Violet - Book Two

eight

10:52pm - I sit at my dresser, filing my fingernails into an almond shape which I had previously seen in a magazine. A bottle of red varnish sits patiently near the mirror, and I pick it up after I finish my remaining thumbnail. A strong, chemical-like stench is released when I unscrew the cap, and persists while I stripe the crimson solution over my fingernails.

I begin to think during the drying process; the garden parties must be awful for my friends whose parents are nowhere to be found. It makes me feel as if I should be more amicable with my own family. Despite not being able to shake that they pulled the wool over my eyes when I came to my peculiarity, they still love me, and I remember how upset they were when I departed.

Two knocks drag me from my thoughts. My first instinct is to open the door, however as I rise from the dresser another pair of noises ring through the wall close to my bed. Perturbed, I creep across my room to the area the thumps appear to be coming from. Crouching beside my nightstand, I raise my fist to the wall and replicate the pattern. After a second or so, I receive an identical reply. This is when I realise that this is the wall separating Enoch and I, and I have a sudden urge to skulk from my bedroom and pay him a late-night visit, for I have not seen him since dinner.

Using my bed frame as an aid, I push my body to stand and, very quietly, make my way towards the hallway. Making sure my door does not produce a sound whilst I close it, I proceed towards Enoch's door. The corridor is cold - there must be a draft somewhere. Folding my arms over my chest for warmth, I lean against the door, resting my head against the grooves in the wood.

"Enoch." I murmur into the wood, and I suddenly worry that he will not hear my soft tone.

I untangle a hand and reach for the handle, forcing it downwards until I hear a 'click' from within the mechanism. With a push, I am inside.

The scot sits between two shelving units, head against the wall. Upon hearing my footsteps, he turns to me and springs up from the floor. I shut the door behind me and step further into the room.

"You understood me then." He says, sidling towards his desk chair and slouching into it. The quilted robe he wears stiffly slides over the armrests before flopping back against his thighs.

"Not especially, but I figured it was you." I drift towards him and perch my backside on the corner of his desk, closest to him. "How was your first day as a free man?" I ask, emphasising the final words as if to mock.

"It was alright, until everyone got upset." He sighs, puffing out his cheeks. "But I was glad to see everyone."

"And we were glad to see you." I reach out a hand and hold the side of his porcelain face in my palm. His much bigger hand ascends from his lap and sprawls over my knuckles, sending a warm sensation up my arm. His other hand pats his left thigh - an unspoken invitation for me to take a seat, which I accept.

Enoch takes my hand while I settle myself in his lap laterally, letting my own legs tumble over the armrest. His arm holds my top half stable and the other is strewn over my abdomen. One of my arms hangs lazily around his collar, my head resting on my own shoulder, for my position prevents me from leaning on his.

We peruse each other's faces for a while - eye to eye and nose to nose. I use my free forefinger to tuck a stray spiral of dark hair back into place, just like I did that night in the hotel. The memory brings a warmth to my chest.

"Miss Peregrine would be furious if she were to walk in this instant." I whisper, earning a mischievous smirk from the boy.

"What'll she do? Lock us in separate cages?" He teases, never breaking his gaze.

"I don't know." I reply softly. I allow my fingers to trace his jaw, and then pull his face forward to kiss me.

Enoch's gentleness when it comes to his kisses may confuse people who do not know him well - for his initial impression is often cold, emotionless and harsh. His lips tell a different tale. The hand which had rested across my lap has moved and is tenderly caressing my waist. The other is back in my curls, his stubs of fingernails carefully graze against my scalp and sends tingles down my spine.

Although my eyes are closed, I feel them beginning to sting with fatigue, and I sense myself becoming increasingly more drowsy. So, I pull my lips from Enoch - his head follows for a short time, like he wants a little more.

"I'm tired now." I murmur, allowing my head to roll against his collarbone.

"I'll take you back to your room, if you want." He replies quietly, a hand rubbing my neck.

"I want to stay here." Not really thinking about my words, I state my request clearly and he does not appear to oppose the idea.

"Alright - I'll go on the floor."

"No. Stay with me."

I know what I want: to be able to feel him close, to feel the comfort of his arms around me. I also know what adults do when they are in bed together, and although we are both adults and we will be in a bed together, there will be no goings-on tonight.

"Are you sure, Violet?"

"Positive."

With that, he hauls himself up, still with me in his arms and makes for his bed. He bends down and gently lays me onto the mattress. I drowsily scramble beneath the duvet.

Enoch stands at his nightstand and unties his robe, slipping it off and hanging it up on a coat hook attached to the wall. He wears only silk pyjamas trousers.

"Remind me why you don't wear a shirt to bed." I mumble, watching from the comfort of the pillow.

"Too hot. Budge up." He pulls back the sheets and slides himself into the single bed beside me. Needless to say - it's a squeeze.

I manoeuvre myself away to allow him to get comfortable, before positioning my head and chest atop his torso. His arm envelopes me and, with a kiss on the top of my head, I'm out like a lightbulb.