Chapter 15 About parents' pictures
Lila's POV
“Where's it?” She got off the bed.
Any moment could have made her start another round of harming herself, again.
“I have it.”
Her eyebrows raised at me. She took in a breath, taking back some of the panic from inside, then breathed out before asking again, “Where's it?”
“I wanted to keep it safe for you. So it doesn't get lost or stolen from–”
“I need it back.”
“Fine. Okay.”
I opened the wardrobe, and the necklace hung at a blind spot she would barely have noticed if she’d tried to check inside.
“You see. I kept it safe all this while you didn't notice it wasn't with you.”
She couldn't wait to take it from my hands. The way she looked at it, making sure none of the nine beads were broken or that the rope connecting them wasn’t about to snap.
“I kept it safe for years,” she said.
“I know.”
A smile could wave off the tension between us, and so I did. She didn't smile back, just wore a look of uncertainty on her face.
“That's all I have of them.” She sat on the bed, bringing the necklace close to her eyes, feeling it with her fingers and shutting her eyes.
“Remembering old memories?”
I wanted to be part of her moment.
She shook her head. “There are no memories of them for me to remember except their death.”
“No memories before their death. You don't mean that, do you?”
Her eyes opened. “I mean every word of it. That's why I can never get rid of loneliness. It will always haunt me.” She smiled, but the smile on her face was worse than a frown. “It's my fate. It always will be.”
“No, but you were ten at that time, why…” My voice trailed off when I realized I was going too far, and her eyes scrutinized me.
The expression on her face was between smiling and frowning. I didn't know where to place it, except I knew I should have avoided it.
“You really do know so much about them. Hmmm. It's also a bad fate since you won't tell me a word about them.”
“I can't speak much about that,” I said.
“Then tell me the basic details. Just the basics if you're a merciful person to me.”
I shook my head, turning my eyes away.
“Please.” She tugged at my left arm. “Be merciful to your adopted daughter.”
Adopted daughter… She called me that…
“See the smile on your face?” She pinched my cheek. “Why not return the favor by telling me the tiniest of details?”
I kept a straight face for almost a second. I shouldn't. This girl was playing a game on me, I was sure of that. Suddenly calling herself an adopted daughter? How possible was that?
“Please momma.” She came at me again, pouting her lips.
She hadn't given up.
At this point, if we had keen observers taking note of us, none of them would believe that just a while ago, heavy tension existed between us. I was starting to doubt there was any.
“Your daughter is waiting.”
Damn! She was so good at this.
“Fine,” I said. “Just the tiniest of details.”
“Yes momma.”
Then she faced me, crossing her legs, waiting for bedtime stories, a broad smile on her face and ears itching to devour every word I would say. But I wasn't sure of this—what if the grief came again? What if it came stronger?
I would have to worry about getting her to calm down.
It was good I knew how to filter details.
“You were fifteen,” I started.
“Yeah, I know that. I’m eighteen now.”
My palms rubbed against my knees. I thought of details to filter, but realized every detail I would say carried so much weight, and could lead to other details I wasn't supposed to reveal.
But how come she couldn't remember?
“You don't want to tell me,” she said, sighing. “Well, it's fine.”
The broad smile was still on her face. That was huge progress.
“You should bear with me,” I said.
“I know. Don't bother about that. Perhaps it's good I don't know.”
“Okay?”
“Yes.”
She stayed calm, and I wondered what thoughts came to her mind. There must have been a reason for her to smile that way.
“You have something to tell me?” I asked.
“No.”
“Could you tell me a possible reason you have no memories of your parents?”
Her hands rested on mine. She opened her mouth to speak, but covered it with a sigh. Then she rubbed her palms together; when they warmed, she pressed them against her cheeks and inhaled sharply.
“Celine, you could tell me.”
“I hate to remember it.”
“Then take your time. Don't rush to speak.”
Things should be taken slowly. If it was an event hard for her to recall, it could be grievous—but what could be so grievous to make her lose part of her memories?
“I was kidnapped by rogue wolves,” she said.
“Rogue wolves?”
“Yes.”
It suddenly felt like chilled water was poured over me. I imagined the crazy acts of rogue wolves, vivid and horrifying.
“Did they… did they hurt you?”
She nodded.
My hands were already checking her body as though her encounter with rogue wolves had just happened yesterday.
“Colt saved me from them, but…”
“But what?”
A tear started to form at the side of her left eye. I shouldn't have gone this far, but I needed to know. Wait… what if it caused her to start self-harming?
So many possibilities.
“So many things,” she said, wiping her eyes with her palms. “So many hurtful things.”
“Hurtful things like…”
“It's in the past, and I never wish to go back to those details.”
I hugged her, her head resting against my chest. She should find peace with me, and free her mind from those thoughts.
“I have something to help you,” I said.
“Something like what?”
“Your parents’ pictures… I have them.”
“Their pictures.” She stood, her face not just smiling but beaming like bright rays of light. “I want to see them!”