Tale of the Gifted Beings

chapter 7

chapter 7

I SLID THE GLASS of water across the table, my fingers tracing the cold condensation, the droplets pooling in my palm. Elliot's trembling hands reached out, fingers brushing mine. His skin was as cold as the glass. I watched as he swallowed his medication; each gulp was like a victory against time. His chest rattled with every breath, a constant reminder of the enemy within.

His gaze rose to meet mine, eyes as sharp and blue as the midday sky, yet clouded with worry. His attention was on the mottled purple and blue patches that mottled my cheek. Each bruise was a badge of honor, a testament to my grit. But to Elliot, they were a mystery, a cause for concern. It made me think, "No."

"Primrose," he rasped, his voice a whisper against the silence. "What happened?"

Yup, I had already anticipated that very question. He worriedly looked at my bruises as I forced a smile, a feeble attempt to push away his worry. "I fell," I lied, my voice steady despite the unease swirling within me. The lies tasted bitter on my tongue, but they were a necessary evil. Elliot's brows furrowed, his gaze never leaving my face. He didn't believe me, but then, why would he? I was a terrible liar, always had been. Sucks. But this was a secret I had to keep.

"I'm fine, Elliot," I insisted, reaching out to squeeze his frail hand. His knuckles were white against his pallid skin, and his grip was weak yet determined. "You don't need to worry about me."

But he did. I saw it in his eyes—the way his gaze lingered on my bruised face and the way his fingers tightened around mine. His concern was a palpable presence in the room—a third entity, an unwelcome guest.

Around us, the room was silent, save for the soft purring of Ophelia. My black cat lay curled on my lap, a comforting weight against my thighs. Her emerald eyes were half-closed in contentment, her purrs a soothing melody against the tension. I ran my fingers through her soft fur, relishing the simple, comforting rhythm of her life beneath my touch. Elliot's gaze, on the other hand, drifted to the medication on the table, the vials, and the pills, and on me. He knew we could barely afford it and knew that it was a luxury that cost us every single penny we had. But he didn't know how I got it; he didn't know about the illegal arena, about the fight. That was a secret I had to keep. A secret that was as heavy as the bruises on my face and as dark as the shadows in our lives.

His gaze lingered on the medication, then slowly moved to me, a silent question in his eyes. I met his gaze with a small smile, a silent promise that I would keep fighting, keep surviving, for him and for us. He didn't need to know the truth; he didn't need to carry that burden. He had enough on his plate—enough battles to fight.

"I don't want you to get in trouble," Elliot said, his eyebrows furrowed in worry.

"I'm not, Elliot," I assured him. But again, it was a lie.

Elliot sat frail and gaunt in his armchair. His voice was a fragile echo of the robust man I'd come to see as a father, a mere whisper that barely stirred the silence.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his hands trembling as they clutched the worn arms of the chair. Sorry? For what?

His brave eyes, once vibrant, were now clouded with worry and regret. A pang of sorrow jolted through me, but I swallowed it back, forcing a reassuring smile onto my face.

"Why are you apologizing?" I asked, keeping my voice steady. The sound of my own name, spoken with such remorse, felt like a splinter in my soul. Then, he sighed, a weary sound that seemed to echo the weight he carried. "I'm sorry for being a burden to you," he admitted, the words hanging heavy and foreboding in the air. "You're going through so much right now because of me."

I shook my head, the stray hair framing my face dancing with the motion. "You're talking nonsense, Elliot," I said, trying to inject some levity into my voice. "You're my family. It's only natural that I'm here for you."

His eyes, however, were far from amused. They were filled with a sadness that made my heart ache, a sadness that hinted at a truth I didn't want to face. I got up, moving to the table where his half-eaten dinner still lay. The clattering of the ceramic plate as I picked it up provided a much-needed distraction.

As I stood over the sink, the warm water flowing over my hands, I heard Elliot's voice again. "If ever something happens to me, Primrose, I want you to be safe and happy. I want you to be in a happier family."

His words were a punch to the gut. I turned around, the plate still in my hand, my heart pounding against my ribcage. Ophelia rubbed against my leg, her purring a comforting lullaby amidst Elliot's nonsense. Ophelia's emerald eyes glowed in the dimming light, a silent reassurance that everything would be alright.

"Stop talking nonsense," I said, a hint of desperation creeping into my voice. The reality of his words was too harsh and painful to entertain. But as I looked into his eyes, I knew that his words were far from nonsense. They were his fears, his concerns, and his love for me laid bare. They were a plea for me to find happiness, even if he couldn't be there to witness it.

And as Ophelia wound herself around my legs, her purring growing louder, I realized that I would do just that.