by Ann, Bry
“Thank you, Seven. I’m so sorry you have to be burdened with me.”
Where did she learn to think she’s a burden?
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” I say in a monotone voice.
But she does. She really does. Because all I wanna do right now is take those lilac-painted fingernails that are twitching to hug me and wrap them around my waist.
And that’s… well, that’s not good.
Chapter Eleven
Isla
Seven and Nia are paces ahead of me, but one of them is constantly looking back to make sure I’m still here.
Here.
Covered in vomit.
Infected knife wound.
Exhausted out of my mind.
Without my one and only family member.
But here.
I just want to read. Shower. Sleep. Not in that order.
Seven stops suddenly, allowing me to catch up.
“Here.” He cocks his head to the faded red door with the numbers 129 hanging from it. “My place.”
I nod quietly. Nia frowns at me, then her dad. She wiggles out of his grip and stands between me and him so we’re in a weird line, but I know what she’s doing. She’s connecting us. Including me, since Seven’s only concern is keeping me alive. Which I appreciate, but I’m lonely without Danny.
I hope he’s okay. We haven’t been apart like this since we were kids.
Seven’s door swings open.
“Nia,” he calls. She runs forward into the place, almost happily. Seven goes in next. After a minute or two passes, I creep inside.
“Lock the door behind you,” Seven calls over from the other room.
“Sure,” I squeak, feeling suddenly very uncomfortable. I know Seven wouldn’t hurt me with Nia here, but I’m still in a strange man’s home and clearly not welcome.
I slowly enter the place, soaking in all the exits and the choice of decor. Or lack of, rather. It’s bare. Simple, dark green furniture. Black tables. White walls. The only sign of life in here is the spread of crystals and rocks on every side table and little pictures hung all over the walls from Nia. I have the urge to examine every one. It’s a small insight into her little mind. But now's not the time. I’m still only creeping forward when familiar, little cold fingers wrap around my wrist. I look down to see Nia staring at me with a small smile and a gentle face.
She grabs my hand and starts to trace.
S.
A.
F.
E.
Safe.
I can’t help it. My eyes water.
“I know, sweetie. Thank you,” I breathe.
She nods and pulls me forward. When we get to the kitchen, she lets go of my wrist and goes to the fridge. Her dad is filling that space. His back is facing me as he pulls something out of a thing of Tupperware. When he turns back around, Nia takes the spot he just filled. Seven’s facing me now. He has a piece of steak in his bare hand and is eating it like an apple. What? What? Why is that act so hot? What is wrong with me?
I wrap my hands around my center and naturally, my shoulders curl forward. I back myself into a wall behind me. My stomach churns wildly from nerves. My gaze swings to Nia, ‘cause the way her dad is eating that steak… Wooo… it’s making me feel insane things.
Nia is pulling ingredients from the fridge and setting them on the counter, one after another. When she’s satisfied with the array of random things she just grabbed, she nods and tugs on her dad’s hand.
He looks over at the food.
“Veggies?” he asks.
Nia runs over, little boots kicking up behind her. She grabs a bag of broccolini and holds it up.
He nods. “Alright, you want a quesadilla with a random side of broccolini?”
She smiles at him and nods. That smile, that full smile, ugh. Well, no wonder she clearly has him wrapped around her finger. It’s enough to light up the world. I’m once again left wondering why she doesn’t talk. Is it a speech issue or a mind issue? If so, what’s wrong? She seems happy with Seven.
“Feel free to make yourself at home,” Seven says in a neutral voice, snapping me out of my thoughts. I see Nia frowning angrily at him, but he doesn’t notice as he’s too busy frying tortillas. Can he cook, too? How do they have such a cute life together, doing what he does?
“I’m good, Seven. Thanks.”
He looks at me briefly and nods.
“Um, thank you for letting me stay here,” I mumble, fidgeting. “I… I’ll be out of your hair by morning. I promise. I’m fine. I have friends other than just Danny.”
Flat out lie.
“I’ll call them when it’s not so dark.”
A pair of eyes study me. I glance down to see Nia leaning against the wall behind her, face blank, watching me. It’s a little unnerving.
The pan sizzles as Seven turns to me, half a piece of a fillet of steak hanging out of his mouth like an animal.
“You lie when you’re nervous,” he points out.
“I’m not…”
Both of them raise their eyebrows, giving me the exact same expression. If it wasn’t for their different ethnicities, I swear he could be her biological father with their nonverbal communication and the expressions they wear.
I don’t finish that sentence, ‘cause yeah, it’s clear even to Nia that I’m nervous.
Seven’s eyes drill into me. “You’re staying here.”
“I really don’t want to be a bother.”
“You’re not a bother, Isla.” He sprinkles freshly grated cheese on Nia’s whole wheat tortilla. “I’m just quiet.”
But he wasn’t so cold to me before I got to his place. I don’t say that, though.
“You should eat something.”
He starts filling a glass of purified water and slams it down on the island in front of me, nodding his head at it.
“Drink it or the doctor’s coming here tonight instead of tomorrow.”
“I’ll drink it. Promise.”
My hands shake as I reach for the glass.
