Page 34 of Whispers of Helena
“I see it,” she says softly, her voice tentative, breaking through the roar of the rain. “I see what’s hurting you.”
I shake my head, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. “You don’t know me, Helena. You don’t know half of what’s inside me.”
Her hand lingers, unwavering despite my protest. “Maybe not. But I know pain when I see it.”
Her words strike something raw. It’s a blow to the dam holding back my grief, my rage, my longing. The dam I built the day Caroline died cracks open a little more.
“You’re making it worse,” I whisper, the truth bleeding out of me like an open wound. “The way you’re standing here, looking at me like that, you’re pulling me apart.”
“And you think that’s what I want?” Her eyes glint, fierce despite the softness in her touch.
“No.” My voice cracks, trembling as my chest heaves with too much emotion at once. “I think it’s what I want. And I hate myself for it.”
Her fingers drop from my face, leaving me cold in their absence. But she doesn’t move away. “Then stop fighting it,” she murmurs. “Let yourself grieve, Silas. Let yourself feel.”
I laugh, bitter and hollow. “Grief is the only thing Idofeel, Helena. And tonight you’re drowning it out. Drowningherout.” My voice drops, quieter than the rain now. “And I don’t know if I can forgive myself for that.”
Silence stretches between us, heavy as the storm. Her gaze softens, the fire fading. “I’m not here to take her place,” she says, her voice steady. “You’ll see that’s not what I’m here to do.”
I don’t reply because what could I say? She will never take Caroline’s place, but she’s beginning to carve out a space of her own, uninvited and undeniable, and I don’t know how to cope with it. All I know is that, for the first time since Caroline’s death, the shards ofmy grief aren’t as sharp. It doesn’t make the pain any less real, but there’s something—someone—else beginning to fill the void, and it terrifies me as much as it consumes me.
The rain continues to fall, and for the first time in years, I have no idea who I am. I need to remove myself from this temptation. I feel like I’m suffocating. Slowly, I back away, the rain still angry between us.
“I can’t be this man, Helena. I’m not worth your efforts, and you’ll find any attempts to change that will be worthless.”
Her shoulders sink with an exhaled breath before I turn and walk to the house, leaving the storm behind me.
By the time I make it upstairs, I hear the faint creak of the back door closing behind her. The sound is a final note to the chaos of the night, one I can’t seem to shake.
Rain
Helena
And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.
1 Corinthians 13:13
The rain lashesagainst my face, sharp and unrelenting, but it barely registers. Short, ragged breaths escape me as I watch Silas retreat toward the house, his shoulders stiff, his steps quick and determined, as if he can outrun what just happened. The storm devours the sound of his boots splashing through the mud, but his words remain, echoing in my head like a curse.
"I can’t be this man, Helena. I’m not worth your efforts, and you’ll find any attempts to change that will be worthless."
I stand rooted to the spot, my hands trembling. It’s not from the cold, but from the fury and the ache warring inside me. My skin burns where his hands gripped me, rough and desperate, as if I would slip through his fingers.
Were I truly a witch with real magic, like he said, we wouldn’t be here now. We could rest.
My fingers brush against my lips, and I swear I can still feel his hot, demanding mouth against mine. I tilt my face to the sky, closing my eyes as the rain mingles with the tears I can no longer hold back. They run down my cheeks, washing away the remnants of the moment, but not the memory.
When I imagined kissing him again after all these years, I dreamed of tenderness, of familiarity. I thought of the Silas I knew, the one who could make the world fade with a simple touch.
But this was different. Time and grief have reshaped him, forged him into something harder, edged. This kiss wasn’t the Silas I remembered. It was bruising, almost punishing, as if he were trying to exorcise his pain through me.
The thought shatters something deep inside me. A sob claws its way out, swallowed by the rain as I take a shaky step forward.
I’m here to mend,I tell myself, over and over, the words a fragile mantra. But as I make my way to the house, the realization that I’m disrupting his world, the one that he crafted out of necessity, hits me, and I wonder if I’m only here to break.
If he knew, if he truly understood who he’d kissed, would it destroy him completely?
The heavy, cruel question haunts me as I climb the steps to the back door. I hesitate, my hand on the cold, polished knob, giving the sky a final glance. The rain pours harder, as if it's trying to drown the truth beneath its relentless rhythm.
