Page 112 of Promise of Destruction

It's her only argument, and it's pretty cute. I wonder if she hasn't realized just how much I've been a presence in her lifeever since I learned of her existence. She must be, because if she knew just how much I've gotten to know her these past few weeks, she'd be terrified… more than she already is.

"I know all that I need to."

"I don't know you." She argues, though it's cold, distant. This isn't her usual banter; she's still reeling from the loss of the control she wants so badly.

"You know me better than most." I shrug. "But what do you want to know? I'll tell you anything."

She stares at me but just shakes her head. "I don't care."

"Liar." I snort, looking around the shower for soap. When I find it, I squeeze some into my palms and lather them together, appraising her face.

She's shut down, trying to hold onto the only thing she has left. I took her pride and dignity along with her control, and now she's tempering herself as some sort of survival mechanism. I drop down to my knees without taking my eyes off her. She doesn't flinch when I wrap my hands around her ankle and soap her up, massaging it into her skin as I work up to her thigh before switching to the other side.

I'm not surprised by this defense mode. It's just another wall I have to break through. The prize is well worth it. So, I begin to chip away at it, telling her anything I could think she would want to know about me— the things I've learned about her in the last week just by watching... that my favorite band is a rock one she's never heard of, that I'd eat burgers for all three meals if I could, that I hate ketchup but like mustard. I don't even know if she's listening to me as I bathe her, spinning her back and forth to reach where I need to. I've rattled off a long list of random things about me by the time she speaks.

"How do you like your coffee?” She suddenly asks. “Black, like your soul?"

I laugh, appreciating the wit. "I don't like coffee." I tell her honestly. "But I've been in the E.R. more than once for racing heart, so I had to retire the energy drinks... which means when I need caffeine, I take my coffee black."

"Predictable." She rolls her eyes, but her lip twitches, betraying a bit of her personality that she's trying so hard to stifle. "Let me guess. Your favorite color is crimson, like blood?"

"I'm not a monster, Soren." I chuckle.

I've done monstrous things, but that's not the accusation she's levied at me. "And it's blue, actually, though that's a fairly new development. I've been absolutely obsessed since that day I first saw you in that royal blue dress. I thought it was just because it looked so damn good on you, but then I saw your car, your house, your towels. I didn't know people used colored towels."

Of all the things to get a reaction from her,thatdoes it. She laughs, turning to look at me. My hands slip away from her shoulders where I was massaging the stiffness out of her.

"What?"

"What do you mean you 'didn't know people used colored towels'?"

"Exactly that." I shrug. "I thought everyone just used white towels so they could bleach them. But not you, Soren Palmer. You love color despite how colorless the world feels to you these days."

She blinks, considering my words a minute.

"It's felt colorless for a while... even before...everything."

She doesn't have to tell me whateverythingis. I know what she means. I also know that she's just given me something she's fought so hard to keep... something she's been keeping even from herself. Her life wasn't perfect before her husband was killed, but she's been too afraid to acknowledge that truth, as if doing so would disrespect his memory. It's not disrespectful, though, to own her truth.

One day, I'll tell her my own. She's not ready to hear it yet, no matter how frank I've been up to this point. But someday soon, I'll tell her what she did for me... how she's the first bit of color to bleed through the static in years, how spending more time with her lets the color bleed into the rest of the world, too.

One day.