“What do you want to eat? Come, help yourself.”
“I’m not hungry. I just… I… do you have a shower? I smell.”
He glances up at me like he is just noticing the vomit on my pants, when he had to have at least smelled my ranky breath.
“Of course. Nia, while I cook your dinner, show Miss Isla where the shower is. Okay, sweetie?”
He calls her sweetie? Awww. Melting my heart. His voice even got soft and sweet.
I tip the water up to my lips. My hands are shaking so hard that the glass misses my lips and spills over the front of my scrubs. The glass goes crashing to the ground.
I have to bite my lip ‘til it bleeds to keep from crying. I jump to the ground and start grabbing glass with bare fingers, not paying attention to the way it cuts and stings my flesh.
“Nia, stay out of the kitchen,” Seven demands. “Go paint Miss Isla a picture, okay?”
She must leave, because the next thing I notice is the familiar, warm sensation of his hand curling around my wrist.
“Isla, stop.”
“I didn’t mean to drop it. I’m so sorry.”
I can’t focus past the blurring in my eyes. I’m overtired and overstimulated. I woke up to my apartment being trashed and Danny being threatened, worked with my busted-up body and mind, got cornered by a mafia boss, fainted, was brought to some giant mafia mansion, had a fucking children’s movie night with them, vomited, and now I’m here.
“Isla, you’re hurting yourself.”
He squeezes my wrist, pulls my hand away, and starts prying my fingers open. I glance down and see red covering the glass shards and the floor.
“Is that blood?!” I shriek.
“Shh, Nia,” he whispers. “Don’t want her hearin’ anything about blood.”
I nod a little frantically. He pauses the clean-up and looks at me. He must see something, because he reaches out to take my hand with a gentle expression on his face. I hesitate
before curling my fingers around his.
“I know your ankle’s still killing you. I’ve seen you limping all day.”
“It’s okay.”
“You’re exhausted, Isla,” he says softly. “Come on.”
His arm wraps around the side of my waist in a firm grip and hoists me to my feet, being sure to be careful of my injured foot.
“Don’t think I haven’t seen you limping when you think I’m not looking.”
“It’s not a big deal,” I murmur, whooshing my hair around my face to create a curtain.
“Maybe not,” he agrees, gently leading me down the hall, “but since you’re bleeding, swollen, and starving, let’s not risk it.”
Well, when he puts it that way…
“Here’s my bathroom. Sorry, hun, I only got one. We all gotta share.”
“I’m sorry for taking up space.”
He turns and blinks at me, flat faced. He stares so long that I start to get self-conscious. My hands flow through the ends of my hair shakily.
“What?” I finally whisper.
“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” he says simply. “I’ll grab you some clothes.”
What was sad? I frown at him as he walks away, swallowing when I see his muscles expanding and contracting beneath his black t-shirt.
Man, I need to suck it up and have sex with somebody before I do something stupid.
He comes back with a stack of clothes.
“I brought you a few things. There’s no way any of my pants will stay on you, even with a rubber band. All this shit is long. Should cover you up fine.”
“Thank you.”
“Isla, wear them. If I see you in vomit-covered bottoms, I’m going to the store and getting you pants. Then you’ll feel really bad.”
He raises his eyebrows pointedly. I blush at how easily he has me figured out.
“Okay, I’ll wear them. Promise.”
“Good. Now, let me show you your room. I’m gonna come check on you before I go to bed. Just to be sure you’re alright, since you fainted earlier, just a heads-up.”
Right. Don’t be naked.
“Your room is right this way. You’ll be asleep by the time I come check on ya.”
“Alright. Thank you, Seven.”
He nods. “This is Nia’s room. This apartment is a two-bedroom place. If this room bothers you, I’ll sleep on the couch, but I haven’t switched out my covers or anything. Nia’s never slept in here so the sheets are clean.”
He has an odd look on his face when he says that.
“Where does she sleep?”
He stills and thinks on it for a moment.
“My floor.”
He glances at me, trying to hide the pain in his eyes, and swiftly leaves the room. I hear him calling Nia on his way down the hall.
The floor? That hurts my heart. It was clear from his face that he’s tried to get her in bed and failed multiple times.
It becomes even sadder when I see the room he designed for her. Soft purple walls with floral sheets and a matching comforter. There’s a lamp in the shape of a flower on the side table and a giant crystal in the back left corner of the room.
I rub my heart back and forth, trying to ease the pain there. No child should sleep on the street.
Dragging my footsteps, I go back to the bathroom and rifle through the pile of clothes Seven left me. I turn the bathwater on mild because of my infection, lock the door, strip my clothes, and slink back into the water with a heavy sigh.
I hurry to find my Kindle in my scrubs and pull it to hover over my face, blocking out the view of my body and all the bruises, gashes, and blood covering it.
I get lost in the tale of heroes and princesses and love that defies time and space.
* * *
Seven
“Here you go, Nia.”
I plop the quesadilla down on her plate, along with the broccolini and Ensure. She frowns when she sees the Ensure.
“Hey, you heard the doc. Drink it.” I point.
She frowns, but grabs it and takes a large swig. I rub her curly hair.
“Thank you.”
