Page 73 of A Voice In Chains
“Promise me you won’t forget about us.” I can almost feel his inquisitive frown, and my heart beats harder as I rest my head back. “When you’re in Scotland.”
His silence, like a kiss against the sensitive spot below my ear, has a shiver dancing across my skin beneath my hoodie.
“I’ll wait for you.” My quietly spoken words are a promise. Now that I’ve found him, I’ll always be here, craving him and the emotions he awakens.
I kiss his knuckles again, memorizing every prism of this moment. Like a sparkling diamond when the sun hits it just right.
Fifteen minutes later we pull up near the ancient ruins. Tall trees tower over us as we exit the vehicle, their leaves rustling softly overhead as a breeze sweeps through the clearing, stirring the dried leaves on the ground.
Arkin is bathed in streaks of moonlight as he shuts the car door.
He looks at me over the roof, and my belly swoops low. I open the boot to remove a folded blanket and a flashlight then enter the small trail in the woods, and Arkin follows behind, his footsteps silenced by the soft ground.
It’s a short walk from the car. The beam bounces off the trees and their scraggly branches on either side of the trail, which looks spooky now. I occasionally smile at Arkin over myshoulder, and his mysterious, intense eyes bore into me intently. We soon reach our destination. The abbey ruins stand bathed in the moonlight, the crumbling walls casting long, jagged shadows across the clearing. The forest beyond is silent, as if it can sense the anticipation thickening the air—as if the trees themselves are listening intently to our combined heartbeats.
“Come on,” I say, reaching for Arkin’s hand. “Let’s explore the ruins.”
The broken arches reach toward the star-strewn sky as we enter. Ivy curls over the stone, and a faint mist clings to the ground, disturbed by our footsteps. The long-forgotten fountain comes into view, and I can almost hear the faint trickle of water that once flowed through it and picture how it sparkled in the silvery moonlight back in the day when monks called this place home. The air is cool and damp, carrying the faint scent of moss, wildflowers, and late night.
After spreading the blanket on the damp grass, I sit down and pat the space beside me.
Arkin’s clothes carry spicy hints of his cologne as he lowers himself down.
Somewhere in the forest, an owl hoots to signal its presence to others.
We both sit staring into the distance, arms wrapped around our knees, each deeply lost in the inevitable heartache looming on the horizon. The clearing feels alive, not with noise or movement but with something quieter—an unspoken weight of tomorrow.
“Do you believe in fate?” I ask quietly out of nowhere.
Arkin rests his stubbly chin on his arms, looking sideways at me with the smallest hint of a smile. Fuck, he’s so damn beautiful. Especially out here beneath the silvery moonlight.
All I can do is stare.
He steals my cap, puts it on his head, and then turns the beak backward. I reach out to shift the dark strands peeking out from beneath the cap away from his brow. His skin is warm and smooth. “I’m in love with you.”
My confession makes his eyes glitter, and I lean back on my hands, unable to dim my smile. The truth is that I could sit here all night with him. We don’t have to do anything. His presence is enough.
Behind us, near the bench beneath the ruined arch, the night seems to gather more intimately. I lie down on my back, with my arms beneath my head, and inhale the crisp air. Overhead, the broken frame of the ruins opens to the sky, revealing a perfect view of the full moon.
“I wonder how many stars are up there,” I say.
Countless ones. Billions. Trillions. More than the human brain can begin to comprehend.
Arkin settles on top of me, his hard body lined up with mine. “I love you too.”
My chest can’t possibly contain all these emotions. The pressure is too much. It’s almost painful.
Framed by the starry sky overhead visible through the broken frame of the arch, Arkin finally speaks, and I listen intently. Each word flows into me, hooking my heart and burying deep roots, like the ones beneath us.
“I was a kid when my parents passed away. It was sudden. They left us with the babysitter one night and kissed us goodbye. That was that. We never saw them again. Shortly after, our caseworker informed us that we would go live with our uncle and his wife. Two people we’d never met before. Our dad had been estranged from his brother, so they had no contact, and, as far as we knew, Mum had no extended family alive. No one came forward to claim us, anyway, except for our uncle.”
As I trace the line of his jaw, his stubble rasps beneath my fingers. “I can’t imagine how scared you must have been.”
A muscle clenches in his cheek. “My siblings were younger than me. I felt responsible for them.”
I swallow roughly.
“Our uncle was neglectful from the beginning, but the abuse didn’t start until months later. My uncle had a mean streak when he drank and would take it out on his wife, or us. Especially my sister because he soon learned he could control me through her.”
