I look away to give her a moment of privacy.
But as I go back to eating my stew, it suddenly dawns on me how different Tallulah and Sylvie look.
Tallulah is much smaller height-wise. She barely comes up to my shoulder. Her chestnut brown hair cascades around her face in thick waves, and her eyes are as blue as the teal in the late afternoon skies I adore so much. I always manage to separate the two though, because she’s taken enough from me and I won’t allow her to take away one of the few colors that stand out anymore. Tallulah’s skin is the color of freshly picked peaches and just as smooth. Her hips are wide, her arms and legs are thin, and I’ve never seen someone carry themselves with such high regard before I met her father.
Sylvie on the other hand is about my height, maybe less so by a couple of inches. Her skin is the color of fresh cream, with light brown freckles gently caressing most of the surface. Sylvie’s hair looks like a newly found black obsidian stone; shiny and always well-groomed. The slightly darker shade of her eyes forces me to remember what the sky looked like before all I could see was the teal, and I like to lose myself in them from time to time. Unlike her sister, her frame is completely different. Whereas Tallulah has wide hips, Sylvie’s are narrow, and where her sister fails in parts of her being ample, Sylvie seems to overcompensate.
Tallulah can be loud and demanding.
Sylvie rarely speaks to anyone other than me and gives everything she has.
I don’t spend my days comparing them since it’s not my place.
Especially since the differences only now seemed to settle in.
“What’s on your mind, Kester?” she asks, breaking me out of my thoughts.
“Hm?” I ask, glancing up at her. I don’t know how to tell her what I’ve just been thinking, so I decide to change the subject, “Do you think he’ll be angry if I knock on his door tonight?”
Sylvie’s eyes go wide.
She drops the spoon in her bowl and shakes her head vehemently.
“Don’t push him. He’ll send for you when he has time.”
I scoff as I stand up, hand my bowl to Sylvie, and grab my jacket.
“Thanks for supper,” I say, using the back of my hand to wipe my mouth. “Don’t stay up too late.”
Before she has a chance to say anything else, I’ve got my jacket on, the hood pulled down over my head, and walk out into the night hoping that the whispers won’t follow me home.
Chapter Four
It looks like a goddamn palace compared to everything else, I think scornfully as I take a deep breath.
After I left Sylvie’s little humble abode, I tried to convince myself to go back to my place, but instead I find myself standing outside the door of the Abbas’ home, hands buried deep in my pockets, anger coursing through my veins. The rage is enough to keep me warm and allows me to hold my ground.
He has so much, and everyone here has so fucking little, and somehow he thinks that’s okay.
I honestly don’t care if I ever have a warm meal again, new clothes to wear, or even a way to heat the home I share with his daughter ever again. I don’t plan on staying here much longer to let any of that weigh on me, but the way he manipulates everyone else …
I close my eyes for a moment as I turn my face away from the door. I can hear the whispers, the taunting, the hateful words of everything that I’ve had to endure so far and take a steadying breath.
Maybe Sylvie has a point.
Maybe he will send for me when he has time to talk. It could just be taking longer than I want it to because he has to make space for me on his daily schedule of being worshipped like a fucking god before he decides that I’m good enough for a private grovel.
Opening my eyes, I extend a hand and place it on the doorknob.
I could easily turn it and walk in, but what would that achieve?
It would make me look too foolish, too childish to wait for my “turn” and then he’d never give me the time I’ve been basically begging for.
Letting my hand drop to my side, I scuff the tip of my boot against the ground before I turn around and make my way back home.
Eventually, he’ll have no choice but to see me.
Tonight just isn’t the right time.
“I’m home,” I mumble into the darkness.
The chances that Tallulah even noticed my absence are slim to none, yet I always announce myself when I walk in. I guess I just don’t want her to think it’s someone other than me.
Not that anyone would ever enter our home uninvited.
It would be deemed a crime in some archaic rule book that I have yet to see or lay my hands on. But I guess the words we can’t see are usually the ones that hold the most meaning. It always becomes a matter of faith, and there are only two people here that are lacking in that department.
Sylvie and me.
I wonder if she’d leave with me.
Running a hand back through my hair, I walk toward the sitting room and shrug my jacket off, tossing it on the couch. I inhale deeply before I drop down in my favorite recliner. It took me almost six months to build, but I’m proud of it because it’s one of the few things that I have here that wasn’t handed to me for being Tallulah’s husband.
And if I gave even half a fuck of having that title, I’d get up and go see how she’s doing.
Instead, I get comfortable in my chair and clasp my hands over my chest, closing my eyes and begin to chew the inside of my mouth thoughtfully.
I’ve only just now noticed that the whispers didn’t follow me inside. In a way, it’s troubling because this is where it’s most persistent, which means something is amiss. Either that, or I’m letting the silence get the better of me instead of enjoying it for what it is.
