Page 31 of Lotus

I’m not sure if I’ve ever used the wordsensationalbefore, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind. I outline the sketches with the pads of my fingertips, his story brimming to life, the characters almost three-dimensional. It steals my breath. “Wow…” Absorbing the pictures, I zone in on an orange tabby cat with a billowing cape, trotting beside a young man.

Oliver clears his throat to explain. “That’s Alexis, my new sidekick. I’m working on introducing her character in this scene.”

His words tug my eyes up, eyes that are now glistening with emotions I can’t seem to contain. “Wow.”

Great. Now I’ve turned into an illiterate dolt.

“It’s silly,” Oliver counters, massaging the collar of his neck with his palm and scuffing a sock against the carpet.

“It’s incredible. This looks just like her.” I force my gaze back to the comics, scanning over the boxes filled with different vibrant scenes and landing on a little girl with golden pigtails. A worn teddy bear is clutched to her chest, while a faceless figure looms over her. “Who’s this?”

Oliver’s cheeks tinge pink as he fidgets in front of me. “The Queen of the Lotus,” he replies. “And the Faceless Man. He’s the villain in the comics.”

The Queen of the Lotus.

Heart skipping, my insides fuzzy and warm, I inquire, “Is that supposed to be…me?”

He nods. “Yes… I suppose it is.”

“Wow.”

Okay, I really need a thesaurus.

Oliver removes the sketchpad from my hands, seemingly frazzled, and sets it back down on the desk. “It’s not finished yet. Hopefully, it will be more polished.”

My lips press together to keep the emotions at bay as I observe this man, processing the realization that I was never far from his mind during those years he was locked way, lost and afraid, just as he was never far from mine. We stayed connected. He turned me into something tangible, beautiful and real.

He brought me to life in the only way he knew how.

“I’ve upset you.”

Oliver’s voice punctures through my haze, and I realize I have tears gliding down my cheeks, pooling at my jaw. I swipe them away with a sniffle. “No… no, I’m sorry. I’m not upset.”

“You’re crying,” he confirms with a probing frown.

“I’m happy. Amazed.” My watery smile shows him just that. “People don’t only cry when they’re sad.”

“They don’t?”

I shake my head. “Emotions are a funny thing.” Nibbling my lip, I tilt my head to the side with curiosity, watching him watch me. “So… why am I still a child in your comics?”

A thoughtful pause distracts him for a moment, then Oliver turns around and walks toward the bed, perching himself at the edge of the mattress. Contemplation beclouds his bronze stare as he studies me from across the bedroom. “I grew up, but you remained the same. I couldn’t envision you any other way.”

My smile lingers, broadening, as I saunter over to him on the bed. “That makes sense.” I glance at the empty space beside him and ask, “Can I sit?”

“Yes.”

Our thighs brush together when I settle in on his left, and he doesn’t inch away this time. “Why ‘lotus’? Why did you choose that name?”

The million-dollar question.

Hands resting on both knees, head bowed with musing, Oliver hums out a low breath. His eyes flick up to me. “It was written on my arm. I think… I don’t remember, exactly. Possibly from Bradford.” His brows pinch with thought as he tries desperately to pull the memories to the surface. “I carved it into the stone wall beside my name. The word felt important somehow. I didn’t want to forget it.”

“You can’t pinpoint its relevance?”

“No,” he mutters, head swaying in disappointment. “Everything is twisted in my mind. I just have a vague recollection of it on my arm, scribbled in ink.”

Lotus. Why would his captor write that on his arm?

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