by C. E. Wilson
“Why do you say that?” I asked, suddenly desperate to hear her say something nice about me. For too long, I hadn’t heard anyone say anything good about Malcolm Davenport. He wasn’t a good person. I wanted her to say something to remind me that I wasn’t a monster—that even though I was here, deep down I wasn’t all bad.
“Because, despite me biting and scratching you, you never hurt me,” she said.
When I looked up, I saw her eyes fixate on the table, and then on her feet and then on the grooves of the wood. She wasn’t looking at me.
“I told you I would never hurt you. I meant that.”
“I know,” she said quickly. “I know that, but I didn’t always know.” She shook her head. “It’s been a long time since I could believe that.”
My Adam’s apple throbbed. How hard were things for her, that she’d say something like that? As I continued to stare at her back, my hand started to act on its own again. It crept off the table and started to reach for her. For a moment I held back, ashamed that I was taking advantage of her. I didn’t deserve to have company. I was supposed to be alone. I was supposed to spend time here thinking about what I had done and why I was here.
When my fingers finally brushed against her back, she jumped, just as I had when she touched me, but I didn’t pull away. She turned around to face me, and my fingers curled around her back, my thumb hovering dangerously close to her cheek again. She was a mystery. Obviously, something had happened to her, but she didn’t want to talk about it. I could respect that, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t feel sorry about it.
“I don’t know what happened to you,” I said thickly. My voice felt as though it hadn’t been used for meaningful conversation in a long time. I wasn’t used to being so soft, so careful. I had only shown this part of myself to one woman, and now she didn’t want anything to do with me. Why I was so careful with this stranger? The reason couldn’t have been the same as it had been with Mauve. It was different. Mauve wanted me. I wanted her. In that moment, I felt Verity didn’t want me and I didn’t want her, but we needed each other. Already. So fast.
I blamed my behavior on the desperation of loneliness. Nothing more. It couldn’t have been anything else. I wanted Mauve back.
I wanted something to remind me that I wasn’t a bad person. That had to be the reason I was warming up to her so quickly.
Swallowing, I started over again, feeling her soft hair against my knuckles. “I don’t know what happened to you, Verity, but you’re safe here. For as long as you want to stay, you’re welcome here. You’ll never be hurt here. No one will ever hurt you.” That was a lot to promise a stranger, but I felt a resolve grow in me as I spoke the words. Malcolm, the forthright hero protecting the honor of a wronged maiden. It sounded a lot better than Mr. Davenport, convicted criminal in a time-out corner for three years.
Verity’s eyes told me she’d needed to hear those words.
“Th-thank you,” she said in a shaky voice.
All traces of trying to lighten the mood were gone. She must have been able to tell that I was being serious, and she was no longer trying to mask her emotions with a smile. To the surprise of both of us, she dipped her head slightly so my thumb touched her cheek. Sadly, because of how much bigger I was than her, it was probably the best way I could comfort her.
I didn’t know why, but something about that felt strange. The idea of not being able to hold Verity like a true woman made me sad.
I didn’t tell her that.
Chapter Eight
Days came and went, and before I knew it almost two weeks had passed since Verity’s arrival. I couldn’t believe it. Had it been so long since I’d been outside? The only time I snuck out was when Verity was sleeping, to retrieve my sketchbook, which I’d left on the stoop. I didn’t know why I was so afraid about going outside. And I really didn’t understand why she wasn’t fighting me more about it, maybe because she spent so much time sleeping. I still didn’t know much of anything about her…except maybe how much she slept. She fell asleep earlier than I did and would usually wake up hours after I woke up. And then she would often take a nap! She seemed so tired…I remembered what she said about sleeping on something soft. Maybe she hadn’t slept well in a long while and was making up for lost time.
I could respect that.
