Hollow Sight

by Kristie Pierce

  “Liam,” she mumbles. “It hurts.”

  I curse. I was so hoping that I was being gentle enough for her.

  “I’m sorry, love.” I whisper. “I’m trying not to hurt you. I just need to get these grimy clothes off of you so I can clean your wounds.”

  “I need a bath,” she murmurs, now opening the eye that isn’t swollen shut.

  “I was thinking the same thing, actually,” I smirk. “But I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “Ah, being inappropriate were we?” she smiles. It doesn’t reach her eyes and I know she’s being brave for me. “Welp, I’m awake now. And I don’t think I can sleep very well covered in blood and dirt. Wouldn’t want to ruin your pretty sheets.”

  I roll my eyes. “Very well. Your wish is my command. I’ll be right back.”

  As I rise to walk to my washroom, Breckin grabs my hand, clutching with her small fingers desperately around mine. This is the kind of thing she does when she’s feeling frightened and doesn’t want to tell me. I look into her eyes – well, her one eye – and swallow when I see a single tear slowly flowing down her cheek.

  “Hey,” I say, kneeling down to the bedside next to her. “What is it?”

  She shakes her head and brings her other hand up to cup my cheek. I automatically lean into her touch, relishing the feel of her soft skin against mine. I don’t pretend to know why she’s crying and it’s something I hate to see. I want to fix whatever is troubling her – just make it go away – but I have a nauseating feeling that I can’t.

  “I’m just going to go draw you that bath.” I assure with a slight smile.

  “Liam?” Her tone is quiet but nervous.

  “Hmm?”

  “Will you stay in there… with me… while I… I-I take my bath?”

  Oh. I swallow again and my eyes widen. Of all the times I’d wanted this, all the times I’d imagined this moment, and this is the time she picks to want to be naked in front of me. I chastise myself for the inappropriate thought. She’s asking because she needs me. I see it in her wide, vulnerable eyes.

  “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought that you could help me with washing my hair and maybe my back? I’m pretty sore.” She blushes.

  That sobers me up.

  “Of course I will.” I say with another smile. But not a smile that would let her in on the fact that I now understand why she’s nervous and why I’m just a little bit excited for this. Get it together, dill hole! This isn’t like that!

  “Thanks,” she says mirroring my smile. I see the pulse at the base of her neck beating rapidly and vow to myself that I will make this as comfortable as I can for her. I know it took a great deal of courage for her to ask such a thing.

  I help her frail little body up from my bed and guide her to my washroom, cringing with every step she takes while she makes little pain faces and winces as she limps her way there. I flip on the light, slyly taking in her slim body in just a bra and panties. Seeing the bruises mapped out over her arms, knees, and face sticking out against her creamy-white skin like a flashing sign.

  “I’m okay,” she murmurs after catching me groping her with my eyes. I nod and have her sit on the toilet seat while I turn on the tap.

  “Bubbles?” I ask as I adjust the temperature.

  “Yes, that’d be nice.”

  I allow the tub to fill almost to the rim and when it’s ready for her, turn around so that she can climb in. I scold myself when I start imagining what would maybe happen if under different circumstances. What I’d do if she weren’t so broken and beaten. If tonight hadn’t played out the way it had. Because right now, even though tonight was hell, I’d like nothing more than to trail my lips along her jaw line, her collarbone, to the base of her throat. I’d love to trace patterns on every inch of her skin with my hands, to feel her beneath my touch.

  “You can turn around,” she says just as my mind is almost too far gone from the brink. Seeing her up to her bare shoulders in white, frothy bubbles doesn’t help. “Think you can manage to wash my hair?” she asks, clearly hopeful that I’m up for the task.

  And so I do.

  It takes way more time than I would think it should, but I suppose that’s because she has such thick beautiful hair that goes down the length of her slender back. I massage her scalp as she leans her head back and closes her eyes. The sight of the bruise lining her cheekbone is really nagging at me and a stinging suspicion blooms within me as my knuckles begin to ache from the work of washing her hair. I shove the thought aside and grab a washcloth to clean her back. I move to her shoulders, and when she doesn’t protest, I continue by washing her neck, her arms, taking great care of the raw skin lining her wrists. They look like burns. She even allows me to wash her face – which I take a very long time of doing making sure I don’t hurt her further. When she abruptly lifts a leg out high above the water so I can scrub that too, I almost spasm as I take sight of her naked skin. Her thigh is just dangling out for me to run my hands up and down…. No! Just wash her skin, dumbass! She has no idea how hard she makes it for me to behave myself. I am a guy after all. Ruled by hormones my mum always said.