I clear my throat as I decide not to worry about it for the time being, and just as I’m about to fall asleep, something is rudely slapped against my chest, startling me.
“This came for you today,” Tallulah barks as she reaches down and slaps my feet off the bottom of the recliner.
I don’t bother looking at her.
She looks like a monster most days, lost in the haze of the dull colors that have taken over the world and I can’t bear the sight of her. The likeness is nothing more than how I see her soul instead of her face, and some evil just can’t be looked at head-on.
Licking my lips, I reach for the small, white envelope that she’s hit me with and nod as I turn it over and begin to pull the back open.
“Thanks.”
“Where were you, Kester?”
Her tone is demanding and demeaning all at the same time.
“You should be in bed,” I reply curtly as I pull the folded piece of paper free from the envelope.
“You were with Sylvie, weren’t you?” she barks.
“No.”
“Liar,” she hisses.
“If you say so. Good night, Tallulah,” I say as I get to my feet and walk by her.
She’s going to follow me, berate me all the way back to my room, and bang her fists against the door to get her point across like a child having a temper tantrum.
But I guess that’s better than hearing the whispers that amplify around her.
Besides, once I close the door behind me, I’ll be safe from her bitter words, and the only breaths I’ll have to hear are my own.
Not Tallulah’s and the thing growing inside of her.
The sooner her body expels it, the better.
Chapter Five
I think that giving Tallulah her own room and me having my own has worked wonders for my sanity. Or rather, the little bit they allow me to have, but it also gives me the silence I need from all of her bullshit.
However, I’m in a much better mood this morning.
I even wake up with a smile on my face because I’m finally getting what I want.
The Abbas apparently has the time to speak to me, today no less.
However, he didn’t sign it with his title as he always does, he signed it simply as himself.
Lawson Bennett.
Up until I read his reply to my numerous requests, I never knew his name.
I thought gods were cloaked in some kind of ethereal shroud? If so, then signing his name instead of his title means there are holes in his and he’s close to drowning in his power.
I can only hope that I’m the weight that drags him to the bottom of the sea.
Sitting up, I rub my eyes and glance toward my bedroom window. I sigh when I realize that the colors still aren’t what they used to be, but after tonight, I have a feeling everything will change.
And if it doesn’t, then I’ll have no choice but to consider this place home and do my best not to let it break me.
Shoving the blanket off my body, I swing my legs over the side of the bed.
I don’t know exactly what I’m going to say to Lawson which makes no sense. All the times I’ve hoped for a message to come back to me, letting me know that it’s my turn to speak to him, and I’ve never once rehearsed a fucking thing.
Maybe it’s for the best since I hear that honesty is something he values.
The last time I saw the man was when he performed our damn marriage vows; after that, I became Tallulah’s problem.
Ever since that damn day, I’ve left nothing but paper trails for him and he’s finally answered.
He probably doesn’t remember my name or what I look like.
He definitely doesn’t know the sound of my voice past the mumbled responses I gave under duress. No, all he knows is that one night, a long time ago, I shoved my cock into his daughter and planted a seed of rebellion to grow in her belly.
But what he doesn’t know is that she forced me.
He doesn’t know that she took advantage of me.
My awkward, shy state was something she saw as a meal and indulged.
And to think that the first woman I’ve ever fucked may be the last one, isn’t much of a comfort to me. Not because I want to become a whore like her, it’s just that I wanted to find someone to love.
Instead, this is the hand that life has dealt me, and I’ve been trying to find the ace hidden up my sleeve ever since.
The smile instantly leaves my face when I open the door and almost trip over Tallulah’s sleeping body. She’s curled into a small ball, her arms wrapped protectively around her stomach and even though I can’t stand the sight of her, I would feel like shit if I left her here.
Taking a deep breath, I lean down and scoop her into my arms, careful not to look at her for too long or wake her up.
Tallulah’s room is directly across from mine, so the walk is minimal to put her back into her bed. It’s when I lay her down, when my eyes lower to her belly, that I see the thing inside of her move through her shirt.
It’s enough to make me shudder.
Not that any of this is its fault, but it will have a better chance at life if not given one at all, and since this is my doing, I know that I’m the only one that can save it from this place.
Taking a deep breath, I reach for the blanket, lean down and gently press my lips against her belly before I cover her back up.
“Soon,” I promise it, letting my hand linger for a moment before I turn and walk out of the room.
Chapter Six
“Look,” I say to Sylvie handing her the invitation from her father. I know I have to kill some time before I finally get to speak to him, and I couldn’t think of a better place to be than with a friend.
She motions for me to follow her into her small living room, taking the seat closest to the window. I sit on her small one-person couch and lean forward, draping my arms over my knees.
I think Sylvie has problems seeing things sometimes, because usually when she reads, it’s near a light so she can see it better without squinting.
If she leaves with me, I’ll do everything I can to help her get her eyes fixed up, I tell myself confidently.
