by Jamie Canosa
My mind rebelled against the sight in front of me. I’d seen some pretty fucked up things. Been subjected to most of them. But this? Sylvie was tied face down to her bed. The pretty yellow sundress she’d been wearing discarded on the floor. Her father—the sick fucker—stood beside the bed, belt still swinging in his grasp.
“Son of a bitch!” I launched myself at him. I wasn’t some little kid anymore. At fifteen I had more muscle than most kids my age. That, combined with the fact that he’d already exerted most of his energy beating on his daughter and the element of surprise, I took him down easily.
We collided with the hard floor and I didn’t give him the chance to recover. Rolling myself on top of him, I rained blow after blow. Years of pent up fear and frustration bubbled to the surface. I pounded on him until my knuckles were raw and his blood mingled with mine, painting the whole room red.
“Stop.” Sylvie struggled against her bonds, choking on tears. “Sawyer . . . don’t kill him.”
“I should.” I scowled at the miserable piece of shit dangling in my grasp with every ounce of venom I felt inside me. “I should kill you right now. Make it so you can never lay a hand on her again.”
“Don’t,” Sylvie sobbed. “You’re better than him, Sawyer. Don’t do it. Please.”
Better than him? She thought I was better than him?
Blood stained my fists. Splatter covered my face, my arms, my shirt. Mr. Varis groaned beneath me.
She was wrong.
My knuckles ached as I pried them loose and shoved off of him. Mr. Varis didn’t waste any time, using the dresser to drag himself off the floor and stumbling from the room. A few moments later we heard the front door slam.
I couldn’t drag my eyes away from the reflection staring back at me in her vanity. Rage, pure and simple, was written all over my face. I’d lost control. Completely lost it.
I’m becoming my father.
Disgust curdled in my stomach as I gripped the hem of my shirt and tugged it over my head. The soft cotton didn’t feel nearly abrasive enough to wipe me clean as I scrubbed at my hands and face.
“S-sawyer?”
I froze. Sylvie. Turning slowly, I let my eyes wander over her bare body to her sweat and tear soaked face.
“Syl?” My lips moved, but I wasn’t sure any sound actually came out. “Oh, God.”
Welts on top of welts cut terrible paths across her pale skin, the bright red color standing out in stark contrast to the darkening bruises. He’d even drawn blood in at least one place that I could see. She whimpered and my senses returned.
Sliding onto the mattress at her side, I reached above her to untie her hands from the headboard. “Don’t move, okay? I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t go.” Sylvie reached for me, but the movement pulled on her delicate skin, causing her to cry out.
“No. Stay still. I’m just going to get something. I swear I’ll be right back.”
She buried her face in her pillow as I eased off the bed. “I’m right here, Syl. Just getting the ointment.”
I continued talking to her as I dug through the bathroom cabinets for the tub with the blue lid that Frank always used and a couple of painkillers. I filled one of those disposable Dixie cups with water before returning to her.
“Here. Swallow these. It’ll help with the pain.” She could barely lift her head as I tipped the small cup to her lips.
“Sawyer . . .” Her lip trembled, spilling some of the water onto her pillowcase. “It h-hurts.”
“I know.” Her soft hair tangled in the fingers of one hand as I dipped the other in the cool ointment. “I know. Hold really still. I’ll be as gentle as I can. Just hold on.”
Her tiny fingers curled tightly around the sheets as I smeared the medicine into her skin. She hissed and moaned a few times, but never moved.
“Shh, Syl. It’s okay. I’m here. I got you. It’s gonna be okay.” Somewhere around her waistline things got . . . awkward. “They go lower, Sylvie. Can I . . . Do you mind if . . .” I didn’t even know what I was trying to ask her. “Would you rather wait for Frank to get home?”
“No.” She rolled her head against the pillow until she could peer up at me. “I want it to be you, Sawyer.”
