Bessa

Silks

Thunder bursts and the sky weeps.

Angry tones of rain play heavily against the windowpanes.

You are not a betrayal

The Savage's words still echo in the channel of my ear.

You are not a betrayal, I am.

Looking around he's already up, quietly making the first meal of the day. Somethings sizzling in the pan on the stove, but all I can smell is him. His scent still lingers on my flesh, close to my mouth.

'You're up." The Savage's greens find mine.

I can't look away.

You're not a betrayal, another whisper of his tone lingers its breath around my neck with loose tendrils of wispy sound.

When he takes the pan off the stove, he takes a plate with a flower painted on the upper right-hand corner before it's been fired in the kiln.

Placing the food on, he also pours me a hot tea in a cup with the same flower design. Dishes made for our house, to have our food on and drinks in.

He brings the beat of his heart to me, the closer he gets the more my beat turns irregular and jumpy.

"It's time to eat at the table." His hand goes to my closed fist, pulling gently but firmly on the wrist, so I stand up.

"I'm not ready to eat at the table yet." A crack of lightning zigzags in the temperamental sky another grumble of thunder shakes the structure of the house.

The Savage pulls the chair.

"Sit, I won't sit, I won't eat at the table until you're ready to have me sit with you." He takes his plate away, to lean against the kitchen counter.

Beginning the meal with my head down, looking at him at times.

"I've made hangers for your dresses." The tone of him shifts - sways within the small shell of the house. I look away but feel his sight still heating my neck where he's looking.

"They're called Silks, they are my Silks." My voice holds the respect they deserve.

"I've made hangers for your Silks." He says Silk precisely the way I've just spoken it with reverence.

He sets his plate down, washing his hands before going opening up the drawer to get a handful of hangers made from wood that has been sanded smooth and polished to bring out the grain of the wood.

"What did you use for this?" Feeling one of them with the pad of my fingers.

"Cedar, it will keep your Silks safe."

To my horror the Savage goes to my trunk lifting it up, to bring to the table.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to hang up your Silks while you eat."

"I can do that."

"I know, you finish your food. I'll do it." He opens the lid to my treasures.

Taking the first silk he puts it on the hanger, he stretches to put it on the hook that held me in my place while he cut my hair. My hand goes to my hair that's almost to my shoulders. His head bows to where I'm looking the only spot below his neck that was saved for me. Just above his heart.

Our eyes connect, and I look away, putting my fork down. I can't swallow anything more down.

"This is very pretty, did you make this?" When I look up, his finger is slowly, delicately tracing the petals of a flower just beginning to bloom.