Touching Eternity (Touch Series 1.5) (10 page)

He shrugged, his gaze suddenly too fascinated by everything else but her. “Some guy was selling them by the school when I was leaving,” he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Made me…” he cleared his throat. “Made me think of you.”

Beaming, she scooped back the strands at her left temple and pinned them in place with the flower. She patted it to make sure it would stay in place, spread her arms open wide and tilted her head.

“
Well? How do I look? Do you like it?”

He looked like he was choking on something, like he was in pain. He seemed to be having a hard time swallowing. His face had gotten very red and he couldn't seem to keep his eyes off her.

Her heart sunk a little. Her arms lowered back down to her sides.

“
You don’t like it.” She bit her lip to keep it from wobbling.

“
No!” he shouted, a little too loud. “I mean yes! Yes, I like it…a lot.” He exhaled shakily. “You look beautiful, Ams.”

She smiled. “I love it.” Once certain he wouldn’t bolt, she took a cautious step forward, hooked her arms around his neck and drew him in. “Thank you!”

He was as rigid as the statue of Ares, but she could feel his heart hammering a little too fast against hers. Slowly, tentatively, he raised his arms and wrapped them around her middle. The familiar feel of him, the smell of him poured over her like the gentle rush of waves over sand. She closed her eyes and let herself melt into him.

“
I missed you,” she whispered.

He pressed his lips to her temple, sighed. “I missed you, too.”

***

Her eyes flew open and Amalie found herself staring down the length of her floor to the shadows beneath her bed. A pool of moisture beneath her cheek had her pushing to a sitting position and wiping at her face with the back of her hand. She never felt herself cry, but the proof glistened against the hardwood.

Stupid!
He wasn’t worth crying over anymore. He’d made his choice and he hadn’t picked her. He’d forgotten her. He’d left her behind, deserted and abandoned her. He’d left her…alone and unwanted.

She was unwanted.

She was unnatural. No one wanted her. No one cared. She was defective, something useless and broken. Her own mother hadn’t wanted her. Her father hated her. The world shunned her and the only person she had ever loved, truly and with all her heart and soul, couldn’t stand the sight of her, couldn’t stand the thought of ever being with her. She repulsed him. Her disease disgusted him. He didn’t want to be with someone crazy. He couldn’t love someone crazy. He’d found someone else, someone that made him happy. Someone normal. He loved this other person. He wanted her. She wasn’t crazy. She wasn’t ruined, tarnished or broken, this girl he loved and wanted.

God, why was she even alive? What was her purpose? Why would He put her on this earth if she wasn’t allowed to live? What had she done to deserve this torture? What was her crime?

Across the room, the door clicked softly open. She couldn’t bring herself to look up.

Tomas was early…again.

***

“
What’s that?”

Instinctively, Amalie’s hand flew to the clip in her hair, her heart somewhere at her feet. “A…A hairclip?” she whispered, her voice wavering.

Her father had never looked so deranged, so unhinged as he stared, horrified and disgusted, at the beautiful ornament. Amalie shrunk in her chair, wishing she could melt into the leather, disappear from sight. She wished she’d thought to remove the gift, hide it as she had for weeks. But it made her think of Isaiah and his arms around her and his smile bright just for her and she couldn’t.

“
Where did you get it?”

Her breathing was hard now, erratic and unnaturally ragged. Her mind spun with answers, the first to tell him the truth. But something stopped her. It was the possibility that Isaiah might get in trouble that held her tongue.

“
I…I found it…” The lie came too easily.

“
Where?” The single word cut through tightly clenched teeth as her father tore around the desk separating them to stand glowering down at her.

Her tongue plastered to the dry notch at the top of her mouth, making it nearly impossible to answer, but she did. “In the hall—”

The lily was torn from her, uprooting strands of hair in the process. The tears burning behind her eyes were both from pain and terror as she leapt to her feet, torn between snatching it back and running.

“
Please let me keep it!” she pleaded. “Please! It’s not dangerous.”

But he wasn’t listening. He marched past her to the hearth built into the wall of his study. He didn’t look quite steady as he snatched up the lighter from the mantle.

“
Daddy! No!” She was running to him, her heart a terrified rabbit in her throat. “Daddy, please! Please! Don’t! Please, Daddy!”

Even though she grabbed his elbow, hooked both arms around his and yanked, he set the clip on fire with a deft flick of his fingers. The fabric instantly caught ablaze with an audible woorf.

“
No!” Her wail rioted off the walls in a sound of pure anguish.

She dove after it when he flung it distastefully into the empty grate. He didn’t try to stop her, but stepped back and watched with a curl of his lips as she tried desperately to extinguish the flames lapping at the flower like wolves on fresh meat. But she was too late. Her fingers were blackened, blistered and bleeding, but the lily was gone.

“
Why?” Sobs shook her enter body as she twisted around to face the man moving casually back to the desk. “Why? It was just a hairclip. It couldn’t do any harm!”