She nods as I take a seat across from her. As she eats, I let my thoughts drift to Isla. Naked. In the bath.
Oh, fuck.
No.
Me being cold to her was a fail. She almost sliced her hands open picking up that glass. I have to be able to keep an emotional distance while still being warm with her.
Great.
Not my specialty.
When I glance up, I realize Nia is in front of me.
“What is it, N?”
She loops her fingers through mine. I first check her plate. Ensure gone. Broccolini gone. Quesadilla half-eaten. The two things I wanted her to have, she had first. For me.
“You’re such a good kid, Nia. I love you.”
She stares at me a moment, looks at her plate, then squeezes my hand with a tiny smile. She quickly traces a heart on my palm. Her loving me is and always will be the greatest blessing in my life. Especially since she wasn’t even as warm with Marley, her caretaker from the time she was on the streets.
She drags me to the edge of the living room and holds up a hand. Smiling, I nod. She comes back a couple of minutes later with a stack of things. I cock my head. She opens her arms and sends it all tumbling to the floor, crouches down, and starts holding stuff up for me.
How did a man like me end up with a human I can love so much?
She first holds up a princess book, underlining the word with her finger.
“Okay,” I draw out, confused.
Then she holds up a Ziploc with her favorite rocks in it.
“Um… okay,” I repeat.
Lastly, she holds up a bag of Kit-Kats, her favorite treat.
“Alright. I’m not letting you have a bag of Kit-Kats before bed, but you can have one.”
She huffs under her breath, the only audible sound she makes. She gathers the things in her arm and takes me to the couch. When we’re sitting next to each other, she holds up the book, underlines princess, and points to the hall.
“I don’t get it, N. I’m sorry.”
She frowns and does it again with more force. I really don’t understand.
Finally, she pulls me up, releasing a little air as she struggles against me.
“I’m coming, Nia. I’m coming. Relax,” I chuckle.
She looks mad. Alright, I have to take her seriously.
“Alright, up I go.”
I grunt as I push up from sitting to standing. My couch is far too cushy. Nia doesn’t care. She’s on a mission. Her feet pull hard and fast as I’m led to… Isla’s room.
“Nia, I think she wants to be left alone. She probably just got out of the bath.”
Nia doesn’t seem to care. She slowly pushes the door open.
“Sorry about—”
Nia spins quickly, throwing a finger over her lips. I look in the doorway and my heart stops.
Isla is hanging over the edge of the bed, horizontally, like she fell asleep face first. Her strawberry blonde hair is spread like a golden halo around her, dripping wet at the ends. She decided on my black t-shirt with the red and black button down over the top of it. The rest of the clothes I offered her are folded neatly on the left side of the bed. Her legs are bare and smooth. So fucking smooth. Her ankle is rewrapped, reminding me instantly of why she’s here.
I cough and glance over at my daughter.
She’s placing the book down on the floor across from Isla where she can see it. She uses all her favorite rocks to underline the word princess.
That’s when it hits me.
Princess.
That’s what Isla calls Nia.
My heart stops. I stare wide eyed as Nia makes a tower of Kit-Kats and with a nod, turns back to me, takes my hand, and drags me back out of the room.
Great. Nia’s already grown attached. This is just swell. My phone rings, reminding me that I have to call Boss and assure him eve
rything’s fine here.
I want to face palm, but Nia’s staring at me.
“Come on, kiddo. Bedtime.”
She traces a heart and a U on my palm.
“I love you, too, sweetie. I love you, too.”
Chapter Twelve
Seven
“Grrr, better run from the bear!”
Rose squeals and screams, darting off for the tree with her and Nia’s friend, Carly, by her side. Nia’s watching from the sidelines.
“Better hurry!”
Rose giggles and runs faster.
“I’m gonna get ya.” Thank God no one can hear me out here…
“No, bear, stay away!”
Carly laughs with Rose.
“Rose.” A deep young voice comes from somewhere near Nia. Rose stops so quickly I almost crash into her. I have to grab her little shoulders to stop us from tumbling forward.
I glance over to see her friend, Radar, standing there, staring intently at Rose. His dark hair rests over his even darker eyes, not one ounce of emotion other than determination on his face.
Rose lifts her chin and starts walking away.
“Rose, come on,” he demands in a stern kid voice.
“Go away, Wadar,” she mumbles. Tears glisten in her eyes. I’m getting ready to take Radar and drag his ass out of here.
“I came to say sorry,” he mumbles, running a small hand through his hair.
Rose freezes, without looking, and mumbles, “I’m listening.”
“Sorry I made fun of you. I didn’t mean it,” he grumbles.
She turns, stomping over to him. Her pink dress with black skulls dances around her knees.
“It’s not my fwault I talk this way!”
“I know.” He nods.
“You’re a buwwy.”
He shrugs. “I like being a bully.”
He throws her a smirk. She crosses her arms and looks away.
“You swuck. I don’t forgive you.”
She storms past me. “I’m done pwaying.”
She snatches Carly’s hand and storms away. I look at Radar to throw him a fierce expression. Instead of meeting Radar’s gaze, I’m met with something that makes my jaw fall literally wide open.
