Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84533 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84533 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
“Do you want to tell me about her too? Your mom?”
He tensed against me, his whole body language changing. “Can’t.”
I nodded. “Okay. Maybe one day.” I wished he could share her with me, but I would never push him. What Crow gave me was enough.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Crow
He was beautiful when he slept. I thought he was beautiful all the time, but there was something special about watching Cyrus when he was sleeping. He was so different from me. He was open and honest and wore his heart outside his chest rather than behind a steel barrier the way I did. I didn’t think there was anything he wouldn’t tell me, but when he was sleeping, somehow the barely existing veil was lowered even more. He let go of all his worries, insecurities, and sadness, and was just Cyrus.
I’d never thought someone was beautiful before him. Yes, I’d felt physical attraction. I got turned on and wanted to fuck, but I’d never looked at someone and ached before. I’d never lost my breath because they were so fucking beautiful, I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
I never wanted him out of my sight. I didn’t want to sleep because then I couldn’t just look at him and the softness of his features and the roundness of his nose. At the freckles I knew by heart and at his pink tongue when he licked his lips.
I didn’t think it was supposed to be like that. It never had been with anyone on the compound, but then, we were supposed to save most of everything we’d had inside us for Chosen. He had been all that mattered.
Eventually, I forced myself out of bed. My little lamb could sleep through anything and didn’t stir as I got dressed and sneaked from the room. I bundled up in my winter clothes and made my way out to the shop. The cold air bit at my face, snow coming down and making it difficult to see.
I went into my art room first, painting Cyrus exactly how he’d been when I’d left him in bed, lying on his back, one arm thrown over his head, lips parted, one leg sticking out of the blanket.
My worry about him meant I wouldn’t sleep tonight. I’d felt his sadness, the weight of his pain—part depression, part missing his mom. I’d thought about Christmas, of course. I knew it was an important holiday in the outside world, though it wasn’t one I’d ever celebrated. It was forbidden in The Enlightened because it was a man-made holiday. That was the excuse Chosen gave, at least, but in my mind, the real reason was because he always wanted to be the one being praised. He pretended it was God, that he was Chosen by him and that everything he did was to give The Enlightened a chance at being in the presence of God one day, but it was all for him.
I stopped painting, weaving my way through all the paintings of Cyrus. In the back, hiding in the corner, I found one I’d drawn of The Enlightened—one of my first after coming back. I’d missed them, even missed him while hating myself for it. They had been all I’d ever known, and my feelings had still been a tangled mess.
Sometimes still were.
I knelt, brushing my finger over my mom’s smiling face. She deserved for me to share her with Cyrus too, but I didn’t know how to do that, didn’t think I would ever be able to. She died for me because she wanted a better life, and when she was alive, I’d always picked Chosen over her.
I squeezed my eyes shut, hands fisted so I didn’t ruin it, then shoved to my feet and started grabbing paints. On the way out, I grabbed the box I’d been secretly making for Cyrus. At the time, I hadn’t known when I would give it to him, but it would be my Christmas gift for him.
Back in the cabin, I started to paint.
I might not be able to give him my mother, but I could give him this.
*
“Little lamb,” I said gently to a sleeping Cyrus. My heart was beating too fast, had been for hours now because…I think I was excited. The feeling was so foreign to me, one I’d only begun to experience since I met him, but it was the only way I could think to describe the bubbles in my stomach and the speeding of my pulse. “Cyrus,” I said again, tracing my favorite route through his freckles with the tip of my finger.
“I don’t want to get up.” He rolled away from me. “I’m staying in bed today.”
Was this his mental illness talking? I couldn’t fix it; there was nothing to fix. It was a part of Cyrus, but I wanted nothing more than to help ease it. “I brought your pills and some water. I have a surprise for you.” Because of my past, his medication still made me nervous, but I knew he needed it.