“
I don’t need to explain myself to you, Amalie,” he replied calmly, composed once more now that the object of his distain was gone. He flattened his hands on a stack of folders resting on the edge of his desk and pressed down. Amalie thought she heard the crunch of glass shattering. “I’m in charge here!”

***

It was a crazy notion. She knew it wouldn’t work, but there was a small spark of hope in her chest that maybe this time, just maybe, they forgot to lock the door. Maybe this time, no one was standing outside, armed to the teeth as if she were some wild animal. Maybe this time, she’d be allowed to step over the threshold to her room alone.

The doorknob fit in the palm of her hand the way a block of ice fits in an ice cube tray. It burned her skin as she coiled her fingers around it, twisted and yanked.

The latch disengaged. The door slipped from the framework and swept open. Amalie jolted back, clutching her hands to her pounding heart.

It was open. Her door was open. It was open and no one was waiting for her. There was no one in the corridor, no one to grab her, no one to stop her. It was an open window of possibilities. It was a small taste of freedom she hadn’t had in so long. All she had to do was take those steps, one foot in front of the other. Five steps. Five steps and she’d be free.

Her heel began to lift as her heart did.

No!
She scrambled back, away. It was a trap. It was a test. They were waiting for her to give them a reason to grab her. They were waiting for her to mess up. It was a trick.

Dizzy with panic, she slammed the door shut and hurried away from it.

I wasn’t there. I didn’t touch it.

She backed into the terrace doors, slid to the floor and pulled her knees to her chest.

They were coming. Any minute now, they would barge into the room and drag her for more tests. Any minute now. Any minute. Any minute…what were they waiting for?

She hugged her knees tighter and rocked and waited and rocked and waited.

Any minute now.

Isaiah

His tiny, ten year old frame was an abandoned ship lost in a sea of silk. He could roll and roll and keep rolling for years before reaching the edge of the bed. The vastness of it never failed to unnerve him. What if he really did get lost? What if he was swallowed by the mattress? He kept sinking deeper into it every time he moved. So he lay rigid, a board in the middle of the bed, staring at the canopy overhead.

When the door across the room clicked open, he was upright in an instant. His fingers fisted, prepared to go down fighting whoever it was.

The solitary light on the nightstand washed over a tiny face, blue eyes and hair the color of pennies.

“
Isaiah?” The soft whisper barely reached across the room.

He frowned. “What are you doing?” He pushed back the blankets weighing him down. “You’re supposed to be in your own room!”

The door opened wider and Amalie scuffled inside in her lacy white nightgown, her hair released from its braid and spiraling down her back. She edged in deeper and quickly shut the door.

“
What are you doing?” He hissed again, crawling to the edge of the bed to peer down at her.

Her tiny hands wrung at her midsection as she stared up at him, her eyes pleading. “Can I sleep with you?”

“
No!”

Her chin dropped, nearly brushing her chest. “Please? The crying is keeping me awake…and I’m scared.”

He’d never heard these voices she talked about, not once in the two years they’d lived under the same roof, but she seemed to hear them and they always seemed to get worse at night. He wondered how she managed to cope with it before he’d arrived, but she’d begun to make it a habit of sneaking into his room at night.

“
Please, Isaiah?” She raised those big eyes and met his, hers shiny with tears, his narrowed in annoyance. “I don’t like being alone with them.”

He hated when she did that, that girly eye thing. It always made him feel bad when he really shouldn’t care. She wasn’t his responsibility.

“
Fine!” he muttered, crawling to the other side of the bed. “But stay on your side this time! Your hair chokes me when I’m sleeping.”

He heard her scramble up onto the mattress and wiggle under the blankets as he did the same. He lay flat on his back, arms folded under his head, determined not to acknowledge her existence.

“
Isaiah?”

He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. “What?”

“
Thank you for letting me sleep here.”

“
Yeah. Sure. But don’t get used to it!” He scowled at the canopy. “A guy needs his own sleeping space.”

From his peripheral vision, he saw her fidget with the blankets. “I don’t mean to,” she whispered. “The voices don’t follow me here.”

He did roll his eyes this time. “There aren’t any voices!”

“
There are!” she protested, pushing up onto her elbow. “They’re always crying and—”

“
There isn’t anything there!” He rolled his head so he could see her. The light behind her filtered through the riot of curls falling around her face and shoulders, forming a red halo.

“
There is!”

Disbelief crinkled his brow. “How come no one but you sees or hears them?”

“
Are you calling me crazy?” Her voice was loud and shook with emotion. “I’m not crazy! I see her, Isaiah! I see—”

“
Your mom,” he finished with a roll of his eyes. “She’s dead, Amalie. She can’t come see you anymore.”

“
But she does! She’s always there, behind my door, crying! I can hear her all the time.”

“
Well tell your father!” he said, exasperated. “He’s the one you should be telling this to. He’s trying to help you.”