“I…”
“What?”
“I said yes, but I also said it would have to be in a couple of weeks.” Her eyes dart around the room.
“What’s wrong?” I coax.
“I kind of used the excuse of your Uncle Dane dying. I said you needed me, and that I would love to go on a date, but couldn’t right now.”
My eyes widen and I bite at my nails. “Because of the bruises?”
Helena nods. “Yeah, because of the bruises.”
“Well, that makes sense.”
She nods and hangs her head a little. I know we’re both a little fucked up from what’s happened. Still wading through our emotions is a daily task. We were offered counselling, and Helena accepted. I didn’t. The weird thing is we never had any police question us. Some suits came around accompanied by my gentle giant, who introduced himself as Darwin. He told us they just needed our signatures on some documentation. It was a nondisclosure agreement, so we wouldn’t talk about what happened. I was shocked. I expected police and statements, maybe even a court case. I shouldn’t have been that surprised, though. Of course, the government is going to cover their arses. Although, I’m not even sure they were the actual government.
“What’s wrong?” I ask softly.
“Do you think we’ll get through this?” Her voice is scratchy as she pushes the question out.
I throw my arms around her. “Do we have a choice?”
“I guess not.”
We both sit silently rocking back and forth, each caught within our own thoughts.
There’s a knock at the door, and I know it’s Toby. He’s come to pick me up. I couldn’t face the funeral alone, and since being kidnapped, he’s been my rock. Helena’s still asleep, so I straighten my waistcoat and hurry to the front door.
Swinging the door open, I stumble backwards and nearly trip over my heels when it’s Isaac I see and not his brother. His arm reaches out and wraps around my back stopping me from falling.
“Th-Thank y-you,” I stutter, pulling away and laying my palm flat against the wall for support.
“Toby is with Mum. She needs him. Dad asked if I would come get you,” he informs me. His voice is level, clinical, and it doesn’t suit him.
I stare open-mouthed at him. I shouldn’t ogle a man dressed for a funeral, but I can’t help it. He’s beautiful in the most deadly way—all sharp edges yet beguiling.
“That makes sense,” I answer, trying to fill the awkward silence I created. “I-I’ll just grab my stuff.” I turn around and walk a few feet into the living room. When I don’t hear the door shut, I turn back. Isaac is still standing in the doorway. His black suit against the black shirt looks like it was made for him, and the open collar shows off his corded throat and chiselled jawline to perfection. “Come in,” I order. A cold feeling washes over me as I realise the chasm between us is growing by the day. Never before would I have had to invite him in. He steps into the hallway and slowly closes the door. His eyes travel down my body and back up again, and I watch his throat as it pulses when he swallows.
Moving to the full-length mirror, I check my reflection one last time. Black fitted trousers, a white shirt, and a black waistcoat confine my body, while my feet feel comfortable in black patent heels. I tie a sheer black ribbon around my head pushing my hair away from my face as it hangs loosely down my back. It’s early September and quite a cool morning, so I pick up my purse and collect my charcoal wool coat placing it across my forearm. There’s nothing left to do except go to the funeral, but my body doesn’t want to move, and my mind refuses to force it.
“Come on. I’ve got you.” It’s the first warm words that have spilt from Isaac’s lips since he arrived. I blink up at him, and he’s there, my Isaac is there. Almost like he can read my mind, he schools his features, and his face once again becomes blank.
“Let’s go,” I grind out, pushing past him, past his outstretched hand, past his bullshit. I descend the stairs before he can offer me any more soft words just to rip them away again.
My fingernails dig into the pasty skin of my arm. Apart from the tattoos, I’m so pale. If it were any other day, I’d be worried about myself. The morning chill whispers across the hairs on my arms, which all stand like little soldiers ready for battle. Encased in a brittle outer shell, my heart slows down, the thrumming heavy in my chest as grief eats me up from the inside out. My dad holds me, but Isaac’s hand running up and down my spine is the only thing I feel. The tears collect and disperse, then collect and disperse again, a rhythmical flow of sorrow journeying down my face.
I’m close to my family, but the last few years I’ve wanted to step out, to be my own person and discover life. My visits home have slowed somewhat. Now I’m regretting being selfish and not spending enough time with those who love me. I glance over to my mum as she stares up at the sky, I follow her lead and look up too. The sheen of emotion coating my eyes make the outlook blurry. I can’t help but giggle at the thought, and upon doing so I gain a few disapproving stares from those random mourners you always seem to get at funerals.
My whole outlook is blurry. I miss my aunt, and now I’m going to miss my uncle. My family is distraught, and I’ve not been here for them. Then there’s Isaac and the issues we share. He’s a mind
