Page 5

All I see is her. I wake up thinking about Violet, spending my days finding ways to get close to her without drawing attention. And when I finally put the brushes down to sleep, she haunts my goddamn dreams with her enchanting voice. With her golden hair that has become the light in my world. I told myself it’s because we are always around each other and have forced myself to stay away from her for the past week. But I’m starting to think that no amount of time or distance will change the thoughts in my head and the throbbing in my chest.

Sometimes I think I should give in and make her mine, but the fact remains that it wouldn’t be safe for her. Humans are social creatures, but love isn’t necessary, right? Damnit, is that what this is? Love?

A knock at the door brings me back from my musings, and I lean back on my stool.

“Come in,” I say, the words muffled by the paintbrush handle between my teeth. I don’t bother looking up until the door shuts with a click. My heart rate rises and sweat beads on the back of my neck. Reaching over, I grab my sheet and slowly drape it over the canvas.

Violet walks in carrying a food tray with two plates on it. The scent of perfectly ripened tomatoes makes me salivate. Her lips curve up in a smile as soft as the rest of her when she holds the tray up.

“I brought some lunch,” she says, setting the tray down on my makeshift nightstand and pulling a second stool over, tucking her dress as she takes a seat next to me. She’s wearing one of the more casual dresses that she wears when she’s sticking around the manor for the day. The maroon fabric is soft and falls to her ankles; the sleeves are long, covering most of her hands with holes for the thumbs. Her hair is down, falling in waves and soft curls down her back. I want to grab a fistful and pull on it.

“Why?” I ask as Violet grabs a sandwich from one plate, leaving the other for me. It’s a deconstructed sandwich—lettuce, tomato, sprouts, cucumber, turkey, and bread.

“Well.” She takes a breath. “I noticed that you only eat when Dean or I make food to share with everyone. So, I thought I’d have lunch with you.” Ah, so that’s it. My eating habits have been rotten since the incident four years ago; they’ve really been catching up with me lately. It’s not that I’m not hungry or that I want to be frail. It’s that I can’t eat. Not easily, at least.

Grabbing the plate, I observe the ingredients. Do I put them together? Eat them separately? Tell her to take it away along with herself?

I don’t want that. To be honest, I want to eat, and I want her to stay. So, despite my better judgment, I won’t kick her out. Not yet.

“I gathered the vegetables from the garden, made the bread last night, and got the turkey yesterday.” I look up at her, getting lost in her seafoam eyes; my question nearly escapes me.

“You hunted the turkey yourself?” She waves her hand as if the task was nothing. A sandwich is supposed to be the simplest thing you can make, and she not only gathered the vegetables but also made the bread and went hunting; This simple plate of food took her days to prepare.

How does someone as good as her exist in this fucked up world?

“Dean helped me. I had never gone hunting or processed an animal before.” Picking up the bread, I pick off a small piece and pop it in my mouth. My stomach aches, cutting me from the inside out, from how long I’ve gone without eating this time; the bread will be the easiest thing for my stomach to start with. “What are you working on?” She nods at my canvas.

“It’s nothing.” I hate that word. It’s never nothing, and I hate fucking lying.

“I’d love to see your work sometime… You used to create the most beautiful paintings.”

They’re even better now, my Flower.

“I’ll consider it.” I offer her a smile, and she returns it, her lips sealed so she can chew her food. She covers her cute little mouth in this polite way, but I want to watch her lips. I can’t help but ogle her whenever we are alone together.

I eat in silence as she talks to me about the songs she’s thinking about for her next performance, which I will be playing as well as her accompaniment. Because I damn sure picked up playing the piano 9 years ago just so that I had an excuse to be with her without drawing any suspicions. We meet in the music room twice a week to practice, and I look forward to it like a kid at Christmas every time. She says she’s been reading some travel books she found in the library, that she’d like to see the ocean, and maybe someday be a shepherdess on the coast.

I could make that happen. I could enlist with the explosive disposal (EOD) unit to get the skills I need. Then I could pack our bags, grab her cat, and take her to the East Coast on the train. Maybe it’s not getting away from her that will solve my problem but rather going away with her that will fix everything.

I’ll use my enlistment to gain the skills we'll need to safely travel, learn the country's maps, both old and new. Draw up some of my own with the details I’ll need for us and set our exact route. And leave with her when Alistair is down south working on the next colony.

Violet’s hand touches my knee, and I look up to meet her eyes. I’ve been staring at my plate while my mind races.

“You don’t have to eat it. Do you want me to take it for you?” Glancing back down, I see the only thing left on my plate is the turkey. I haven’t had meat in four years. She worked so hard on this. I don’t want it to go to waste.

“No, I want it…” I rapidly rub my thumb over the tips of my pointer and middle fingers as the nausea threatens to remove what’s already in my stomach. Violet takes my anxiously moving hand, lacing her fingers in with mine, and gliding her thumb back and forth over my own.

“I’m here for you.” I take the first piece of turkey to my mouth, using only my teeth to take it in. My hopes of keeping my lips from touching the meat would stop the reflex shatter as my stomach heaves. Violet grabs the small bin by the bed and holds it for me, but I manage to keep my food down and choke down the turkey with as little chewing as possible. The last thing I want is to be sick in front of her; I don’t want her to have that image of me. While I work through the next piece, she continues talking as if I’m not struggling with this. It’s refreshing to have her here, helping me, but not making a spectacle of me as I nearly get sick with each bite. She doesn’t ask me why I haven’t been eating or why meat makes me sick. She talks about the books she’s reading, her sheep, or her beloved cat Snowdrop. And it proves to be a good distraction, because I’ve finished every bite on my plate.

Pulling her hand from mine, Violet gathers her dish from the nightstand and comes to me for mine.

“Thanks for having lunch with me.”

My jaw clenches; she’s talking like this is done. Like we are done.

We will never be fucking done.

I will find a way to chain her to me. The shackles around her will sparkle like a wedding band.