Chapter 5: Uncomfortable

***Julian

She offered to help with dinner, but I declined. She was my guest. I rathered her rest, make herself comfortable.

It felt so foreign, having a woman in the house again. To cook for, to wait on. Just the smell of a woman was different… I hadn't realized how much I missed this. Mae would often help me in the kitchen, but I mostly did the cooking while she baked. I missed everything about her.

A part of me felt guilty. That I shouldn’t share this place with another woman, in the space where my wife read, napped… lived. That I shouldn’t have even let another woman in. Period.

But wasn’t this one different? Broken… in a beautiful, mystical way. I knew I said I’d send her on her way, but maybe not just yet. Too frail, too fragile. And those eyes. Those pouty lips.

Fuck… I cursed under my breath.

I turned my attention back to the food as I peeled the thawed vegetables. My knife slid effortlessly as I diced the potatoes and carrots with precision. I was a surgeon with a knife. Butchering, serrating… I hunted my entire life, and I prepared everything I killed. I threw the contents into a large silver pot, where the rabbit was already simmering. Steam rose, flooding the kitchen with its hearty aroma.

Goosebumps pebbled my skin as I felt her eyes settling on the back of my neck. 

“Can you pull up your sweater? I need to check on the bandages.” I was no wolf, but I could smell fear in the air. Her breath quickened; lips parted. Pink… plump. I cast my gaze away as she ruffled through the sweater, struggling with the bad arm.

Finally, she croaked a sound with her throat, as if to usher my eyes back.

The sweater settled on her body haphazardly, slung over one arm while draping oddly over the rest of her porcelain skin. Her naked arm braced against her breasts like a broken wing, trying to keep the sweater in place. A faint peek of the underside was exposed. The curvature of her milky white slopes hinted against the pressure.

Immediately, my pants tightened. Good God.

Maybe I did need to send this girl away... and fast.

I took the seat in front of her and moved the soft tendrils away from her shoulder. The stitches were still intact, but the bandage needed rebinding. Anxiously, she bit her bottom lip and her gaze fluttered as if she couldn’t decide where to look. Her eyes flitted from me back to… anywhere else but me.

I slid behind her, pushing the clothing aside, only to see that the bruising was almost completely gone. The spots faded to a light purplish brown. How was that possible? Before I knew it, my fingers brushed against the fading bruise, touching her silky skin. She arched her back with a gasp; her skin prickled as she shuddered, pulling away from me.

“I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to touch you but…” I stuttered, retracting my hand. “But I don’t understand. How is this possible?”

She scribbled something on a scrap of paper and gave it to me as she turned slightly, arms still crossed against her chest.

The note said, “Heal faster.”

And she was right. It was some type of magic. As I took off the bandage on her back, the skin was already healing around the stitches.

“Incredible.” A tight smile pulled along her mouth.

“What about these older scars? Will they go away, too?” I asked. Her head slouched forward as she shook her head, golden brown waves shaking with it. I shouldn’t have asked. Too soon.

I wanted to console her. I wanted to take away every fucking lash they buried into her body. But it wasn’t my place. She was a stranger to me; I was a stranger to her.

***Fiona

I felt the heat of his body dissipating as he stood from the chair behind me. But for a moment, I still felt his gaze radiate against my bare back. He then walked to the stove without a word.

I was quick to redress, though the scarlet pain in my shoulder burned every time I put clothing on. I hated being naked in front of him. Yes, I knew my entire body was on display the night before, but this was different. I was injured with little choice but to be nude in front of him. And it wasn't that he made me feel uncomfortable, but it was those eyes on me, beholding the scars… scrutinizing the marks that would never heal.

Inside and out.

When he sat in front of me, I felt the warmth of his breath brush against my arm. I don’t know if it was curiosity or loneliness I had been holding in for so long. But I yearned to reach my hand out and sweep the tapered strands from his forehead. Brows were brooding, deeply focused on my stitches. And as his fingers grazed the tenderness of my shoulders, part of me hoped, just for a second, that they might slip lower to caress my breasts.

I inhaled a sigh. What was I thinking? I needed more rest. Maybe I was delirious and needed more drugs. I scribbled on a slip of paper and brought it to him.

“Medicine?” it read. He nodded, handing me two oval pills. I jotted back a quick thank you.

I walked into the living room. The wall opposite the kitchen was entirely shelved with books and journals, old diaries collecting dust. Classics, contemporary… you could read a new book the entire year without repeating. My fingertips grazed over old, embroidered leather covers and brilliantly decorative dust jackets. Here, I could stay in this room forever, lounging below the wide cabin window like a lazy house cat near the heat of the crackling fire.

I opened a random book to a dog-eared page which was folded to an entry dated, November 5th.

It read, “Today I felt the tiniest of fluttering. I rushed over to Jules and he only stared at me bewildered, like I had three eyes. Every time I moved his hand in the right spot, the baby stopped. But I felt her. It’s going to be a girl… I just know it. I like the name Matilda. If he doesn’t like it, he’ll learn to LOVE it!!!”

And the author underlined the word “love” three times and immediately my heart broke. A hand flew to my gapping mouth.

Suddenly, the book snapped shut as Julian’s snatched the diary from my hands. Furious eyes scorched down at me, and I cowered. I opened my mouth, itching to apologize for the intrusion. For the mistake.

“Don’t ever…” His eyes winced as a breath huffed from his nose. The veins bulged from his tightened neck and daggers shot back at me.

“Don’t touch her diaries. This is all I have left of her,” he sneered with thinned lips.

The tears collected in my eyes and my lip quivered. I squeezed my face to keep from crying. The intense stare stopped short, as if his thoughts were now fighting amongst themselves. But I didn’t wait for him to say another word.

I ran, pushing past him, barefoot out the front door. Out into the frigid bitterness.

Without needing to ask, Kaia pushed through, taking hold.