Cupid's Bow
Chapter 7
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The conveniently named Hush was located in one of the lower-most sections of town. I knew this because for a while, I was a Pidgeon. Most of our information intake and outtake was transmitted through various mediums of technology, but in the poorer (or in this case, clandestine) areas, plain old fashioned paper was used to submit messages and the like. Thus, my role (not really job because I didn't get paid for it) as Pidgeon.
In that short period of time, I became privy to really more than I would have liked – Hush was pretty much the go-to place for all and everything about Cupid's Bow. Scattered whispers had made me recoil in horror, while drawings had sent unwelcome shivers up and down my spine. But in all that, I'd never once heard someone mention them speaking.
But, I suppose, I hadn't much heard or seen anything besides…
I blink at him, astonished.
I had pondered it earlier, but I'm not sure I really believed…
"Edward," he says again, tapping his chest. His voice is soft and deep, and what's more, clear – like he's used to speaking. Yet, up until that point, I'd only heard him make sounds.
It's a different world, I think. Different ways.
I'd just never thought about it – besides the obvious – because I never thought I'd be here.
But if I'm to make it home…
…then I'm going to need to.
Giving my head a quick shake, I push steel into my spine as I ready myself for what I'm about to ask.
"Edward." I say his name softly, because that's just the way it comes out. In between my stolen glances at his face, I watch his eyes widen. "Could you – " I break off, swallow, wonder if I'm really about to ask one of Them for –
"I need your help," I blurt.
I guess so.
I start to fidget like mad after I've said it; one hand repeatedly flexing and releasing on my torn top, while the other tugs at the damp-curled edges of my hair. My gaze is on the ground now, my heart beating like crazy in my ears, because it's out there now and I can't – can't take it back.
When I glance back up, his head is cocked to the side, his eyebrows furrowed.
Confused, I think.
"Um… I'm looking for a – a Thing… but I don't really… I don't really know where I'm going." The truth feels bitter going down, but I forge on. "Do you know where I could find it – the Thing?"
His eyes brighten, like they did before when I said my name, and he said his. Relief runs down my throat and softens my bones as I recognise his manner as one – I hope – of understanding.
He knows where to find it.
"Thing," he repeats, watching me closely as he starts towards me again.
I hold my ground, even though the sight of him approaching – just the sight of him, actually – is still really, really unsettling. I start to tremble when he's only about a foot away, and he drops his head again.
Why? I think, only briefly though, because he's suddenly holding his arms out in front of him.
I start at him, dumbfounded.
Now I'm the confused one.
After a minute of, well, nothing, he peeks up at me from beneath his lashes.
Meeting my confused glance with one of his own, he nods his head behind me, uttering a quiet, "Far." Then, taking an insistent step forwards, and dropping his eyes to his arms before looking back into mine, "Carry."
My mouth drops.
Heart racing, and taking a quick step backwards like he'll pick me up anyway if I move too slowly, I insist, "I can walk."
He seems to hesitate for a moment, inhaling deeply before letting his breath shudder out. Eventually, he lets his arms fall. He nods his head.
"So." I let my eyes turn away, swivelling my body to the side as I glance into all that green. It's easier to pretend to be normal when I can't see him. "This way?"
He hums, low and throaty, before I feel the heat of his skin scorching me. I keep my gaze fixedly ahead, trembling through my steel-enforced spine. I feel his hand on my shoulder, causing my fingers to tighten around the ripped neck of my top. But… he moves it in the opposite direction – slip-sliding it down my suddenly small feeling arm before encircling my wrist, and then just…
Just… holding my hand.
I jolt, my eyes huge, my palm damp and clammy but not cold.
Fear keeps my glance from darting down.
A sound rumbles in his chest, almost a sigh. Slowly, he comes to stand beside me, his gaze warming my not-going-to-look face. He doesn't say anything… but after a minute he starts walking, and I do, too.
A while later – minutes, hours? – my fear fades a little, so I let myself look down – just for a minute, though, at –
At our connected hands.
OoOoOo
OoOoOoOo
OoOoOo
Heat rises, they said, heat always rises. It was like a minor third-party reason (or excuse) for why we lived in sky-high block buildings. I never questioned it, never had cause or reason to. When I was a Pidgeon for the lower-most parts of the city, I wrapped up in as many layers as I could without becoming debilitated, and I was still cold. And it wasn't like they were even properly on the ground, not like here.
So now, on the ground, as I swelter under the bright white heat, I'm not so much as questioning that teaching as deeming it downright fallacy altogether.
Different worlds, my mind quibbles back, but I push it away.
I have to let go of Edward's hand some way in, and when he startles, stops, and looks at me with hurt plainly etched onto his face, I say, weakly, "Hot."
When he shows no sign of understanding, I life my arm and swipe the sweat from across my forehead away. I know my face is probably flushed ten-shades of red by now, so I wipe the wet away from my cheeks, too.
I say, again, "Hot." My legs wobble a bit – heat this intense something I'm not accustomed to. "Too hot." And then I just slink to the softened floor, dropping my head between my knees because I feel headache-y all of a sudden.
He makes a little distressed noise in the back of his throat as I fall, and even though I can't see him, I know he's fallen with me.
Fingers on my boot-covered feet. "Bel-la?"
I close my eyes. "I just… I need a minute."
He whines lowly, and before I can say or think anything else, I'm in the air.
My breath leaves me in a yelp-gasp as I automatically clutch onto him for support. One of his arms is under my knees, while the other goes around my back, holding me carefully to his chest.
"No walk," he explains, meeting my widened eyes.
I gulp.
"Put me down," I whisper, body shaking at the realisation of being… being held.
His arms tighten around me. I feel each flex and tense of his… his muscles. "No walk," he insists, green-gold searching, pleading.
It ensnares me for a moment, his sense of being earnest. In Hush, I'd seen enough, um, glazed-eyed stares, to know what physical insincerity looked like: the insatiable wanting of more, never satisfied in its take-and-no-give policy.
But I search and search and search his eyes… and I don't see it. That look.
Unfortunately, that doesn't completely stop the panic, as he is, you know, still very much…
"I can walk." I repeat my words from earlier as I start squirming in his arms, which is made very difficult by the heat and the not-wanting-to-touch. I tear my gaze from his as I shiver and shake and writhe about, trying to pull myself away.
But he doesn't budge.
Not. One. Inch.
I grow flustered, my face heating for a different reason. "Edward!" Exasperated, hot, tired.
"Bel-la…" Hushed, quiet, gentle.
In a move I don't see coming because I'm studiously avoiding his gaze, he dips his head into my neck.
I freeze.
Gently, his nose pushes aside the torn fabric I'd forgotten about in my struggle to be put down, and glides so feather-soft and slow along my neck. He breathes in deeply, holds it in his chest for a minute, before letting it out. Slowly.
My body shudders, vibrating with the after-feeling of his groan, his touch.
"Shhh…" he hushes quietly, his breath hot on my lips, the tip of his nose light and caressing against mine. "Find – find water," he murmurs, words a bit stilted, but tone clear. "For – for Bel-la."
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A/N: Naked and sweet – what more could you want? ;) Also, I made a pretty (IMO) banner for this story. Link on profile if you fancy a butcher's!