Page 11 of A Silence So Divine

A large clawfoot bathtub sits against the far wall, emerald tiles reaching the ceiling. Different soaps and lotions line the vanity, much more extravagant than the single bar of soap Papa allowed me.

Creed beckons me with his finger and I shoot up from the bed before he can change his mind. Once upright, darkness clouds my vision, my skull too heavy on my neck. I hold onto the side of the bed and drag my feet along the carpet. Through the haze of exhaustion, I realize they’re wrapped in bandages. The broken mirror. I wince at the memory.

If I had to guess which of the men tended to my wounds, I would choose the one who hasn’t threatened my life.

Creed runs the water for a bath, going so far as to place a towel on the edge of the tub. As peculiar as the situation is, I like him. Between my father and his brother, I’ve never known a man to be so… kind.

He motions with his hands, and I assume it’s along the lines of, “be quick.”

Once the bathroom door snicks shut, I weakly pull the dress over my head. My skull still throbs and my extremities tremble, but the promise of a hot bath is enough motivation to keep me moving.

With my dress on the floor, I keep my eyes turned away from the mirror. I unwrap my feet and step into the steaming water, grimacing at the sting.

I sink down into the tub until I’m fully submerged. The warmth wraps me in a hug, a momentary reprieve from all the stress and fear. With the familiar silence of the house as my only companion, it’s the first comfort I’ve felt in weeks. How bizarre it is to feel the most safe with two strangers in my home.

Papa's words hover around me with the rising steam of the bath.

Would you rather be alone, or would you rather burn in Hell?

Four

Creed

My knee bounces restlessly, my thumbnail bit down to the quick. There’s no way for me to hear what’s happening on the other side of the door, but I’m sure as Hell not going to watch her while she’snude.

Cecil would have my neck if he knew I left Eden alone.“Not even for a second,”he said. According to the clock, it’s been 600 seconds. I told her to hurry, but she didn’t understand. That, or she’s ignoring me. Either way, if she’s not out soon, my brother will punish us both.

It’s not that I trust her, because I don’t. The girl clearly has some deep rooted issues. But wouldn’t I if I was trapped in this house?

While I had been chopping potatoes for dinner, my brother admitted to me that he knew who Eden’s father was and that she likely spent her whole life here. In classic Cecil fashion, he didn’t bother disclosing any more information, only reminding me to be careful around the girl. When I asked why we don’t leave, he said we couldn’t pass this place up and he’d find out what to dowith Eden. As if she were an ugly piece of furniture left behind and not a human being.

His willingness to stay is more than a little suspicious, but interrogating my brother’s motive is moot.

At least I have someone else to talk to. Sort of.

I can’t help but find our situations similar, Eden and I. I can’t hear, she can’t—or won’t—speak, and we’ve both been hidden our whole lives. With what little knowledge I have on The Cleansing, I assume she was hidden for the same reasons. How Cecil knows her father is still a mystery. Or why said father would leave her in an attic to starve to death.

And I thought my dad sucked.

Making Eden dinner helped a little with my guilt from the attic debacle. The only real talent I have is cooking, thanks to the endless amounts of recipe books I burned through as a teenager. With no friends or social life, I’ve digested almost every kind of literature there is. From Shakespeare to the Encyclopedia, I’ve probably read it at least once. And if Cecil was going to be my provider, the least I could do was ensure we didn’t rely on PB&Js.

I look at the clock again. Fifteen minutes. Either the girl doesn’t care whether I live or die, or she drowned in the bathtub.

That second thought has me jumping up and marching over to the door, ready to barge in and save her life. She’s got a head injury for God’s sake, and I let her take a bath!? I might as well have dug her grave and thrown her in.

My palm barely grazes the doorknob before it swings open, narrowly missing my face. Eden’s mouth opens in a gasp. A towel is wrapped around her body, and I couldn’t have stopped myself from ogling if I tried. Dark hair clings to her neck, her cheeks are pink from the heat, and she smellsgood.Like vanilla and peppermint. The tiny cuts on her face are still there, and herlips are still bit to all Hell, but it doesn’t matter. Oh God, she’spretty.

My gaze finally makes its way back up, zeroing in on silver eyes adorned with thick lashes. She furiously tugs the towel higher and lower at the same time. I signsorryon my chest and whip around.

A moment later, the faintest touch of fingertips on my shoulder has me chancing a peek. I’m met with a notepad held out in front of her face.

No clean clothes

Oh.

I take the pen from her and try to keep my eyes from wandering off the paper.

DO YOU HAVE CLOTHES IN THE ATTIC?