Page 6 of The Spare

Forgiveness isn't for men like me and Uncle William, I don't think.

I walk to her side and sit, reaching forward and clicking on the bedside lamp to the lowest setting and bend closer to see her buried in a cocoon within the sheets. Her eyes are red-rimmed and swollen from crying, as are her lips.

My heart tugs for my little butterfly.

"Hey, you," I reach forward to caress my knuckles down her wet cheek. "Move over," I whisper.

Not even asking permission, I tug the sheet free of her body and slide in next to her, pulling her tightly into my arms and pressing my lips to the top of her head as that crack in my heart gets a little wider. She smells like she hasn't bathed in a while, and her usually groomed hair is limp and lifeless.

I caress a hand down her hair, and pull her closer with my other around her waist trying to comfort her the best I can. I try to keep my movements slow, but my fingers slow when I feel her waist.

Jesus, she's skin and bones. I try to be inconspicuous as I probe her delicate ribs beneath my fingertips, feeling a self-loathing rise inside me swift and mercilessly. My throat convulses on a hard swallow, and it's everything I can do to not break down as her slight body molds into mine, lending me comfort I don't fucking deserve.

I don't deserve her.

I truly hate myself. For doing this to Isobel, Hendrix, Donna, and Melody. I squeeze my eyes shut as pain flows through me. If Isobel dies, I may as well kill myself, too. I could never live with myself knowing I did this to them. I won't.

"You need to eat, sweetheart," I say quietly, swallowing against the lump in my throat as her tears soak into my shirt.

"I-I don't want to e-eat," she sobs. "H-How can I eat when they're p-p-probably k-killing her right nowww!"

She cries a long tortured sound into my chest, making my own eyes well up with tears. Her cries of sorrow echo throughout the room, and I sniff, bringing a hand up to wipe a tear away, and clear my throat.

"I know," I say, my voice low, and rough with grief that I'm only now able to acknowledge. I didn't dare to in my father's office. I had no right, as Hendrix said. "I know. But you've got to, honey," I say harshly, putting both my hands on either side of her head and pulling her away. I keep my eyes tight on her tear-stained face, letting her know how serious this is. "Otherwise, they're going to send you somewhere where they'll force you." My voice shudders with emotion, and I know the color is high in my face; I feel it. "Mel, she needs you strong."

Melody's face contorts as she breaks apart between my hands.

Lowering one, I fist the material of my shirt, bringing it up to wipe the tears away and to wipe her nose. I crush her to me, our hearts beating erratically as I begin to fall apart too. But I keep her face to my chest so she can't see.

Pulling her even closer I swing my legs off the side of the bed, hoist her bridal style into my arms, and stand up. Carrying her out of the bedroom and down the hallway towards the kitchen.

Once inside, I keep the lights turned off and head to the refrigerator where I open it and sink us both to the floor, nestling my back against the door. I reach up, and rummage around in the drawers, snaggingdown a bag of grapes and placing it by my hips. I meet her tired eyes while I work to maneuver her limp body so her head is against my bicep and her body is nestled between my spread legs.

"Open up," I say, her face swims through the tears in my eyes.

"N-Nooo," she says, closing her eyes and shuddering through a series of body wracking sobs.

She begins to dry heave, and I pull her forward so she's bending over her knees. When she's done, I lay her back over my arm.

"Open, Melly," I whisper, pressing the grapes to her lips.

She's not relenting, so I put it between my teeth and bite it half, then smearing the juice onto her lips. She moans, looking at me weakly through glazed eyes.

"I'm not going to let them take you away," I say harshly, pressing harder.

This time she relents, parting her lips enough to let me push the grape through, but she just lets it sit there. Narrowing my eyes, I move fast, digging my fingers into her tummy. Her eyes fly wide as she jerks hard, biting down on the fruit. Her eyes meet mine as she chews and then becomes more desperate as the taste floods her tongue.

She swallows it on a gasp, panting weakly against me.

"He came for her," she suddenly says, her lips trembling. "He came for her and took her away, and didn't take metoo.Why didn't he wantme?Why am I never good enough?"

Shock fills me; however, I fight to keep my expression neutral. Aware in her half-starved state she's probably slightly delusional, but there's a sorrowful tint to her voice that lets me know her words come from some place true. A place of hurt so deep that you wonder why you aren't worthy. Why one sibling was deemed good enough to be abducted, to be the chosen one, and you weren't.

I understand thathurt.

To the bone,I understand that pain.

Seems Melody and I swim in the same waters.