Neither of us would elaborate further on our pasts, so we just played an old married couple for a while. We fell into a routine of me waking up first, making breakfast, and waiting until around lunchtime for her to eat it. I would often work on my art or turn on the radio so the place wasn’t dead silent, but she would either watch me quietly or take another nap. Then we’d eat a bland dinner together, and I’d complain about the taste, but Verity took everything I offered her with a smile and a thank you.
We didn’t really talk much at first. I was nervous that she would question me about my past, and I was sure she felt the same fear. We both had secrets we wanted to keep, but we didn’t want to lose each other. I wanted her to stay—to help deal with the loneliness—but why did she want to stay with me? Because her wings were still damaged? They weren’t like bird’s wings, so they didn’t heal, but she was still able to fly. If she really wanted to leave, all she would have had to do was ask. I didn’t think I would have it in me to deny her anything at that point.
Or at least that was what I told myself.
Around two weeks in, I suspected Verity wanted more from me. She had started watching me more closely now as I worked, and her sleeping habits were becoming a bit more “normal.” She still slept in late, but oftentimes, she would stay up with me and listen to the radio until we both fell asleep. Also, even when I was working on my sketches or paintings, she no longer took naps but sat or hovered close by. Watching. Waiting.
“You draw that girl a lot,” she said on one particular afternoon.
I smirked to myself. “I guess I do.”
I wasn’t expecting anything more to come of her questioning. That day, I was working on a particular piece that I was quite proud of. It had started as a sketch of Mauve’s face, but when I applied the watercolor too quickly, it started to drip down the page, creating a melting effect. Rather than try to fix it, I worked with it, allowing the rich reds to slide down her face, the blues trickling from her eyes, as if the color was draining from them like tears. It probably didn’t look like much at first glance, but I liked it.
“Why do you draw her so much?”
I lifted my head. Verity was standing close to me on the table, and she was looking down at the watercolor with a strange expression—one I couldn’t even begin to figure out.
“Why do you want to know?” I tilted one eyebrow upward.
“No reason,” she responded. “Only curiosity. It’s always the same face.”
“Is it?” I pretended to be ignorant of the face in question. I was more than well aware that I spent most of my time drawing Mauve, but I hadn’t realized I had been doing it so obviously that Verity would notice it.
“You know it is.” Verity kept her voice low, surely aware she was treading in dangerous waters. We didn’t talk about our pasts. I didn’t ask what happened to her, and I hoped in return that she wouldn’t press me about such things. Maybe my time had run out for that. “Who is she? Your girlfriend from back home?”
My brow furrowed. “No.” I lowered my head and tried to get back to work, but Verity was still pacing around the paper. I set down the paintbrush in my water cup and crossed my arms. “She was my girlfriend,” I said. “Not anymore.”
“Because of what you did?”
I glanced away, not wanting to see her expression. “Yeah…because of what I did.”
“And she couldn’t forgive you?”
My head snapped back toward her, and she hesitantly stepped backward. Good choice. “No, Verity. She couldn’t forgive me. I don’t know many people who would.”
“And you’re still not ready…” She let the words hang in the air.
“No. I’
m not going to talk about it. I told you that.” I didn’t mean to make my voice so sharp, but I still hated the idea of talking about what I did. Verity probably wouldn’t care. Hell, she couldn’t really even do anything if she did. So why was I getting so bent out of shape? Why was I so desperate to keep secrets from her? “Why don’t you tell me something about where you’re from?” I challenged.
“There’s nothing to tell.”
I laughed bitterly. “Oh, right. Of course. There’s absolutely nothing to talk about.” I lowered my chin and looked at her thoughtfully. “You only have wings sprouting from your back—which you won’t let me see—and you’re a foot tall person with a mysterious past full of fuzzy memories. Yup. You’re right, Verity. Nothing to talk about.”
“I’ll tell you more if you tell me something,” she responded sharply.
“I don’t have to tell you anything.”
“Then neither do I.” She crossed her arms and looked out the window. “I’ll stay here cooped up for all eternity with a man who keeps secrets.”
“Cooped up? I didn’t hear you complaining. A warm bed? Food to eat? And company?”
