Somewhere Between the Depths

Chapter Twenty-Three

Nora 

Three years ago

Silas's hand has a featherlight touch as it glides over the scars on my back. I hum my approval as the touch slowly lulls me to sleep, but then he leans over, kissing the nape of my neck, making his way down my spine. I groan and he chuckles as he flips me over, brushing his thumb over my cheekbone as he cups my face. His eyes search mine, words hanging on the tip of his tongue. 

"Do you ever think about it?" He asks softly. 

"About what?" 

I curl against him like a lazy house cat, throwing a leg over his waist and wrapping an arm around his neck. He maneuvers us once more until he's on his back and I'm laying halfway on top of him, my head resting on his chest while the steady beat of his heart soothes me. 

"Our future."  He murmurs. 

I don't stiffen or panic at the question like I would have months ago, instead I smile against his chest while my fingers trace circles on the side of his neck. 

"I think about it all the time." I confess, feeling brave in the darkened space of his bedroom. 

One hand rhythmically smooths my hair while the other grips my thigh, holding me as if I may slip away when he least expects it. But he doesn't have to worry. This place has become my home, but more than that, Silas has become my home. Wherever he is, is where I want to be. And I'll always want that. The hand on my thigh disappears and I peer up at him with my bottom lip out and he laughs before he's cupping my cheek again, stroking his thumb on the underside of my lip. 

"What does it look like?"  He whispers.

Only a sliver of moonlight shines through Silas's bedroom windows, so he can't see the blush that's creeping up my neck, but I'm sure he can feel the heat as it blooms through my cheeks. I've thought about our future together often, surprisingly enough for someone who didn't want to like this man in the first place. I always see us happy, laughing as we dance in the kitchen, swinging on a porch swing while I read a book out loud for us. Long nights spent making love, exhausting my body with his, only to wake up wrapped in his arms and start all over the next morning. I've even pictured silly squabbles between us, over nonimportant things like what color to paint the living room, or what to make for dinner. But one dream that circulates through my mind, one I thought I'd never want, is one of me holding a green-eyed, dark-haired baby in my arms. One that looks more like Silas than me but is half of us both. 

Growing up with parents like mine, I made a vow to myself to never have children. Because if there was even a single drop of their venom inside me, I never wanted to risk poisoning my own kids with it. I'd rather cut the cycle now, grow old and alone to spare anyone else a hurtful childhood. I wished the knowledge that Jace wasn't my real father helped, it does in a way, but my mother was also wretched. She was cold and cruel and only cared about money, even if it meant that I was slowly dying for years to keep her swimming in it. I hate her more than Jace most of the time. 

But I've realized in my time here that I'm nothing like her. I'm not cold, cruel or indifferent to people. I care. I care so damn much that it threatens to consume me if I'm not careful. I stare up at Silas, hearing his heart beneath my ear and the warmth of his body pressed to mine and I feel.... I feel. I'm not her, and I never will be. So, I give him my most honest answer. 

"It looks like an old farmhouse with blue shutters and large balcony doors that stay open when it rains. Like laughter in every room, and long soft kisses every chance we get. A flower garden with a wild array of flowers, and maybe a dog or two or three," I laugh, my vision blurred with tears, "long nights spent in your arms, and hearing that Harley come home to me every day."