“Sucks, baby,” he whispered. “But I get that and I’ll help you work through it. For me, we had this one day, that was it, I walked out your front door tomorrow and got shot dead, I’d die happy. And I’d die happy because, even for a day, I had you back with me. Seems I lived a dozen f**kin’ lifetimes knowin’ that would never be. Havin’ it means everything to me. So, I’m not scared. Two things in my whole life I wanted. My Dad back and you. Now, you’re tucked close to me, so that works for me.”
My sun’s rays warmed me straight through.
I shifted my head to press my face in his neck.
Creed held on tighter.
* * * * *
He was chained to the floor, lying in the corner, the dried blood on his face, matting his hair.
Daddy was standing in the room with him and a bottle of water was on the floor between them, just out of his reach.
His lips were dry, crusted, chapped, split.
Daddy moved, toeing the water an inch closer, still out of reach.
“Give her up,” Daddy demanded.
He lifted his head. His sky blue eyes vague with hunger, thirst and pain, he still directed them at Daddy.
The word was weak and it cracked in the middle.
But he said it.
“Never.”
Daddy kicked the bottle of water and it flew across the room, liquid splashing everywhere but none of it where it needed to be.
* * * * *
My body jerked then shot up to sitting in the bed. My knees came up, my hands went back into the mattress and I fell heavily into them.
“Sylvie?”
Creed’s arm was heavy along my waist. The last thing I remembered before the dream was us whispering in bed, me tucked close mostly under Creed like he held me the night before when I was sobbing.
Clearly, we fell asleep cuddled close.
I felt the bed shift with him coming up on his forearm.
“Sylvie,” his voice was firmer.
I didn’t reply.
The dream still had a hold on me.
I threw back the covers and knifed out of bed. My movements frantic, I dashed to the dresser, yanked out panties and tugged them on awkwardly. I left that drawer open even as I opened another one and tagged a babydoll tee. I pulled it over my head as I raced out of the room, down the hall, through the living room, the entry, the dining room to the kitchen sink.
I snatched a glass from the cupboard, turned on the water, filled it, put it to my lips and sucked it back. Water dribbled down the sides of my mouth, down my neck, wetting my tee.
When it was empty, I filled it again and repeat.
As I was drinking, I felt a warm body press against my back, hands on the edge of the sink in front of me. That body arched and I felt a face buried in my neck.
I emptied the glass, filled it again and repeat.
Creed didn’t move.