08-29-2012, 02:19 AM
Her hand was warm in his, and yet he felt chilled. He would sit with her, and he would listen to her. And in return, he would tell her about his experience with their shared rapist father. He had told Sky about Lucifer. He hadn't told Sky all of it, the enslavement of his mother which he didn't find out about until later, the abuse of Noah, the near rape once before at Lucifer's hands. But he would tell Gemma it, all of it.
They dropped off all the offspring at Auntie Rosie's place. He was glad Gemma felt safe enough to leave them all there. All too soon they arrived back at his house. She stood in the kitchen and he followed, feeling her awkwardness rolling off of her in nearly tangible waves. At his mother's advice, he kept a bottle of whiskey in a cupboard. He had the feeling the two of them would need it before the night was out, and he wasn't even a drinker.
He pulled out the bottle, debated on two glasses and decided they could drink from the bottle. It wouldn't kill them. Bottle in one hand, he took her hand,a strange reversal of the night they'd met. He sat her down on a rug in front of the fireplace. He could have taken her into the living room where the couch was, but he wanted to start a small fire to ward off the night chill. They would want the warmth as they relived their nightmare chills.
After he got the fire going, he sat back. He twisted the cork out of the bottle, then took a swallow. The whiskey burned going down, but he handed the bottle to Gemma. He sat cross legged in front of her, his right side to the fire, his back to the front door. "Start at the beginning." He reached for her hands again, wanting that contact between the two, hoping it would ease the telling. He had heard the abbreviated version once, now he would hear the full story.
They dropped off all the offspring at Auntie Rosie's place. He was glad Gemma felt safe enough to leave them all there. All too soon they arrived back at his house. She stood in the kitchen and he followed, feeling her awkwardness rolling off of her in nearly tangible waves. At his mother's advice, he kept a bottle of whiskey in a cupboard. He had the feeling the two of them would need it before the night was out, and he wasn't even a drinker.
He pulled out the bottle, debated on two glasses and decided they could drink from the bottle. It wouldn't kill them. Bottle in one hand, he took her hand,a strange reversal of the night they'd met. He sat her down on a rug in front of the fireplace. He could have taken her into the living room where the couch was, but he wanted to start a small fire to ward off the night chill. They would want the warmth as they relived their nightmare chills.
After he got the fire going, he sat back. He twisted the cork out of the bottle, then took a swallow. The whiskey burned going down, but he handed the bottle to Gemma. He sat cross legged in front of her, his right side to the fire, his back to the front door. "Start at the beginning." He reached for her hands again, wanting that contact between the two, hoping it would ease the telling. He had heard the abbreviated version once, now he would hear the full story.