Of course, I don’t know how I’m going to make a living outside of this place, but I’ll figure it out.
I work hard here and can build a lot of useful things with my hands. And even though everyone else here can too, I’m pretty sure that I’m the only one that wants to get the fuck out of this place.
Either way, I’m sure that has to be considered a skill, and worth something to someone.
Sylvie finally lets out a heavy sigh as she hands the invitation back to me, then rests an arm on the windowsill.
“I guess it goes without saying that you’ll be taking him up on this?” she asks in a quiet, stoic tone.
I nod as I fold the paper back up and slide it back into the envelope.
“I’ve waited far too long for this to pass it up,” I reply simply.
“You’re not going to hurt him are you, Kester?”
I look up at Sylvie with a carefully banal expression on my face. I have every intention of doing him harm, though it’s not in the way she may think. But I also can’t lie to her since she’s my only friend in this damn place, so I look away from her.
Sylvie lets out a sigh as she turns her eyes back to the world outside of her window.
“He’s a smart man, Kester. If he feels like something is going to happen, he’ll stop it before it does.”
“Nothing I won’t be able to handle,” I reply cheerfully as I get to my feet. “Anyway, I have to get going in a little bit, but there’s something I need to ask you to do for me.”
“If I can,” she replies quietly.
The silence that follows forces Sylvie to look at me. It’s something I’ve told her time and time again that I would need her to do. Something she’s sworn to me that she could handle.
And now it’s time for her to follow through.
She tucks her hair behind her ears as she gets to her feet and makes her way over to where I’m standing.
“Midnight,” I say to her softly.
She chews her lower lip thoughtfully for a moment before she sighs and looks away again.
“Midnight, Kester. I promise.”
Chapter Seven
Night fell three hours ago.
I spent the time in between doing some odd work around Sylvie’s property, before moving on to the small house next door.
It’s the only way I know I can cover my tracks and hers. If anyone suspects even the slightest thing, then all of the windows will open, and the whispers will begin.
The lies.
The false accusations.
The breaths.
Some things simply can’t be afforded, and now is not the time to succumb to any of the gentle words that would follow me. Eventually, they would become as loud as blaring foghorns because that’s always what happens.
I need a clear head right now.
I need strength to be able to do what needs to be done, and that’s to prove to everyone here that the Abbas is nothing more than a fucking man and not some god on high.
I use both of my hands to smooth my hair back as his home begins to appear in the distance. I could pull my hood up to hide my face, but if anyone is watching me, I want them to know who was able to finally break him.
I rub my hands together and bring them to my lips, blowing my breath in them to keep warm. But it’s also a way to keep the whispers at bay. The ones I can hear getting clearer and clearer the closer I get to his home.
That’s when I realize that what needs to be done can’t happen here.
I have to lure him away which should be easy enough.
I’ll whisper to him about Tallulah, about the thing she carries, and about how my love for her never even existed.
It’s what he’ll want to hear.
I know this because I’ve seen his eyes on me during his sermons. The way they hold me in place; like something so desperately coveted but far out of reach.
Except for tonight.
I’ll give him the one thing I know he’s been craving and in the same token, I’ll end up freeing myself from this wretched place.
I only hope that Sylvie doesn’t let
me down.
Chapter Eight
Lawson Bennett, the man—not the god, opens the door when I knock. I half expected some hidden concubine to let me in, but no. He can’t resist the chance to be in control of even the simplest of things.
“Kester,” he greets me in his low, gravelly tone.
I nod, giving him a level stare as I hold my hand out to greet him. He takes it cautiously, closing his fingers tightly, then letting go as quickly as his next breath.
“What can I do for you?” he asks, motioning for me to follow him.
The whispers are louder here than anywhere else. I have to close my eyes tightly for a moment, to will them away, in hopes that I’ll be able to keep my head on straight enough to be able to get him to leave with me.
“I need to talk to you,” I manage to grunt out as I begin to grind my teeth.
“Then speak.”
“Not here,” I say, a pained breath leaving me quickly.
“You’ve never been in my home before, and you want to leave it?” Lawson asks with a chuckle.
I take a deep breath and place a hand on the wall just inside the door to hold myself up. Everything here is wrong. The foundation he’s built here is on the blood and tears of others long before he filled it to the brim with mindless chattel willing to do his bidding.
“Please,” I whisper, raising my eyes to meet his. A tear rolls down my cheek and Lawson arches an eyebrow curiously before he steps forward and places a hand gently on the side of my face.
He’s alleged to have some kind of bullshit healing powers, but I’m fairly certain that he believes it just as much as everyone else does.
But I’m not one of them.
I never have been, and I have no intention of being one of his faithful followers.
“Then where?” he asks briskly as he uses his thumb to wipe my tear away. I look into his eyes and he takes a step back. If he’s as brilliant at seeing through ruses as Sylvie cautioned, then I’m probably already undone.
Outlaws: A Romance Anthology Page 2