Page 28 of Redd

Chapter Five

Bijou

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Ifelt the sun on myface and the warmth on my skin before I opened my eyes. The sound of dishes clanking together and the scent of toast roused me awake. Blinking my eyes open, I rubbed them gently as they adjusted to the bright room.

Pushing up on my elbow, a crocheted blanket was laid over my body, covering me up to my shoulders. Brushing the thick strands of yarn, I pushed my fingertips into the small holes and tried to remember where I was.

I felt lost and confused, as long lost sleep created a haze over my thoughts. Images of the night before mingled with everything I held inside; all the feelings, all the emotions that I had folded up and put in the pocket of my mind had blown open, leaving me raw and tender.

Hate for the man who kept me as his pet.

Anger for the world that hadn't done a damn thing to save me.

Sadness for the loss of everything I had ever known.

And hope. . . That tiny root was still there, slowly pushing up the topsoil and searching for the sun's rays.

Finding a single strand of yarn, I twirled it around my finger and stared at the tip, watching it change from pale pink into deep red.

Val. . .His face popped into my head, the several shades his skin had turned twisted in my gut. I remembered it all.

The deep brown eyes that peered down on me, the thick black hair that framed his face and brushed his brows as he gave me his hand. I had been rescued, I had been freed from my box.

For that brief moment as sleep ended and consciousness swept in, I had thought it was all a dream. But it wasn't, I was away from that hell.

The stranger's home, I'm actually here. I wasn't dreaming.

Quiet voices went back and forth in the kitchen, two people talking and whispering to each other. Pushing up on my arm, I tried to see who it was.

“She's finally awake,” a small voice said, her tone low and curious. “Do you think she's hungry? She probably is, she's been sleeping forever.”

Forever?

How long have been I out?

“Wait here, I don't want you going near her.”

“But I just—”

“Wait here.” The man commanded, his feet thudding across the thin floor with determined steps before the small voice could say another word.

Looming over me, he had the same expression on his face that I remembered seeing before; dark, empty, and stern.

All the softness and concern I had seen when he opened that closet door had vanished. Thick lines creased his forehead, a deep frown plagued his lips as his eyes ran with thoughts, worries, questions; all of them understandable considering what had happened.

But none of that mattered to me. As far as I was concerned, I owed this man my life. Whatever thoughts and worries he had were warranted under the circumstances, I couldn't be angry at him for it.

I felt his body first as he got closer, his presence a weight on my chest and a twinge in my gut. Flicking my eyes away, I looked at his hands. They were large and thick, the skin rough, with a letter tattooed onto each knuckle.

The word wrath was on one hand, the word amity on the other. I had no clue what those two words meant to him, or if they meant anything at all.

Wriggling his fingers, his glare bore a hole into the top of my head. Looking back up, I gave him a half smile, and adjusted myself on the cushion. My eyes were open wide as I forced myself to say something, anything to break the silence that bristled my skin.

“Good morning,” I said, scooting up and leaning back against the arm of the couch.

His eyes hardened, lids thinning into tight slits as he stared down on me. Something had changed in that instant. The man didn't look at me with a mind full of questions, it was something different, something darker.