  After I’ve finished every inch I’m allowed to wash, she takes the cloth from my hand to finish up. I stand and dry my hands just to avert my eyes away from the water that is now barely masked with bubbles as they’ve dispersed to an almost nonexistent cover of thin foam.

  “Can I just sleep in one of your shirts?” she asks as she pulls the drain plug. I hear the distinct sound of water gurgling down the pipes and automatically reach for a bath towel to hand over. I concentrate on the wall in front of me, looking at it as if it holds the answers to the universe.

  “Sure you can.” The thought of her in one of my T-shirts is delightfully maddening. “I’ll just go grab one for you.”

  When I return, she’s running my comb through her long hair, standing with her back to me in just a towel, her big brown eyes watching me in the reflection of the mirror. I don’t even think, I just walk up behind her and wrap my arms around her waist wanting the feel of her body pressed against mine. Not for the reasons I’d had playing through my head for the past thirty minutes, but for the simplicity of having her in my arms. Her still-wet hair soaks through my shirt and chills my hot skin as I bury my nose into her neck and suck in a heavy breath. She smells like me, only better.

  “I like the smell of my soap on your skin.” I comment.

  “Oh? Does it smell different on me than it does on you?” she says, turning to face me.

  I cup her face in both of my hands and lean down to gently kiss her on the mouth.

  “Is that your answer?” she asks breathless against my lips.

  I just smile and hand her my T-shirt. It’s dark green, a color I picked out deliberately to bring out the small flecks of emerald and gold in her eyes. No longer have I let myself out, is she right behind me now dressed in my shirt. All lean bare legs, slender arms, a slim shoulder peeking out from beneath the much too big shirt collar, and long damp locks of chocolate tresses. I swallow.

  “Come on. I want to get some medicine on those bruises on your cheek.” I say, holding out my hand for hers.

  She slightly averts her gaze off into the distance and begins to play with her fingers. It’s a nervous gesture she often does without even realizing. Especially when she doesn’t want to tell me something.

  “Hey,” I murmur, placing my finger beneath her chin. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” she lies. She’s such a terrible liar I often wonder why she even tries. I widen my eyes with sincerity and soften my expression as much as possible. I know she’ll tell me eventually even if she doesn’t want to. That’s also one of the characteristics I love so much about her; Breckin tells me everything even if she think it better not to. “Tonight really took it out of me, I guess,” she shrugs now.

  I take her small, soft hand in mine to lead her back over to my bed. I make her sit on the edge while I kneel down in front
of her as I reach for the waxy salve Marjorie included on the tray. It smells foul, but I’d used it enough in the past on my own injuries to know that it works miracles. I have no idea what’s in it, but Marjorie brought it to my bedside each night after my accident and ordered me to use it. By tomorrow, Breckin’s face should be much less swollen and the bruises should start to fade. I swipe my finger into the bowl of ointment and tentatively place my hand to her battered face to apply it. If I’m hurting her, she doesn’t allow me to see. My stomach twists uncomfortably with the thought of her capacity for bravery and strength. She shouldn’t have to be this brave and so strong this soon in her life. I can’t begin to imagine the burden she bears with her gift. And I know, deep down, that she’s only just beginning to understand it herself.

  She wrinkles her nose. “That stinks.”

  “I know. But it works miracles. There,” I say softly. “Much better. May I see your wrists?”

  “My ankles, too.”

  “What?” I gasp.

  She lifts her legs up to show me the marks around her fragile ankles. And sure enough, there are burns around those as well. My nostrils flare with rage and I feel the familiar tingle of my blood starting to boil through my body. My hands ache to hit something. I take a few calming breaths and remind myself that getting angry will do her no good. I close my eyes to concentrate on my breathing. “I’m sorry this happened to you,” I murmur.

  She shrugs a slender shoulder and gives an apologetic smile. Why the hell is she feeling apologetic?! I’m the one who should be apologizing. If it weren’t for me, this never would have happened to her. My mind jolts back to the time I left her and my stomach twists while my throat closes.

  “It’s not your fault,” she says softly as if she can read my thoughts. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?” I ask hesitantly.

  “Don’t blame yourself. Together. Remember? We do this together.” I hadn’t even noticed in my fit of rage, but she’s laced her fingers with mine and is squeezing my hand. “My injuries are feeling much better. Thank you for taking care of me.”

  I glance down and see that I’ve practically covered her entire face, wrists, and ankles with the sticky ointment. But at least I know she’ll be ten-times better by tomorrow. I glance at the clock and see that it shows three-fifteen a.m.

  “We should sleep. It’s been a big day for both of us,” I murmur as I pack away the medical supplies. I hand over the ice pack in a silent command for her to put it to her face. She furrows her eyebrows and then obliges.

