Page 66 of A Voice In Chains
Of course, he doesn’t because his trauma stole his voice and ability to speak up. Even so, I wish he would look at me at least, and for a beat, he stares unseeingly at the table. Then he lifts his gaze, and I know he can read the devastation on my face.
Dunkeld is at least nine hours away. We can’t make that work. God only knows what that means for us.
Angry voices rise around the table as my parents begin arguing. My dad raises his voice, and Arkin visibly flinches before clamping his hands over his ears.
For a brief moment, I study him, seeing how scared he is—how traumatized—and wonder if perhaps my parents are right. Maybe it would be better for him to live with relatives. He’ll get to know them with time. They’ll make sure he gets settled. But,no, I selfishly don’t want to lose him. There’s still so much I don’t know about him, like what he endured in that house.
“Can you not see that you’re scaring him?” My voice gets lost in my parents’ shouting.
It’s not like them to fight (I can count on one hand how many arguments I’ve witnessed), but now they’re shouting so loudly that Arkin looks seconds away from a panic attack. Somehow, I need to stop this, but how?
“You always think you know what’s right for this family,” seethes Mum.
“We agreed it was a temporary solution.”
“No, YOU said that.”
“He’s an adult!” Dad snaps.
“Dad! Mum!” I shout to be heard over their arguing, but it falls on deaf ears. “Can you lower your voice for a second?”
No such luck. Dad slams his hand down on the table, rattling the cutlery. Mum flies up from her chair, accidentally tipping over her glass of wine. “You’re impossible!”
“Stop shouting!” I roar, but it’s already too late. Arkin knocks over his chair in his rush to flee the room, which finally shuts my parents up.
“Look what you did,” Mum says, the poisoned words aimed at my dad, who scoffs.
“So it’s my fault he ran out of the room because you screamed like a banshee?”
Mum levels him with a searing glare, then stands up to retrieve a hand towel to wipe up the spilled wine. Thankfully, they stop arguing after that, and I excuse myself to see Arkin, my stomach twisted up in knots.
By the time I make it upstairs, he’s huddled in the corner of his bed, so I carefully climb onto the mattress. “Hey,” I say as I settle beside him. “Are you okay?”
Such a stupid question to ask. He’s nowhere near okay—anyone can see that—but I don’t know what else to ask. All I know is that I hate seeing him scared like this.
“I’m sorry about my parents.”
With his arms around his knees, he looks broken—a bird with clipped wings. I stroke his tense back for long minutes until he eventually begins to relax. Then he swipes at his wet cheeks and attempts a weak smile, but the tears keep falling.
I get it: no one likes to appear weak. Though frankly, he’s never been stronger.
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “We’ll be okay.”
Leaning into me, he cries softly on my shoulder. But I don’t know what to say or do, so I stay silent.
After a while, I interlace my fingers with his and kiss his knuckles. He wipes his cheeks, his hands trembling slightly.
“I won’t let them send you away.”
With a regretful shake of his head, he shifts onto his knees and cradles my face in his hands. His lips claim mine, soft and sweet, and I part for him, moaning as our tongues brush in a deep kiss. A kiss that makes my heart pound and my hands tremble.
“Arkin,” I plead, letting him guide me onto my back and settle his weight on top of me.
In the semi-darkness, he breaks away to catch his breath, and I immediately want his mouth back on mine. I don’t want to think. It’s overrated anyway. Let’s just be here, now, in this moment.
His nose bumps up against mine and he wets his lips, observing me closely, like he wants to memorize me beneath him.
To my relief, he presses his lips to mine again, infusing our languid kiss with more than just desire. He tastes me like he’s drowning and I’m the only thing keeping him afloat—a lifejackethe found at the last hour. With each swipe of his tongue, he breathes life into me again, and I give as good as I get, with my legs wrapped around his hips, groaning against his heated kiss.
