Page 55 of Whispers of Fire

"Yoo-hoo!" Jamie claps his hands, runnin’ towards our parents. "Dance with me now, Mommy!"

"Alright, my little prince," my mom says, scoopin’ Jamie into her arms and spinnin’ him around, makin’ him giggle.

Just as I'm about to head to the shower after my shift at the mechanic shop, I pause and notice my parents exchangin’ a look.

One I know all too well from watchin’ them for years.

"How was work today, hon?" my mom asks, not missin’ a beat in her dance with Jamie.

"Same old, same old," I reply, tryin’ to sound casual, but the warmth in my voice betrays me. It’s fuckin’ hard. The job. But seeing them like this makes everythin’ worth it.

My dad chimes in, "Did you fix that old Chevy? I heard Mr. Jenkins talkin’ about it at the store. Says you're a miracle worker."

"Yeah, it's runnin’ like new," I say, shruggin’ off the compliment. "Just took a bit of elbow grease."

"Mr. Jenkins said you're the best mechanic he's seen in years," my mom adds, a hint of pride in her voice. "He couldn't stop singing your praises."

"He's just being nice," I mumble.

"Don't be modest, kid," my dad says, winkin’ at me. "We know how hard you work."

I run my hand in my hair, bending my head to hide the red colorin’ my cheeks.

“Gonna take a shower,” I rumble before joggin’ to the bathroom as fast as I can. Facin’ the mirror, I look at my reflection. Our family may be poor, but we’ve got more warmth under our roof than any folks I know.

The song is still playin’ in the livin’ room. A corner of my lips rises when I remember how my parents looked at each other just a minute ago.

I know this look.

Pure, strong, unconditional.

It was love.

I step into the shower and turn on the water, wondering if I'll ever get to experience the same kind of look one day.

Chapter 11

Rose

Last night was magical. Like what you see in romantic movies, or at least, I imagine that’s what it seems like, because I’ve never actually seen one. But Jezebel, whose parents only came into the community a few years ago, told me she saw plenty when she was younger. She talked about them with stars in her eyes, still swooning over the main characters.

Wished I had seen one.

All I know is what my parents taught me to expect from a husband and the few marital classes we had last year. Classes where we were specifically explained how the reproductive organs worked with drawings of one single physical act the man and women, married obviously, must perform in order to make children.

Our teacher, Mrs Ellies, gave us extensive details about the act to become with child. So not the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen. Actually, physical touch, even between married people, is seen badly in our community and should only take place in the aim to make children.

Which is why I’m so confused.

Vox and I shared many intimate moments since the first time I stepped away from him in the garden, shocked by his handsome bare chest and his tattoos still inked in my mind like permanent marker on a blank canvas. Being with him feels right and wild at the same time.

Should I indulge in it or back away?

Before losing my voice, I was a faithful follower, never arguing or questioning anything. But since then, a lot has changed. Losing my voice became a strength, something I didn’t see coming, just like Vox.

Which is why I don’t get it when most people look at me with pity.

They don't realize how powerful it is.

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