She was mine first.
Daisy is much quieter now, and she was hardly chatty before. She sips her tea, and the way her gaze keeps darting between the three of us men and Ophelia makes me believe she’s trying to figure this all out.
I’m dying to touch Ophelia.
I keep getting flashbacks to being inside her at the same time as Malachi, and it’s so hot.
“Do you want to watch television?” Malachi asks the two girls.
“No,” Ophelia answers quickly. “Why don’t you play your guitar? Something soothing.”
Fine by me. I do like to listen to him play.
Malachi rushes to fetch his guitar and sits back down, holding it lovingly the way a parent might hold a child. It is his baby, after all.
Strumming a few chords to tune the instrument and warm up, he finally begins to play. It’s a classical tune, one I first heard many years ago, and as the soothing sounds fill the room, I notice Daisy’s eyes droop.
I want her to go to sleep so we can talk in private. This is unexpected, and something about it is making me all kinds of antsy.
Finally, Daisy’s head lolls onto Ophelia’s shoulder, and soft, tiny snores escape her.
“She ought to go to bed,” Ophelia says softly, “but I don’t want to wake her.”
“I’ll carry her to the room if you get the door for me.” I stand so I can pick her up.
Ophelia nods, and I hoist the still sleeping Daisy into my arms and march through the tower. She doesn’t stir, which is surprising, but maybe she’s too exhausted from all the traveling she’s done. Being on the run must be incredibly stressful, and she’s only young.
Holding the door while I walk through, Ophelia then darts in front of me and hauls the covers back on the bed, so I can gently place Daisy onto the mattress. Ophelia covers her back up and kisses her on the forehead.
It’s affectionate, almost maternal, and a sudden image of her as the mom of our kids hits me hard. Would I want that?
I haven’t thought of it seriously, other than idle fantasies of her filled with our seed, rounded, and growing a life. I might have a bit of a kink for the idea, but seeing her like this, I realize just how good a mom she’d be.
We turn to leave the room, but Ophelia pauses. “I don’t want her to wake up in the dark, scared, and not know where she is.I’ll turn a lamp on.” She does so, then we sneak out, taking care to be quiet.
We return to the living area to find Mal has put his guitar away and is drinking a beer. Rome is sipping at what looks like a scotch. He’s not really getting any proper food to line his stomach, and he’s on pain meds, but I’m not his mother, so I let it go.
“Do you want a drink?” I ask Ophelia.
“A small glass of wine would be nice.” She flashes a tiny smile. “It’s been quite the day.”
Hasn’t it just. I walk to the kitchen, open the fridge, and take out the screwcap bottle of wine, and open it, pouring her a glass. Then I grab myself a beer.
I sit back down beside Ophelia, and this time I let my hand rest heavy on her thigh. She’s mine,ours, and I like to feel that ownership when I get the chance.
“So, your friend…” Mal glances at the hallway, before shaking his head. “I don’t know, Ophelia, she’s kind of strange...”
Ophelia’s leg tenses under my fingers, and I glance over to see her jaw set and her shoulders high. Mal just stepped on a landmine with that comment.
“Like me, you mean?” she asks snippily.
Oh, he’s gone and done it now.
He holds her gaze, his head tilted slightly. “Ophelia, baby, we’re all a little bit fucking strange. Look at me, for example. I’m the weirdest one among us. I didn’t mean it as an insult, okay?” He holds his hands up. “What I meant is that I get the distinct feeling she’s hiding something.”
“Me too,” Roman says in his new, slightly muffled way of speaking.
“She’s probably scared,” Ophelia says, softening a little. “That’s understandable, isn’t it? Considering everything she’sbeen through.” She gives her head a slight shake. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand, not fully.”
