His to Keep by Lydia Goodfellow
Chapter Nine
Four days pass without food. When Father Aaron said we wouldn’t eat as punishment, I didn’t think it would be like this. As if my insides are being shredded into tiny, brittle pieces. Gran is a lot of things, but she never deprived me of food. Starving me to a point where I’m ready to lose my mind.
Father Aaron hasn’t come once, and while a part of me is glad he isn’t around, the other begs for his return. It’s what he wants, I guess. For us to learn without him we’ll rot in this room and fade into nothing. We need him to survive.
The other being punished is sitting on the floor next to the bed. Arms resting on his bent knees, Callum’s head lies back against the wall. He isn’t awake, having not woken since yesterday afternoon, and I’m getting worried. His face is less swollen from the beating, but he’s pale, and his breaths are shallow. While we haven’t spoken in days, maybe I should try and wake him to make sure he’s okay.
“Callum?” I whisper, voice scratchy from lack of use. No reply. He doesn’t flinch. I repeat his name, louder this time, and my heart leaps when he groans weakly. As I sit up, my body screams in protest for using energy I don’t have. Shifting to the edge of the bed, I nearly collapse when I stand. The room spins, and I grab the bedpost to stop from falling. Squeezing my eyes shut, when it eventually eases, I move over to him.
“Please, God,” I beg, hoping he isn’t dying.
Dropping to my knees beside him, I reach out to feel his hand but hesitate, unsure whether to or not. What if he doesn’t want me to touch him? But what if he’s dying?
My fingers lightly touch his. They’re cold, and he doesn’t wake. “Callum?”
He mumbles something incoherent under his breath, and I’m not sure if he’s lost in a deep sleep or begging for help. How am I supposed to get him help? Thump on the door until someone comes? What if no one does?
My teeth sink into my bottom lip as I shuffle closer until his legs are on either side of me. Lifting my hand, I place my palm on the side of his face, surprised by how soft and warm his skin is. Thankfully not cold like his hands and no fever, which is a relief.
His lips part, and overwhelming heat hits me in the face; only then do I realize how close I am to him. I haven’t been this close to anybody since the day I was kissed in the rose garden, and I know I should back away, yet I find myself staring at him instead. He’s different up close. I don’t know how it’s possible someone can look haunted and beautiful at the same time. He’s a wasted beauty—one hidden away with locks and keys.
My eyes lower to his mouth. His lips. It’s wrong to look at lips with cuts, but I can’t help it. As I touch the dried slice of skin on his lip, I wonder what it would be like to kiss him—
His eyes suddenly open, and when he sees me, he jerks back. It knocks me off balance as he gets up from the floor, and I fall back, landing awkwardly on my wrist. I gasp when pain shoots up my arm. Snatching it from beneath me, I cradle it to my chest, warily glancing up at the man losing grip with reality. His breathing’s erratic and his body sways, like any minute he might fall. Rubbing his eyes, he groans from the same dizziness I suffered.
“It’s okay,” I try and calm him, remembering his similar reaction the other night when he thought I was someone else. Shame burns deep as he drops his hands and finally looks at me. “Are you okay?” He nods, but I can tell he’s not. Maybe he’s wondering why I was so close to him. I don’t know myself. I can’t think straight. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“You didn’t answer when I called. I was scared.”
“Scared?”
My head lowers. “I thought you were dying.”
He breathes out. “Why would it scare you if I died.”
“Because I don’t want you to.” Tears pool in my eyes, and it seems to confuse him more. I’m confused. The way he said it was like him dying doesn’t matter when it does. I don’t want to be left in a room with him dead and alone.
“You shouldn’t be,” he says.
“How can you say that?”
He looks at me pointedly. “Because I’m nobody to you. Why’d you care?”
My eyebrows draw together into a frown. He’s right, he isn’t anybody to me, but that still doesn’t mean I want to witness him dying.
Leaning off the wall, he makes his way into the bathroom. I want to laugh at the bitterness consuming me. Am I so repulsive that he can’t bear to be in the same room as me? It sickens me that I care, making me feel like I have nobody when I never have.
“Wait.” He stops in the doorway but doesn’t turn around. I want to tell him not to walk away, but I don’t. “How much longer?” I ask instead.
He walks into the bathroom and slams the door behind him. Even though he ignored me, he doesn’t have to say anything. His silence said it all.
* * *
Five days without food.The sun rises early, but the clouds roll in to hide it. It doesn’t take long for the rain to appear, tapping loudly against the window and turning the air humid in the bedroom.
Shadows replace the light, and it’s the shadows I’m lost in. Like the weather, I feel the change. When the sun streams through the curtains, I sometimes pretend I’m somewhere else. Somewhere that isn’t here. Now that it’s gone, I suffer in darkness. In bleak thoughts that refuse to believe the lies I tell myself when the sun shines. No more pretending. No more lies.
My teeth grit together when my body tenses from another hunger pain. It’s getting unbearable and desperate as the hours go by. I haven’t stopped shivering all day, even though I’m hot and sweat beads on my skin. It’s torture, and maybe I’d rather be dead.
While I know it’s wrong, I take a small amount of comfort that I’m not alone. It’s the only thing keeping me from going utterly insane from hunger. Knowing Callum is going through the same hell makes it easier to be burned. It’s sick, really, knowing he’s suffering worse because he ate less than me at our last meal. And when I really think about it, when did he eat last?
I’m half asleep when the door creaks open. I know it’s Father Aaron without having to look. I sense him walk in, eyes searching the darkness for me. I keep still. The last thing I want is to show him my face. Reveal how much I suffered from his punishment. He would love that, I’m sure.
“Dinner will be at six.”
Footsteps retreat, and the door closes. I wait for the key to turn in the lock before I open my eyes, pulling energy from relief that we’re getting a meal today. Callum rises from the floor, like he too has a surge of strength from the good news, wincing as he stretches his back. I imagine it’s from sitting on the floor for so long.
“You can sit with me on the bed if you want.” He shakes his head right away. “Why not?”
“Why would you want me to?”
Words die in my throat. Once again, he hits me with the obvious. I only offered because it’s three hours until dinnertime and the bed’s more comfortable than the floor or his chair. I was trying to be nice, but maybe I shouldn’t be. And yet, there’s a weird part of me that does want him near me, even though he’s a stranger. Just wanting someone beside me. There. What’s wrong with me?
“Please?” I find myself whispering when he’s about to shut himself away in the bathroom again. The lines on his forehead soften, and his reluctance wavers.
He steps forward until he’s on the other side of the bed, his movements wary as he lifts his legs onto the mattress and leans back against the headboard. I keep quiet as he lets out a careful, slow breath, but my heart already pounds. Maybe he hears it. Feels the vibrations of the wild thuds against my chest because he turns to me in that moment. “Are you afraid of me?”
I gaze into his eyes, which seem more blue than usual. “No.”
He searches my face, and I don’t think he believes me. Maybe he shouldn’t. I’m terrified of him. Tearing my sight from his, I force myself to relax beside him. Anyone could walk in and catch us, and God only knows what Father Aaron would do if he saw us together. Though, sitting beside Callum makes the suffering slowly disappear. I’m suddenly calm and judging by his easing breaths, he is too. Or maybe I truly am just a liar and sinner.