“Some company,” she said dryly. “You hardly talk to me.”
“You hardly talk to me!” I shot back. “What the hell is your problem today? Why are you up my ass?”
She flinched. “I’m not. I thought it was normal to want to have a conversation—”
“You’re going to lecture me on what’s normal? You, Little Miss Flying Winged Girl with Pink Hair?”
“I didn’t choose to be this way.”
“How would I know that?” I shook my head. “And what do you mean ‘cooped up’? Is that how you feel?” When I looked into her eyes, I saw something shift, and she lowered her eyes immediately. “You do,” I said, no longer questioning her. “You think I’m keeping you prisoner, don’t you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. Fine.” I slammed my hand down on the table and didn’t even give a shit when Verity cried out and jumped as things on the table fell around her. My cheeks were warm. She thought I was forcing her to stay here? She felt I was holding her hostage? Whatever. I swung the door wide open and waved my hand toward the outdoors. “So go,” I challenged her. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”
Her face changed again. I could see the calculation in her eyes. She was trying to figure out what I was up to. Ignoring the open door, she walked to the edge of the table. “Is it because I asked about that woman in the pictures? Because if it is—”
“This has nothing to do with Mauve,” I said sharply. I said her name out loud. I hadn’t meant to do that. I saw Verity’s bright eyes widen at my outburst.
“Mauve,” she said, trying it out on her own lips.
I gritted my teeth. I didn’t want to hear anyone saying her name but me. That girl… that woman… she was supposed to be mine. Mine, dammit—until one of us got sick of the other, and I was never going to get sick of her. “Don’t say her name,” I said, keeping my voice cold.
“I’m sorry—”
“Look”—I pointed outside—“there’s the door. If you want to go…get the hell out.”
She looked back at her damaged wing and then toward the door and I noticed for the first time that it was raining. Again. Damn weather.
“So now you’re making excuses? Suddenly you’re realizing I’m not actually keeping you here? I’m not. I thought I was helping you like a little lost bird.”
“I’m not a bird.”
“You’re a doll,” I said irritably. Maybe I was crossing a line, but in that moment, my mouth worked on auto-pilot. How dare she ask me about Mauve? Didn’t she think that if I wanted to talk about her, I would have by then? I didn’t press her about her damn secrets. Why couldn’t she pay me that respect? I was about to say as much, but the hurt and shock on her little face stopped me. I inhaled and exhaled deeply, trying to calm myself. That type of anger and behavior was part of my problem.
“L-look,” my voice trembled with anger and remorse for what I had said. “I didn’t mean to—”
“You asshole!” she shrieked over me, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“Verity—”
“Is that what you really think?”
“Of course not—”
“Screw you, then you shouldn’t have said it! I don’t need to stay here with someone who doesn’t even like me.”
“I didn’t say that—”
“No. You said worse. You said I’m not even worth liking or disliking. You see me as a thing. You want me to sit around and not bother you. You want me to thank you for every little thing you do for me, but don’t actually offer me anything.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean? I told you! I give you—”
“Yeah, I know what you give me! A place to sleep and food on my plate. Well, you know what? I can get that somewhere else and possibly with someone who sees me as a person and not a damn decoration.”
“I didn’t say that, Verity. Come on…” Her words stung. Was that what she honestly thought about me? Was that really how I was coming across? I was secretive and maybe a little moody, but I thought I was doing a pretty good job making her feel welcome. “I said I was sorry…”
“So, good. You’re sorry. You’re forgiven. Asshole.” Her wings started to spread away from her back, and I bit my lip nervously, contemplating shutting the door. I’d said she could go. I’d said I wasn’t going to keep her. I had to stand my ground, but I didn’t have to be happy about it. “So you’re really going to leave?”
“Why shouldn’t I? I’m obviously not wanted here.”
“I want you—”
“Scratch that,” she interrupted me before I said something I would’ve regretted. “Not only am I not wanted here, but I’m not even seen as a person.”
