous, animated sound of Carmen’s shrill tone—she somehow managed to be peppy and animated even in her darkest moment. I don’t think anything could keep that girl down. Thinking about her makes me feel a little sick. Our previous conversation really got under my skin. Sometimes listening to her speak can be exhausting, but that had to be the most depressing conversation we ever shared. In contrast, when Liam speaks, in his slow and careful way, I just want to hear more.
It baffles me that even though he has no idea what’s wrong with me, or the reason why I ran out into the snow, he’s helping anyway. No questions asked. I am suddenly overcome with the urge to tell him. I am not sure why—do I require validation for my reckless act? Do I feel I owe him an explanation in exchange for his kindness? Or is the memory of Carmen and her situation destroying my insides like a cancer, and do I need to share it with someone in order to get it out of my system?
“Do you want to know what’s bothering me?” I ask him, taking a frosty breath.
“I’m dying to know,” he admits, “but only if you want to share.”
Nodding, I try to find the words. “Remember the story I told you in the car? About my past? What happened to me?”
“Yes, of course,” he answers.
I shut my eyes tightly. It feels like that car ride was a lifetime ago. So much has happened since then that I feel like a different person. I clear my throat as I prepare to deliver the awkward words. “The man that my sister just married... is the man who... yeah.”
Liam sits up a little, and I feel his entire body tense up in understanding. He does not respond right away. He seems dumbstruck to the point of speechlessness. I can also feel that he has not taken a breath in several seconds as he processes the information. “You’re saying that the groom—Grayson—is the one who...”
“Yeah.”
He remains wordless for another little while. “Does your sister know?”
Clarity 2 Page 5