Stupid, juvenile embarrassment faded away to a feeling of self-loathing so intense I tasted bile creeping up the back of my throat as I continued to tend to her swelling wounds. They striped the skin of her rear and down the backs of her tender thighs. More than a few oozed blood. As I dabbed at them with a damp towel my heart shrank into a tiny diamond. Hard. Sharp. Impenetrable.
“I’m sorry, Sylvie. I’m so sorry. I—”
“Stop it.” She struggled to sit, clutching a sheet to her chest. Her voice was rough from her screams and choked with tears, but her words . . . they sank inside me and chiseled away at my diamond heart. “You and my brother, you’re always taking on responsibility for things that aren’t your fault.”
“I promised Frank I’d watch out for you, and your father—”
“My father. My father, Sawyer. He did this to me. Not you. Not Frank. Him. You can’t keep blaming yourselves for things you can’t control.”
“Sylvie . . .”
“Sawyer . . . don’t. Please.”
She leaned into me and before I knew what was happening, pressed her lips to mine. I’d made out with a few girls from school before. This was nothing like that. A simple, chaste kiss that somehow meant so much more because Sylvie and I, we had a bond. Something we shared between only us and Frank. A connection. I spent my entire life feeling weak and helpless, but there, with that frail, frightened girl in my arms, for the first time I felt strong. I finally felt like I could fight back, protect, defend—not only her but myself—because she gave me a reason to.
*Present day*
Lightning ripped across the sky, illuminating the sopping field. On the road, taillights shone like a pair of devilish eyes against the blackness. Ophelia’s feet and fists collided with my body, harder than expected, fueled by desperation. I took it. I took it all because I deserved it. I deserved to feel her wrath. And she deserved not to feel helpless for one goddamn second.
I took it until her right foot slammed into my shin and a frustrated, pained shriek split the night.
“Stop. Fi, stop it!”
I wrapped my arms around her, pinning her to my chest until her struggles gave way to sobs. She was so different from Sylvie. Strong, ferocious, even if she didn’t know it. Watching her break down in front of me, seeing her tears fall and knowing that I was the cause of them, it cracked the untouchable diamond in my chest.
“Please, Sparrow, stop. There’s nowhere to go. You’re only hurting yourself.”
“I hate you.” Her chest heaved against mine.
“I know. I know you do.” I do, too.
I brushed the rain from her face, pretending she was allowing me to wipe away her tears, knowing that would never happen.
“Sawyer, please. Don’t do this. Please just let me go. Please? I just want to go home.”
If it was just me, I’d have put her in my car right then, driven her back to her dorm, and watched her walk away. But it wasn’t just me. I had Frank to consider. If she walked away now, we were both screwed and this all would have been for nothing. There was Sylvie to consider, too. Her justice. But I couldn’t think about her because I knew she would have hated everything about this.
“I’m sorry. Just a little bit longer.”
“Why?” The look of betrayal in her eyes hit me with the force of a freight train, punching a hole clean through my chest. “Frank I understand. He’s . . . Something’s broken in him. But you? Why you, Sawyer? Why are you doing this to me?”
“Because, Fi . . .” I had to pry my teeth apart to get the words out. “Because he . . .” I threw my arm out toward the stable just as a flash of lightning cut open the sky. “He was going to do this with or without me. Nothing I said made a difference. He was coming for you one way or another. Would
it really be better if I wasn’t here?”
Rain dripped from her hair. It soaked into every fiber of her clothing and streamed down her face, making it easier to ignore the tears.
“I did this for one reason. To keep Frank from doing anything that will get him into any more trouble than he’s already in.”
“Like teaching my father a lesson by sending me back to him in pieces?” Her voice was so soft I barely heard her over the pounding rain.
Son of a bitch. Was that what he said to her? No wonder she ran.
“I’m scared.” Her whispered confession was nearly devoured by the storm. “I’m scared, Sawyer.”
Fuck. Me. I buried my face in her shoulder and took a deep breath to regain my composure. This girl was gutting me. What was I supposed to do? Tell her it was going to be alright? Make her promises she wouldn’t be able to believe? I had nothing to offer her. It had been a long damn time since I felt that helpless.
