Page 52 of A Voice In Chains
He’s had my attention since. Call it a fixation, if you will, but Zach’s hostility only made me want him more. I felt drawn tohim in ways I couldn’t explain, and now it feels like I’ve won a prize.
He lies down on his back, and we stare up at the wispy clouds in the sky. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this content before.”
Warmth spreads through my chest at his confession.
Zach interlaces his pinky with mine. “Don’t you ever feel like you’re just going through the motions? Playing the part that people expect you to? I’m tired of it.”
Nibbling on my lip, I roll my head on the soft ground to study the side of his face while a bumblebee buzzes nearby.
Zach points up at the sky. “See that? It looks like a rhino.”
My lips twitch at the change of subject, but then he smiles at me, dimples and all, so I gaze up at the sky to see what he means. I notice it immediately. He’s right—it almost looks like a rhino. And now I’m grinning too, which feels good. There’s not been much to smile about these last few years, but that’s also scary because I know firsthand how fast good things can be snatched away.
Sometimes, it’s safer not to be happy. But as I lie beside Zach on the grounds of an old abbey, amongst all this tragic history, it’s hard not to feel the tendrils of happiness wrap around my heart like ivy.
Sooner or later, despite its beauty, ivy kills.
Here’s the thing: all beauty cuts like a deadly blade when it meets its inevitable end.
So, the question is?
Is it worth the wound?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Arkin
I’m dreaming.
I have to be. After all, my uncle is still in prison and not here in the bedroom with us. But as I rub my eyes to clear my vision, he steps out of the shadows with a gun in his hand, his eyes wild and cruel. His tattered, grease-streaked overalls hang loosely from his wiry frame, and a faint scent of engine oil lingers around him, a frayed flannel shirt peeking out from beneath. “You spoke, Arkin. I thought we agreed that your voice is mine.”
I shake my head in denial.I didn’t speak.But my uncle has that wicked gleam in his eyes, and I know that gleam. It’s how he looks when he’s about to hurt me.
Scuffed and caked in dried mud, his boots thud softly against the floor. “Don’t lie to me, son. You let that boy hear your voice. Remember what I said would happen if you talked again?”
You would hurt the people I love.
He reads the answer in my eyes. “That’s right. You know I always keep true to my promise.”
Zach sleeps soundly beside me, with the quilt around his waist, and I angle my body to protect him, muscles taut with fear.
My uncle scratches his grimy temple with the gun. “What are you going to do? Take a bullet for him? How very noble.”
He steps closer, his mud-caked boots sinking into the soft rug, the floorboards creaking. “You forget something. I know where your siblings live.”
No…
His lips curl back, revealing his tobacco-stained teeth. “Your sister has grown into a fine young woman. I followed her to the duck pond the other day. You know, the one in the village, about a ten-minute walk from their house. She wore a cute lilac dress.”
I fist my hands.Stay away from her.
As he moves around the bed, he raises the gun and pulls back on the hammer. “You can’t protect everyone.”
“Fuck you,” I hiss. “You’re not real. This is a dream. You’re in prison.”
The gleam in his dark eyes deepens. “Am I? Are you sure?” Then he chuckles cruelly. “You know I’ve always loved our games, son.”
“I’m not your son.” My voice is low and terse.
