Elio’s swelling had gone down a bit by the time I’d left him, though not by much. It was enough to see his features better, though the bruises marring his skin were still concerning. I wished they weren’t there.
I wished I could do something more.
I hoped he would think about what I asked him earlier.
Chapter Nine
Dinner was finished,but Jude wanted to take a shower before eating. I kept it warm in the oven, sitting on the floor in front of it to keep an eye on it.
The more I saw Crescent, the more I began to wonder. Dream. I refused to call it hope, since hope could be so easily stolen away. He was willing to help me get away from it all, and though the idea was horrifying, it almost felt freeing. But the moment I felt free, I knew I’d lose it all.
I scrolled on my phone, looking at different names and their meanings. It was something I’d started doing years ago, when I’d been so beaten down that the idea of my name having meaning suddenly created worth for me. If something as small as what I was called meant something, maybe I meant something. Maybe I was worth the air I breathed.
What I’d never done was look up the Miller family’s names. They were all so… unique, it never crossed my mind. Now that it had, I decided to start with Moon’s name, finding exactly what I’d expected. The word wasn’t meant to be a name, but it was derived from Old English, from the wordmona.
Star was much the same, though it had connotations of guidance and hope, along with a lot of spiritual significance.
The last was Crescent. The word was French, with roots in Latin. It meant growing, or increasing. In a way, it made sense. Because of Crescent, the idea of one day having hope was slowly growing on me.
The bathroom door creaked as it opened, signaling the end of Jude’s shower. I quickly pocketed my phone, sliding it right next to Crescent’s phone number, and pulled the oven door open to grab the food. Waves of steam rushed out of it, caressing my bruised face.
Heavy footsteps rumbled through the house, right into the dining room, where Jude pulled out a seat at the table. “Smells delicious. I bet you’re hungry, aren’t you?”
I plastered on a tight, fake smile as I plated the baked chicken. “Starving.” The biggest piece went on his plate, along with the largest portion of broccoli and mashed potatoes. I’d never been the biggest fan of broccoli, but with how it had helped me today, I just might enjoy it more.
Jude made me use a smaller plate, with smaller portions than him, for meals sometimes. I’d gained an intuition about when he’d want me to—tonight was one of those times. I had to cut a piece of chicken in half to fit it all on my small plate. Looking at our plates side by side, I was thankful Crescent had fed me earlier.
Bringing the food to the table, I paused by Jude’s chair. I held both plates in my hand and looked at him expectantly. When he nodded to the seat beside him, I placed his plate down and took my seat.
“You did good today, yeah?” He held the knife in his hand, hovering over the chicken.
I flicked my eyes from him, to the knife, to the chicken. “Yes.”
Slowly, he brought it closer to the plate before picking it back up. “Your face looks better.”
Always a game with him. Another house rule.Elio shall not eat until Jude has taken his first bite.A commandment etched into invisible stone, with consequences far worse than death itself. “Yeah, I used ice on it like you said.”
“Good.” His knife sliced through the chicken. He cut it with slow, purposeful movements, taunting me.
Finally, he scooped it up with his fork, piling some of the mashed potato onto it. I watched, suspended in time, as he held the fork up to the light and inspected it. “Hm,” he hummed. “A bit crispier than I usually like it.”
I furrowed my brows, yet quickly slackened my face to hide any emotion. “I’m sorry. You’d said it wasn’t crispy enough last time, so I tried to fix that.”
“You overdid it.” Huffing, he ate the bite, scraping his teeth along the fork as he did. With his mouth still full, he gave me another critique. “Not enough salt on the potatoes, either.”
All the years of cooking for Crescent and I obviously hadn’t helped me too much. “Would you like me to grab some for you?”
He picked up the glass of water beside him, curling his fingers around it with a tight grip. So tight, his fingertips started to turn white. The tips of his nails dug into the glass, as if he were holding my neck and not a glass of water. “No. Eat your food.”
My mouth went dry as I pried my eyes away from his hand. A trembling, shaky feeling started in my lower back, running up my spine, and curling around my throat. Pinsand needles began in my feet, and a prickling sensation started at my waterline, despite me blinking rapidly.
I didn’t want to eat. My failure sat on the small-ass plate I was allowed to have, and I knew it tasted bitter. Charred. But my stomach demanded it, so used to never knowing when our next meal would be allowed. In the end, I resigned myself to my fate and ate.
The chicken crunched between my molars just before melting over my tongue in a burst of seasoned flavor. I held back a satisfied groan, delighting in the taste. Feeling the proof on my tongue, I wasn’t sure if I believed what Jude was saying anymore. I shoveled some potato into my mouth, licking the fork clean when I finished.
In my periphery, Jude stared. His face was scrunched, his frown lines pronounced. When I looked at him, a rush of heat ran from the top of my head down to my toes. It curdled and crawled, wave after wave of shame and humility taking over my skin. For a moment, it made me wish for the cool steel of the guardrail on the bridge. Or even the way the moon glinted off the water below it. I wondered if I’d gotten close enough, if I’d be able to see my reflection in it.
Just me and the moon, mixing together into a watery image of loneliness and forgotten freedom. Freedom I’d do anything to capture once more.