“Come on. Let’s get out of this storm.”
Defeat radiated from her slouched shoulders and lowered head as we turned back toward the stable. I’m sure she thought the arm I had around her shoulders was to keep her from running again, but I needed to touch her. She took a step forward, and when her weight shifted she cried out. Her leg gave and I caught her before she dropped to the soggy ground.
“Fi?”
“My ankle.” She leaned against my side and I knew it had to be bad. Worse than me.
Shit. My job here was to protect this girl and she was hurt. Again.
“Okay. I got you.” Before she could argue, I swung her into my arms and headed across the field.
She didn’t fight me. Not at all. That worried me more than her ankle, but I kept my mouth shut. One problem at a time. Rain whipped at us and I did my best to shield her from it. Rather useless in the grand scheme of things. It wasn’t until we were inside that I noticed how badly she was shivering.
“Stay here.” I carried her into the bathroom and sat her on the lid of the toilet, trusting her not to run again, knowing that even if she did I’d be able to catch her.
She must have known it, too, because when I returned a few minutes later with an armful of clothes she was right where I left her. She didn’t speak. She didn’t even look at me when I handed her a pair of my sweats and a long sleeved tee.
“Do you need help to—?”
“No.” Her voice was flat. She was shutting down on me.
“Alright.”
A bitter draft washed down the alleyway, sprouting goosebumps up and down my body as I swapped out my own rain soaked clothes for a t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Not exactly the most comfortable clothes to sleep in, but it was all I had left.
I was just buttoning them when the bathroom door opened and Fi hobbled into sight. “Let me—”
“I’m fine.” Her teeth were grinding so hard I could hear them as she moved gingerly toward the stall.
Against my better judgement, I let her walk, but insisted on holding her arm. She only put up a token struggle before giving me some of her weight. Dammit. I could feel the ice of her skin through the shirt sleeve and she was still shaking. The last thing we needed was for her to get pneumonia or some shit.
Frank snored softly in the corner, oblivious to the howling winds and bone jarring thunder. I’d always envied his ability to find peace in sleep. I didn’t think a single minute of my life had passed where I’d been able to rest that well. Always anticipating. Always on alert.
Though somehow the Sparrow had managed to escape me . . . What was it about her?
Fi crawled onto the cot as I dug through a bag of supplies in search of the first aid kit I’d picked up earlier. It wasn’t much. Some Band-Aids, antiseptic wipes, gauze . . . but it had an ACE bandage and a snap-and-go ice pack.
“Let me see your ankle.” I crushed the pack in my fist and gave it a shake. She flinched when it made contact with her swollen joint. “Sorry. Can you move it? It’s not broken, is it?”
Frank was the closest thing we had to a medical professional and there was no reaching him for at least a few more hours. Besides, then I would have had to explain how she got hurt, and I had no intention of telling him a damn thing about what went down tonight.
“I told you I’m fine.” Fi turned her face from me, but didn’t refuse the icepack.
“And that’s a load of crap. If you can bend it, show me.” If she couldn’t . . . fuck, I didn’t know.
Her breath caught, but she was able to move her foot. I breathed a sigh of relief. Sprained then, most likely.
“Okay. Good.” I kept the icepack on as long as I could stand to, until her shaking grew worse and her eyes began to droop. She was losing a battle with exhaustion. “I’m gonna wrap it up. Then you can rest.”
She didn’t say anything, simply watched as I wound the stretchy bandage around and around her foot and ankle, careful not to make it too tight. Her face was blank when I finished. She’s just tired. That’s what I told myself. I’d worry more about her state of mind tomorrow, after she got some sleep.
I hadn’t even reached for the cuffs before she was shoving her hand at me. Air hissed between my teeth at the sight of the torn and tattered flesh circling her wrist. “Shit, Sparrow. What did you do to yourself?”
“I’m—”
Fine, yeah, I know. “Shut up.”
