BENEATH THE SURFACE | ASAHI x JIYEON

CHAPTER 4 : Her Face

"Stolen touches fueled a slow, seductive waltz"

༄˖°.🍂.ೃ࿔*:･
Myles

Getting Holly to leave the hospital was harder than I expected. She stood at the door to Sarah's room, her little sneakers planted firmly, her lower lip trembling as she looked back at her sister.

"Sissy?" she whispered, the first word she’d spoken all day.

I knelt in front of her, my heart aching. "Sissy needs to rest, Holly. The doctors are taking good care of her. We're going to go to our restaurant, just for a little while. We can come back and see her every single day. I promise."

I held out my hand. For a long moment, she just stared at it. I saw the conflict in her eyes, the fear of leaving and the trust she had placed in me. Finally, her tiny, warm fingers wrapped around mine. It was a victory that felt monumental.

The restaurant was quiet. Too quiet. The silence was a stark contrast to the constant hum of the hospital. I brought Holly her room, which had a small bed with a bright yellow comforter where she and her sister slept the first night they came here. She walked in, looked around, and then walked right back out and sat on the floor of the living room, hugging her knees.

I didn't know what to do. My own upbringing was completely a world away from this. I grew up with my own schedules, with home-cooked meals, living independently away from my family. I didn't know how to be a parent. Hell, I don't even know how to even express myself.

So I started with what I knew. I sat on the floor with her and pulled out my sketchbook and a pencil. I didn't say anything. I just started to draw. I drew the view from the window—a series of boring rooftops and a water tower. I drew a cartoon cat chasing a ball of yarn. Then, I drew a simple picture of two girls, one tall and one small, holding hands. I added a boy next to them, looking a little awkward, holding a sandwich.

Holly crept closer, peering at the page. She pointed a small finger at the drawing. "Sissy," she said, touching the taller girl. "Holly." She touched the smaller one. Then she looked at me, her eyes wide with a silent question.

"Myles," I said softly, pointing to the boy.

She picked up a crayon I'd bought in a small pack from the art materials I kept in the restaurant untouched. With clumsy, deliberate strokes, she drew a big, bright yellow sun above our heads.

We spent the next few days in that quiet bubble. We established a routine. In the mornings, we would go to the hospital. I would sit by Sarah's bed and talk to her, telling her about our day, about the restaurant, about the drawings Holly was making. I told her I had the envelope, that it was safe, that she was safe. Holly would sit on the bed, careful not to touch any of the wires, and hold Sarah's hand, her small thumb stroking her sister’s limp fingers.

In the afternoons, we would go to a nearby park. Holly was still mostly silent, but she would climb the slide and swing on the swings, her face tilted towards the sun. I watched her, a constant ache in my chest, a mixture of love and fear. I was keeping her safe, for now. But for how long? The money on the credit card wouldn't last forever if I keep closing down the restaurant. Social services would track us down eventually. And Sarah still wasn't waking up.

One night, the nightmares came. I was woken by a terrified scream from her room. I rushed in to find her sitting bolt upright in bed, her body trembling, her eyes wide with a terror that saw something I couldn't.

"He's here," she sobbed, scrambling out of bed and launching herself into my arms. "The monster. He's here."

I held her, my own heart pounding. "Shh, you're safe," I whispered, rocking her back and forth. "He's gone. The police took him away. He can't ever hurt you or Sarah again. You're safe with me."