My face reddened with anger and humiliation. After two weeks…that was how she felt? Why was I trying to stop her? I pushed the door open a little wider. “Then go. I won’t stop you.”
She held her chin high. Was it possible she was starting to feel regret as much as I had? What were we even arguing about anymore? Mauve? Mauve wasn’t there. Mauve and I weren’t together. Mauve wasn’t even speaking to me. And now—because of her—I was throwing a miracle out the door because of my pride and dedication to a woman who didn’t want anything to do with me.
Was I ready to do that? Really?
Blinking, she fluttered unsteadily in front of my face. Rain pounded heavily on the thin roof of my shack as I watched her trying to keep herself steady at my eye level. She hadn’t really flown for very long since she arrived. Hell, she barely flew at all some days, and she certainly hadn’t flown in the rain.
“Thank you,” she said. Her voice sounded raspy, as though she was holding back another cry. I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. If I looked at her face, I would see the tears in her eyes. I would break down. I would grow weak for her. I’d promised I wouldn’t be weak for anyone except Mauve. “Thank you for giving me a place to stay. And food to eat.”
“It wasn’t just about that,” I said to the floor. “Verity, I—” I stopped midsentence as a soft sound caught my attention. I probably wouldn’t have even noticed it if my ears weren’t well trained from spending so much time with Verity. I’d gotten used to checking for soft sounds and looking for small things. I probably wouldn’t have even heard it before.
I could see Flynn through the window.
Despite the rain, Flynn was outside his house and standing on the deck. His head was tilted in my direction, probably curious about where the hell I’d been the past couple weeks. He didn’t call out to me, but I could see his curiosity. He probably couldn’t see too much, but he wouldn’t have to. I lowered my voice practically to a whisper.
“We should head back inside and talk,” I said to her, suddenly urgent.
“Why the change?” Verity challenged.
“Verity…please…come inside
. You don’t realize—”
“What?”
“Please,” I hissed. “Lower your voice. Come inside. I’m sorry about what I said, but please…just come inside.”
“I won’t,” she said defiantly. “You said you want me gone? Well, here I go.”
“You don’t even know if you can fly well in this weather yet. Your wings aren’t one hundred percent.” I started to reach for her, but she floated back from my hands into the rain. The door was still blocking her from Flynn’s vision, but only just. If she went any farther… “Verity,” I hissed, “stop.”
“Don’t touch me,” she called back. “Have a good life. I hope you and Mauve live happily ever after.”
“It’s not a fucking fairy tale—wait!” I shouted as she left the shelter of the door. “Come back!” I leapt from the stoop in one last effort to reach for her, but I missed. I fell off the deck and planted face-first in the mud. Verity flew backward away from me toward Flynn’s property. She was laughing, and her wings worked jerkily in the driving rain. She wasn’t even paying attention. Just as I lifted my head, I saw Flynn sprinting toward his property line.
Flynn had seen. He saw her, and he wanted her. Whatever she was.
“Verity!” I cried in one last, desperate effort. She was getting dangerously close to Flynn’s fenced-in property. I wouldn’t be able to reach her if she left my property. She was almost out of mine. “Stop! We can talk about this!”
“Gotcha!” Flynn yelled triumphantly.
A scream filled my ears—Verity’s scream. I jumped up to my feet and ran toward the end of my cage, hardly able to breathe as I saw Flynn standing there with wide eyes, holding Verity between his hands. He looked…entirely too interested in his find.
Verity didn’t scream again, going limp in his grasp.
Flynn tore his attention away to look at me. “What the hell is this?”
***
“What the hell is this?” Flynn asked again. He thrust Verity towards me and shook her. Her eyes were open, but she wasn’t moving. Had she passed out? With her eyes open? Her eyes. They were looking right at me, but they were blank. “Mr. Davenport, I would appreciate your cooperation when I’m asking you a question. What the hell is this thing?”
