Page 67 of Saving Sparrow
“I can help.” I stood too, reaching for the carafe of water.
“Don’t.” The singular word held so much anger; it was almost tangible. He was still flushed, still beautiful.
Apologizing would’ve made things worse because it would imply that what I said bothered him. Maybe even embarrassed him.
I listened as he washed the dishes, and when the faucet cut off and silence fell, I peeked through the archway.
Through the window’s reflection, I watched as he stared into the sink, feeling around his cheeks like he was checking for the warmth of his blush, or the proof of his beauty. I went back to staring at the china cabinet in front of me.
“Let’s go,” he said from the archway before turning on his heels and walking away. I hurried to catch up, my gaze going to the hammer he was holding. Did he plan to use that on me? Tiny pinpricks of fear spread across my whole body, giving me the sensation of ants crawling over my skin. It took me back to my bed mat in that tiny, cold apartment.
“What’s that for?” I asked, struggling to keep up. The pinpricks intensified, spreading to my brain when he didn’t respond. I coughed all the way up the stairs and down the hall, wondering if it was too soon to take more medicine.
As soon as we entered the bedroom, Sparrow headed for the closet, returning with the patchwork blanket I’d put back on the shelf. I stood near the bed, scratching my itchy forearms.
Sparrow hauled the armchair in front of the window, then stood on it before proceeding to hammer the quilt along the frame.To keep the draft out, I realized.
Next, he pulled a box of matches from his pocket to get a fire started, adding extra logs to the flame to keep it going all night. With nothing left to do, he headed for the door.
“Can you stay… for a little while?” Spending time with him downstairs, although scary at times, felt good. I would’ve done anything not to be left alone again.
“No.” He’d stopped after brushing past the couch but didn’t look at me. I noticed he didn’t like looking at me before he left.
“Are you going to lock me in?”Please say no, please say no, please say no…I knew he meant well by hanging up the quilt, but it blocked out the light of the moon, making it darker inside the room. It also made me feel more insulated, boxed in. Being locked in would heighten that, like being sealed inside a tomb.
“That’s a little pointless now, isn’t it?” He likely assumed that if I’d gotten out once, I could get out again.
“I suppose so,” I said, playing into it.
“You can’t get out,” he said in a low warning tone, and I knew he meant the house, not the room. “Every door to the outside requires a key to be opened, and every window is barred.”
The windows up here were only nailed shut, which meant I’d just need to break the glass to get out.
As if knowing exactly where my thoughts had drifted, Sparrow said, “A jump from this high will leave you broken—if not dead.” As if also predicting that I’d wonder if the several feet of snow on the ground would cushion my fall, he added, “And if the fall doesn’t kill you, thecoldand thedarkwill.”
He’d played on my fears to ensure I didn’t get any bright ideas. Oddly, it left me feeling hurt and betrayed. But there was a strained look on his face when I stepped into his line of sight. Worry, maybe? Had he reminded me of what terrified me to protect me? To keep me safe here, with him?WasI now safe with him?
“If you disturb anything in this house, if you venture to areas you don’t belong… I will make you regret it.”
“Would you really hurt me again?”
“Iwillprotect them,” he replied, but it didn’t seem as though he got any pleasure out of his answer.
In the quiet between us, the low wheeze I emitted with every breath took on a life of its own.
“Take another dose of medicine,” he ordered before continuing his stride for the door.
“Sparrow, wait.” I’d never addressed him by his name before. It felt too intimate on my lips. It felt like I’d crossed a line. He turned to me with a look that said as much.
“How do I get him back?”
Sparrow crept closer, as if wanting me to see how serious he was. He looked me square in the eye as he whispered, “You don’t.”
Elliott
Then
Miguel looked so tiny and scared in Quentin’s lap. He’d said stop, tried to shove Quentin away, but Quentin just grunted, slamming Miguel up and down while making dangerous promises.