  “Will you tell me a story?” she asks hopefully, scooting back to prop herself up with my pillows.

  “What kind of story?” I ask.

  “Anything. I need to hear your voice. If it’s quiet, I’ll just start thinking about the horrors of tonight, and I don’t want to. You don’t have to talk all night, just until I fall asleep. Please?”

  “Breckin, love, please tell me what’s bothering you.” I plead. The pain in her eyes is crushing my heart. And I know she only needs distracting when something is truly upsetting her.

  She lets out a defeated sigh but says nothing. Okay, time for some persuasion.

  I stride over to my walk-in closet to change. I peel off my own filthy clothes and toss them to the floor. Upon opening my dresser drawer, I see that I don’t have any clean nightclothes; I normally sleep in just my skivvies. Well, hell. Guess it’s time to prance around in my own knickers. I smile in spite of myself, take a deep breath, and exit the closet. Breckin is lying down now, her knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs. Before I would’ve believed she was in agonizing pain, but tonight has ended all that. There aren’t any more ghosts here to taunt her or haunt her, no one left to cause her pain.

  She peeks her head up and I see it in her face. She wasn’t expecting me to come out baring all in my underwear.

  “Hi,” I say with a large amount of humor.

  “H-hey,” she stammers.

  “Disarming, isn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “Having someone stalking around in their undergarments.” I eye her pointedly and she laughs. A genuine laugh and I smirk. “Am I funny?”

  “Hilarious,” she scoffs.

  “I seem to remember you saying something in the way of never seeing me in my pantaloons when I’ve seen you in yours a time or two. Fair is fair, I suppose.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  I knowingly saunter over to her so that I’m standing at the edge of the bed and then lean down to kiss her. Her lips are so soft against mine, almost timid, and it only makes me want to kiss her harder. Getting lost in her kiss is easily done. I allow myself to forget all that plagues me – ghosts of my own – and think of nothing else but her and I. I’m holding back and I suspect she knows that, but if I kiss her with any more strength than I am, I know I’ll hurt her. Both of our breathing has become rapid, our heartbeats thumping loudly. She lays her hand against my naked chest while I continue to kiss her and I know she’s searching for my heart. She smiles beneath me and I know she feels it; the way mine beats in time with hers. Reluctantly, I pull away leaving us both wanting more.

  “Now,” I breathe against her. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “No,” she answers stubbornly. “Tomorrow’s problem.”

  I groan in frustration and lean into her a second time. But this time she pulls me down on top of her. She’s using my own techniques against me. Distraction by way of using my own needy pull and want for her.

  “Wanna make out?” she giggles against my lips.

  “Isn’t that what we’re doing?” I answer teasingly.

  “Hmm.”

  “You’re driving me crazy.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. You know exactly what you’re doing and don’t think for one second you can pull one over on me.”

  She ignores me and snuggles into my chest. I sigh and resign to playing with her hair. I stroke my fingers from her temple to her back, up and down, again and again. I feel her body relaxing into slumber beneath me and I allow myself to relax as well. I listen as her breaths whisper from her mouth, now slightly slack with exhaustion. I glance down to her face, just watching her sleep, taking in the curve of her full lips, the soft angle of her cheekbones, the fullness of her dark lashes. I can see her beautiful features perfectly even when they’re covered in bruises.

  Whatever she’s keeping from me is eating away at me, but I know I just need to let it go. Breckin will tell me. Eventually. She said it’s tomorrow’s problem. I have a feeling it’s something worse than what we faced tonight. Something worse than all my fears put together. And for some unexplained reason, I have a feeling that our problems are far from over.

  As I begin to relax and drift off to sleep, the night’s events begin to replay in my head as they did before. All of them not making much sense, flashing beneath my eyelids in quick rushes or dark shadows. I’m just about to succumb to unconsciousness when a voice I don’t remembering hearing at the time booms loud and forceful inside my ears. I hadn’t been paying attention at the time – I’d thought the power of the Hollow Site had long disappeared. But Evie’s voice echoes loud and true as I recall her last words to Breckin.

  Don’t think I’ve given up, Breckin. You may have won tonight, but this isn’t over.

  My body tenses and snaps to attention as her threat repeats over and over in my head. Breckin stirs and whines in her sleep with my abrupt movements and I realize with a jolt that this is what she’s is hiding from me. This is what she doesn’t want me to know.

  Evie is still here.

  About the Author

  Kristie currently lives in a small town in Lower Michigan with her husband and their three boys. She is a stay-at-home mom with a love of imagination and daydreams. After collaborating stories on her own, much time spent on her laptop and sleepless nights, she finally decided to take action of her dreams and addiction to writing and publish her first book.

  r />  

  Kristie Pierce, Hollow Sight