Page 56 of Saving Sparrow
He shoved me into the room, my left shoulder blade banging into the open nightstand drawer as I fell backward onto the floor. An electric shock of pain seared through my body, sharp and hot. I struggled to my knees, coughing, sucking in air as I clutched my throat.
“I’m sorry,” I wheezed as Sparrow charged past me. “It wasn’t his fault.” I wasn’t sure if he’d hurt Joshua for this, wasn’t sure if he could, or how that would even work. Would he take all his toys away? Permanently break his fire truck? Or would he ensure Joshua never saw the light of day again—or rather night, as it happened to always be.
“I made him do it. It wasn’t”—I coughed again—“his fault.” I should never have taken him from his room. I should’ve locked him back inside and searched for the basement myself. That way, Sparrow never would’ve known I was there, allowing me to visit Joshua again. I was stupid. So. Fucking. Stupid.
The sound of something falling, followed by the tearing of fabric, interrupted my spiral into regret. Sparrow tore into the curtains. The rods lay bare on the floor.
“W-what are you doing?”
He kept working, fury tightening his face.
Straining toward the foot of the bed, I tried to pull myself up using one of the posts. Sparrow’s head snapped my way, as if he’d forgotten about me until then. The sheer tattered pieces floated out of his grip when he stormed over to drag me into the sitting area.
The armchair rocked back on its hind legs from the force he used to push me down onto it. The chair settled, and I recoiled from the venom in his gaze. He was out of breath, his hair loose and wild, and sweat covered his forehead. I’d never seen him this upset, this out of control, not even the night he beat me to a bloody pulp.
I didn’t look away. Not even when the tingling in my scalp worsened, and I swiped at the blood leaking from it. Everything burned. My lungs, my throat, my head, hands, feet, and limbs. But the fire in Sparrow’s eyes raged brighter.
He marched over to the scraps of curtain again, freezing in place as he noticed the condition of the bedroom. I’d made a mess of it when searching for a way to get to Joshua. Sparrow glared over his shoulder at me, his lip curling into a snarl.
Grabbing the strips of fabric, he headed back toward me.
“W-what are you doing?” I tried to stand, but he shoved me down again.
“Fight me, and you won’t like what I do to you next,” he warned. Pissing myself became a real possibility as the danger in his tone skated along my body. Terrified, I nodded, doing nothing when Sparrow began tying me to the chair.
He wrapped a piece of torn fabric around my chest. The curtains were long, so he was able to loop them around twice before tying them at the back of the chair. He’d pulled it tight enough to make breathing even more difficult than it already was.
Panicking, I tugged at it. Sparrow grabbed my wrist, bending my fingers back until I screamed. I didn’t dare move another muscle as he secured both hands to the arms of the chair.
Nausea rolled through me as I absorbed my current predicament. Was it worth it? Was love worththis?
I blinked away the tears and shame those questions brought on, only for feelings of inadequacy to take their place.
Of course you couldn’t protect him. You’re scared. You’ve always been scared. A terrified little boy.
I couldn’t hold back my emotions any longer. It was either I willingly let them out, or I allowed them to drown me from the inside.
“My n-name is Miguel Ramirez,” I stuttered, needing to say it even though he already knew it.Ineeded the reminder of who I was, and I needed him to see me as human. As a man with a name and a past, a man who was loved and who loved deeply. I needed him to hear my truth, see my flaws, and care about my fears. Because whether Sparrow killed me or not, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could survive this, and I needed him to know who I was before the end.
“My mother’s name was Gabriela.” Tears blurred my vision as Sparrow worked diligently to bind my ankles to the feet of the chair. “I’m scared of the dark and the cold,” I whispered in a voice I hadn’t used since I was a kid, “but only when they’re together.”
Sparrow didn’t let that stop him. He worked until I was bound so tightly that my fingers began to tingle from lack of circulation.
“I’ve never met anyone stronger and more protective than my husband, Quentin, or anyone more gentle and compassionate than Elliott. I’m trying to be strong and protective and compassionate and gentlenow, but I’m scared,” I cried, biting down on my trembling bottom lip. “So fucking scared.”
Once satisfied that I couldn’t get free, Sparrow worked on straightening up the room.
“I’m weak,” I rasped, embarrassed, a river of tears falling. Sparrow stacked the books back into the armoire, then moved on to righting the nightstands. “I don’t do well on my own. I’ve always known I would be nothing without Quentin. If I was ever strong, it was because he made me feel that way, not because I ever was. Not really.”
Sparrow’s long strides took him to the closet next, and I continued as drawers opened and closed.
“Then Elliott came along.” I heard the awe in my own voice. It made me smile through my tears. “And I got a chance to be brave too for once. I got to be brave for him.”
The sound of metal hanger hooks meeting the mounted rod met my ears.
Clank…
Clank…
