forgive me and I gently pat her down, dressing her in a white T-shirt of mine when I’m done and bring her back to the bed.
Before she can drift off, I make her a bowl of soup. She’s only able to drink the broth, but it’s something and she doesn’t throw up from it.
With my back against the headboard, I rest next to her as she slips in and out of a light sleep. My head lays against the end of the iron rail and I stare up at the simple ceiling fan as it rotates. Her small hand, with cuts across her knuckles and her nails bitten back, lays across my chest. She placed it there the last time she woke, cuddling closer to me. It’s a small reprieve from my ruminating.
Why did I do it?
Because I wanted to play God and I forgot … gods aren’t allowed to fall in love. I’ve never felt so weak as I do now. There’s not a damn thing I want other than to feel her forgiveness slip into the cracks of my brokenness.
Carefully, I lay my hand on top of hers, just to make sure she’s still here, still holding me, still alive and willing to lie here beside me.
The small movement and gentle touch rouse her and I instantly regret it. Selfish. I’ll never not be selfish for her. “Sorry,” I whisper and bring my arm around her small body as she huddles even closer to me. Every hour that’s passed has allowed a bit of her wall to break. I pray time is on my side.
Her shoulders lift and the bed groans as she adjusts herself. I barely breathe until she settles even closer to me and rests her head on my chest, allowing me to press my arm against her back and lay my hand on the dip of her waist.
I’ll stay beside her for as long as she needs, mending every cut, tending to her every need until she’s healed. I’ll make damn sure there’s not a single scar left on her soft skin when all is said and done. Not a memory of what they did to her will stay behind. Only this. The two of us, the way it should be. I close my eyes, comforted by the thought, but it doesn’t last for long when she stirs.
“Why are you the way you are?” She whispers her question carefully and as I peer down at her, her lashes flutter and she stares straight ahead. Her thumb brushes gently along my side, making soothing circles.
“I found others like me, and that was enough.” My memory drifts to what feels like a different lifetime. A small boy staring across a cell not unlike the one Delilah was just in. If she weren’t settled across my chest, resting on top of me, I’d give in to the urge to move, to get up and do and think of anything else.
“I need more than that. I need you to tell me something. I need to know something about why you are the way you are.”
“We can talk about anything else.”
“Tell me … tell me, Marcus.” My name sounds foreign on her lips. There’s a hesitation, a tone she hasn’t taken before.
Sucking in a deep breath, I swallow the lump in my throat. I hear his voice again as the back of my eyes prick.
“You already know, don’t you?”
“You haven’t told me,” she whispers.
“You know I was taken, when I was a child. It happened so fast.” My body’s stiff but I heave in a deep breath, readjusting on the bed. “I was walking by myself to my aunt’s house. She wasn’t used to having kids. One minute there wasn’t a worry in the world other than getting home before the streetlights turned on, and the next …”
It’s been a long time since I thought of that night, of the moments before I wound up in that cell. Delilah doesn’t push for me to continue, but when I peer down at her, her gaze is fixed on the mirror, staring intently at our reflection in it.
“They kept us in a basement that was sectioned into cells. Four men.”
“Us?” she questions.
“You’ve read the reports.”
“They say you died,” she whispers.
“Forensics weren’t quite the same then,” I admit, although my voice is tight.
“That doesn’t explain why …” she doesn’t finish. It doesn’t explain why I fled, why I didn’t go back to my aunt’s. Why I couldn’t bear to trust or talk to