𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄 ~ | 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘓𝘦𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘤

XXI

Chapter Twenty One: 

~ My middle finger salutes you~

Charles's POV:

I felt calm.

Not in the way you might have expected, perhaps. There was no poetry or flowery prose. Just a simplicity that was as beautiful as it was heartbreaking. The air was filled with the sounds of our breathing, interspersed with the occasional hitch as a sob escaped her throat.

Her tears wet my shirt, leaving tiny tracks down my chest, but I could not care less. All that mattered to me in that moment was her. Her soft, shuddering sobs, the way her body trembled against mine.

"Let go, Cherie." I whispered, letting my chin rest on the top of her head.

I knew that it was wrong, that I shouldn't be feeling this way, I couldn't help but hold her closer, bury my face in her hair, inhale the scent that was uniquely hers. I felt her ribs expand and contract with each ragged breath, her heart beat a frantic rhythm against my chest, and for a moment, all I wanted was to make it stop hurting. I wanted to take away the pain, the fear, the anger. I wanted to give her peace.

Not because of the bet.

Not because I wanted her trust.

But because she deserved it.

Because in this moment, with her body pressed so tightly against mine, her tears wetting my skin, she was the most precious thing in the world. I held her as if she were made of glass, as if a single wrong movement would shatter her and leave her pieces scattered on the floor.

Her sobs began to subside, her breath growing less ragged. And when she finally pulled back, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand, I found myself wishing she hadn't.

Her eyes were red and swollen, but they were still the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. There was something vulnerable about them, something that made me want to protect her, to keep her safe from harm.

Exactly like the Doe.

I couldn't help but stare at her, wanting to memorize every detail of her face, to etch it into my memory forever. 

Her lips were parted, her chest rising and falling slowly as she tried to catch her breath. She looked up at me, her eyes still glassy from tears, and I felt like I could see right through her.

"There you go..." I smiled down at her gently. She looked down again, trying to avoid my gaze. 

I took her chin in my hand, lifting her face up to meet mine. My other hand gently brushed away the last of her tears.

"I'm sorry, I-" She started to say but stopped when I stiffened. Now that she was in the light I finally saw her face. My blood ran cold.

On her right cheek, there it was: a perfect hand-print.

It was red and angry, a bright slash of color against her skin. The handprint covered most of her right cheek, splayed across her cheekbone, the fingers digging into her flesh. The skin around it was already beginning to bruise, the whites of her eyes tinged with pink. I stared at it, unable to believe what I was seeing.

"Evangeline. What is this?" I ground out her name, anger, and fear tangling in my gut like barbed wire. I reached out, gently cupping her face in my hands as I examined the handprint, feeling sick to my stomach.