Page 94 of Deacon

Bittern nods. Ryland walks past me without a word and starts washing his hands in the kitchen sink. I bite my tongue and leave, going up the back stairwell to my room.

Everything is as I left it. Nobody bothers to come in here, thank goodness. I run my fingertips over my glass cases. The sunlight catches the earthy orange of the monarch's wings, the swallowtail’s brilliant yellow and black.

This is my jewelry box, my most prized possession. The little part of the world where my heart is happy.

My beetles are some of my favorite. I have two rare beetles here, one I could probably sell for a little bit of money. But they’re so pretty, and they’re all I have to show for my twenty-two years on this Earth. I think if I ever sold them, it would tear a piece of my heart out.

The floor creaks downstairs. I shake myself and wash up, braiding my hair and putting on a sweater and skirt. I don’t have my belt. It’s with Deacon now.

I hope he’ll return it.

I take a second to look myself over. I’m neat and modest, wearing the armor that gets me through the day. I tuck my hair behind my ear, turn my lights off, and close the door to my sanctuary.

Downstairs, Aiden, Ryland, and Bittern sit at the table. They’re talking, but when I start filling their plates, they go quiet. Aiden leans back, spreading his knees with his boots planted.

I glance over as I take my seat near the end, on the other side of Bittern. Aiden’s eyes are on me, but I can’t read them.

“Where’d you go?” he asks.

I keep my eyes on the table. “To Tracy’s.”

He takes a sip of his coffee. Ryland starts eating and Bittern does the same. There’s a long silence. My nose starts running, and I can’t keep from sniffing.

“God, girl, just eat your fucking food,” Aiden snaps.

When I was little, I learned quickly that crying in front of Aiden didn’t soften him. It only makes him angrier, so I taught myself to take a breath and hold it until I couldn’t physically cry to avoid getting in trouble.

For some reason, my body betrays me today. A tear slips from my lashes and etches hot down my cheek. I swipe it away fast, but he sees it.

“Get out,” he says, voice soft.

I haven’t eaten since last night, but hunger is preferable to this. I stand and flee the kitchen. As I go, I hear Bittern say something. It takes me a moment to work out what.

“Don’t make Freya cry,” he says, voice rough.

My chest aches. I hurry back upstairs and shut my door. Then, I think better of it, because I don’t want to run the risk of Aiden walking in and entrapping me. He’s never done that before, but it’s a fear that lurks in the back of my mind.

I take my jacket and go outside. Chickens scatter as I go across the yard to the woods. I don’t want to run back to Deacon. I need time to think about him. I can’t leave Bittern.

But I can’t stay in that suffocating house.

My heart aches for a place to run from my problems. I need the soft arms of the Appalachian Mountains to rest in, the sheltering trees, the forests dappled with sunlight.

For the first time, when I think of home, the vision doesn’t stop there. It morphs into the dark living room of Deacon’s house. In my mind’s eye, I’m lying on the couch on my side, watching snow drift past the window. My cheek is against the rough fabric of Deacon’s work pants over his thigh.

His hands stroke my hair.

For a split second, I long for that with everything I have. A fantasy where I can put all my trust in him. Where there isn’t a voice in the back of my head telling me he could be just like Aiden, I just don’t know it yet.

The clouds scud over the sky, thickening the further I go from the farm. I’m at the edge of the forest when the rain hits. I’m so tired ofrain at this point. I huddle in the roots of the Ponderosa Pines and wrap my arms around my knees.

I turn up my face. The rain etches down it.

I ran from Deacon because I was afraid of him, but now, I’m so afraid of being just another turn in a vicious, endless cycle. Now, I need him. I want him not just to save me, but to silence my doubt about him.

“Come find me,” I whisper.

For a second, I imagine the wind takes my voice, that my words ride the storm through the woods, down the hills, across the fence line, carried by some benevolent forest spirit, all the way to him.

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