I grabbed the antiseptic wipes and though she fought to remain impassive, I could see the tiny stress lines pulling at the corners of her eyes and mouth as I dabbed at the raw skin. Tiny tremors raced along her fingers when I blew on it to relieve some of the sting. The gauze went on next and I just looked at her, at this girl I swore to keep safe, bruised and battered. Just like the last girl I’d sworn to protect. And look how that turned out. My chest squeezed and I eyed the cuffs in disgust.
“I don’t want to use the restraints,” I confessed, and a flash of surprise widened her eyes. “Jesus, Fi. I don’t want to hurt you. I know you don’t believe me, but it’s the truth.”
“Then don’t.” She looked at me with a confusing combination of hope and fear. If it was confusing for me, how much more confusing must it be for her? I wasn’t playing fair. Wasn’t sticking to my role. I couldn’t be both the villain and the hero. Mind games, making her question herself . . . that was never part of the plan. I needed to remind myself who I was. What I was.
“Lay down.” She looked nervous and I honestly didn’t know if what I was thinking was better or worse than the damn cuffs, but I had to try.
She lay with her back to me as always and I slid in behind her. Normally, I would have faced the other way—given her at least the illusion of privacy—but tonight I laid with my chest against her back. I knew the instant she felt the difference. Her breathing turned into shallow pants and the shaking started all over again, though this time I doubted it was from the cold. Despite her capitulations and moments of trust, she was afraid of me.
Good. She should be.
I slid my arm over her waist, but when her entire body went rock solid, I froze. “It’s either this or the cuffs, Sparrow. It’s up to you. I’m just going to hold you while we sleep. That’s all. But it’s your choice. I can cuff your other wrist if you prefer.”
It felt as though an eternity passed while she struggled to make up her mind, to organize her fears and decide which was the greater of the two evils. It surprised me how relieved I felt when she made her choice. “I don’t want the cuffs.”
“Okay.” My arm inched farther along until it encircled her narrow waist. I could tell she was holding her breath. Waiting for . . . what? What did she expect me to do to her? “That’s it, Sparrow. That’s all. Go to sleep.”
Several long seconds ticked by before I felt her take a breath. Almost another hour before her body began to relax against mine. I was wide awake, holding perfectly still, terrified of moving and triggering whatever the hell it was that had her so frightened. She was trusting me and I wouldn’t screw that up. When her breathing turned d
eep and even, I finally allowed my eyes to close.
Chapter 10
~Ophelia~
I lay on that hard cot, listening to the screaming wind and booming thunder. None of it compared to the storm raging inside of me. Sawyer’s arm felt hard and heavy wrapped around my waist as I fought the bone-deep fatigue threatening to pull me under. His body heat warmed me as I struggled to remain alert, waiting for him to try something.
He didn’t. He kept his word, not moving an inch. My hero. The bitter thought infected my mind. And I cursed myself for believing it just the tiniest bit. Exhaustion gripped me in a steel fist and I surrendered. There was nothing left for me to do but trust his word and pray that he could keep it.
It was one of those disgustingly humid nights, the kind where your hair starts to look like you stuck a fork in a socket and even the grass seems to perspire. Tiny dew droplets soaked into my shirt. It was so hot you could smell it. The air was heavy with sweat, and sticky as syrup. It was nearly impossible to breathe.
Or maybe that was because of the forearm planted across my chest?
“Stop.” I gasped and tried to squirm free. A twig stabbed my shoulder, tearing the lacy material of my favorite shirt. “Don’t. Get off.”
Hands. More hands. So many hands. They captured my wrists and tugged them above my head, pinning them to the ground.
“Please, stop!” My voice was shrill with panic. “No! Don’t!”
There were other voices, too. They surrounded me. Words, laughter, sounds I’d never be able to forget. They seeped inside my ears and lodged themselves in my brain.
The sound of material ripping hit me like a shotgun blast. The damp night air touched my skin in places it shouldn’t. Places nothing should touch. No one. But they did. They did.
