A Piece of The Sun

18. On Bended Knee

Jean POV

1 Timothy 2:11-15

14. And Adam was not the one deceived; it was the woman who was deceived and became a sinner.

The house had been asleep, everyone in their beds, and for once in all it's irony our parents had slept under our roof. After my father had told me at a young age that I could not do with my body as I pleased and to remain the chaste young lady that I had promised to be, I was now not only willfully sullied but under a roof of fine men, ripe with muscles and manicured fingers. Wealth in numerous ways—the things my papa wanted for me.

I was no such lady to dish my snarkiness about it, no. I was taught to be respectful and then taught again by my own step-brother. As life would have it, I kept getting disciplined by men, though Papa never put a finger on me and I would do well with my obedience training as a young lady from those etiquette classes at school, to show my gratitude. Life rewards a lady for her patience and piety, I should show that grace towards Declan, he deserves it. Right after I dig in my ice cream.

The time was 3:33 AM and I was sitting on the kitchen floor in nothing but a nightgown and barefoot in front of the refrigerator, scooping out the bottom caramel fudge brownie ice cream with my name labeled in tape on the pint. Noah had made it surprisingly and kindly easy for me to tell which ice creams were which, separating non-dairy from completely non-plant-based ice creams. The boys seemed to have different flavors they liked, but take note of one thing: This was a Ben and Jerry's house, there were no other brands of ice cream. Except for 10 pints of Van Leeuwen's Mac and Cheese that belonged to Carter, which now explains everything about his personality, only someone like him would eat something like that.

He had also had Churray for Churros and Lights! Caramel! Action! Some of which were very tempting but I digress, my word was bond when it came to being strictly vegan. Declan had an entire row of Cherry Garcia, Pumpkin Cheesecake, and plain vanilla. Noah's flavors represented himself: Pistachio Pistachio, Chocolate Therapy, and one that hadn't been listed in eons before our time, that had gone out of manufacturing since the 90's, a time none of us were even thought of and when our parents had been children themselves: White Russian ice cream. Made of coffee ice cream and Kahlua.

If there was something to convince me of Noah's stupid wealth, this was it. Not for the fact that he could buy a restaurant or swipe businesses from under owner's feet within the snap of a finger but for secretive dumb displays of wealth like bringing a White Russian ice cream back from the Graveyard when no one ever thought of giving it a comeback. I wondered where did he find the time to do something like this, let alone his connections to make it happen. As if the cape he made wasn't proof of it, playing out some strange Harry Potter/Bruce Wayne fantasy and the talking cars. It was enough to make my head spin and so it did.

I tossed my ice cream pint in the garbage chute and washed off the spoon before walking off to Declan's room. He was nowhere to be found on the floor Carter and I lived on or Noah's, neither was he above it. He had a room on the third floor which was one step up from me, he was somewhere above the kitchen, so I padded off to the elevator to come to his bedroom, past the halls of portraits of Noah painted by Ashley and they were beautiful portrayals of him as a boy, one drawn in a particular anime style with charismatic cropped wavy brown locks, the ends brushing his ears and a playful smile on his lips as he dressed in a silver suit. . . Not just any silver suit, one that sharply resembled battle gear, a chainmail harness that covered his bare skin and she painted him in the exact light he would have been in real life. His natural gray eyes glint in boyish charm.

His eyes were all gray now, you could hardly tell before that they were ever two different colors, one was a little blue. It was a little something about Noah that I found special, in the same way, that he found my freckles to be special. It reminded me the cover-up job would soon fade in a few weeks. Every six months I had kept up my appointments to have my freckles temporarily tattooed over, and I thought just this once I'll let them stay. I knew he loved them.