Damnable Grace
Page 31

A Cursed Woman of Eve. A truth I had believed for so long. The title that had tortured her life.
“Is . . . is she happy?” I asked. AK nodded, a small smile on his lips, and I could not have stopped the tears if I tried.
“She is,” he said gruffly, and my head fell forward. My wet hair veiled my face as I covered my mouth with my hands. I let the relief pour from my body. She was happy. I had not known. But she was happy. I could not have wished for anything more.
AK left the room. He returned and stood in the doorway, holding some clothing in his hands. I could not read the expression on his face as he watched me. He was difficult to understand, I thought. Wearing a neutral mask that hid his true feelings.
He had erected walls around himself for protection. I knew this because I recognized it in myself. I wondered why.
“Get dressed. And then you need to eat.”
The thought of food caused my stomach to roll with nausea. I shook my head, about to protest when AK said, “You haven’t eaten for nearly a week while you were coming off the smack. It ain’t gonna be easy, Red, but you gotta eat something.” He pointed to me. “Right now you’re a bag of bones.” He stepped away and left me alone. I took the clothes he had laid on the counter. I slipped the long sleeveless top over my head and pulled the soft pants over my legs. The pants were too big, but I was able to tie them around my small waist with the drawstring on the waistline.
Using the wall for balance, I stood and made my way to the counter. There was a new toothbrush on the top, and a comb. I brushed my teeth, and when my mouth was clean and refreshed, I forced myself to stare at the reflection I had been avoiding.
I gasped as I stared at the girl in the mirror. Her skin was dull and gray. Her bones jutted out at odd angles, and her hair hung limply at her sides. Then my eyes fell to the marks on her inner arms. Dozens of marks that marred her pale, freckled skin. I ran my fingertips over the marks. I could almost feel the needle piercing the skin and the heavenly potion slipping like pure sunlight into my veins. My body swayed and my eyes closed as I remembered how it took me away from my pain and my burdens.
I stumbled, and my eyes snapped open. Just at the thought of the potion, my cheeks had flushed. Dread settled in my stomach. I craved the potion more than I wanted food, or water, or anything else for that matter. But then I thought of Rebekah, here in this place, safe and happy, and I made myself reach for the comb. Concentrating on her face, her smile, and the hope that Grace made it to her alive, I ran the comb through my hair until the long red strands were straight and smooth.
Red, I thought as I stared back at my reflection. AK had called me “Red”.
The color of my hair.
I startled at the brief flicker of a smile on my lips. I was not sure why, but I enjoyed that name for me. Not Phebe. Not “whore” . . . but the sheer simplicity of the name Red.
I opened the door, and, slowly, painfully, I made my legs take me in the direction AK had gone. The smell of food almost made me return to the bathroom to purge. But I fought it, determined to keep moving.
When I reached the kitchen, AK was at a stove, cooking food. I did not realize I had paused in the doorway, captivated by him, until he glanced over his shoulder and froze. He had changed into another pair of pants, and his hair was brushed back from his face.
He was incredibly handsome. I did not understand the flush that came to my cheeks as that thought crossed my mind. Men did not affect me. They never had. Yet here I was, blushing as though I did not know the touch of a man.
“You wanna sit?” He flicked his chin toward a table at the side of the room. I sat down, and AK placed a mug in front of me. I knew the smell immediately.
“Coffee,” he said and walked back to the stove.
“I have never tried it.” I lowered my nose to the liquid, but I had to turn my head away at the smell.
“Try it,” he said encouragingly, placing a plate of food before me. Bacon and eggs. He shrugged and sat down opposite me. “I ain’t a good cook, but even I can't fuck this up.”
I tentatively cut into the food. I brought a small amount to my mouth and made myself chew. It tasted like sawdust on my tongue. It felt like razorblades to swallow. But I ate it. I knew that I must.
AK stared out of the window of his cabin while I ate as much as I could—it was not much. When I could eat no more, I placed down the cutlery and asked, “Why?”
AK slowly turned back to face me. I swallowed a small amount of the coffee, wincing as the hot liquid burned my throat. But I liked it.
“Why what?” he echoed. My eyes fell to his naked torso and the mass of tattoos marring his skin.
“Me?” I said, finally fixing my attention back on his eyes. “Why . . . why did you help me?” Instinctively, my hand ran over the marks on my inner arm. “Why did you take me from . . . him?” I dropped my gaze and stared into the dark abyss of my coffee cup. “Why did you care? You do not know me.”
“Just did,” he replied finally.
I could see by his stiff posture that he would say nothing more on the matter. And that was okay. He did not have to explain anything. He rescued me, for whatever reason, from Meister. In the end, that was all I needed to know.
“Thank you,” I whispered, keeping my eyes from meeting his. “Thank you for saving me.”
I heard his breathing quicken, and I felt his need to say something to me from across the table. But before he could reply, there was a knock at the door.
My head snapped up. I wondered who it could be. AK got up and opened the door. When the visitor stepped inside, my heart filled with light. He saw me sitting at the table and stopped dead.
“Phebe,” he breathed.
My hand shot to my mouth in disbelief. I saw a woman enter behind him. She was beautiful, with long black hair and blue eyes. But before I could wonder about her any further, Cain crossed the room and took me in his arms. Tears spilled from my eyes as I fell into his familiar embrace. He wore a black shirt and denim pants . . . and his long hair was gone. I cried into his shoulder, racking sobs, until he stood back. His eyes swept over me, and he smiled.
I recognized that kind smile.
Then the woman was pushing past him. “Phebe,” she breathed and embraced me with the same vigor. I frowned in confusion, wondering how she knew me. Then she pulled back, and I studied her face. Her hair was the wrong color, as were her eyes, but she was, this was . . .