CHAPTER 12: THE HANDS
1282 Words
VESPER'S POV
December 21st.
6:00PM.
Elias came.
He didn’t sit on the cot.
He didn’t sit on the floor.
He stood.
“Vesper,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Can I touch you?”
I froze.
Shears in my hand. Mid-cut.
“What?”
“Can I touch you,” he said again. “Without you flinching.”
I put the shears down.
Slow.
“Why?”
“Because I want to,” he said. “And because you let me yesterday.”
Yesterday. The necklace. The forehead kiss.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“That’s okay,” he said. “You can say no.”
I looked at his hands.
Clean. Big. Still.
Not a belt. Not a fist.
His hands.
“Okay,” I said.
He didn’t move.
“Where?” he asked.
“Where?”
“Yes,” he said. “Where can I touch you?”
I stared.
No one asked before.
Aunt Livia didn’t.
Calder didn’t.
“Your hand,” I said.
He held it out.
Palm up.
I put mine in it.
Cold. Shaking.
His was warm. Steady.
He didn’t squeeze.
He just held.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Yes.”
We stood there.
At 6:03PM.
Holding hands.
December 22nd.
6:00PM.
He came.
Hand out.
I took it.
No words.
We sat on the cot.
Hands together.
For ten minutes.
At 6:10PM, he let go.
“Thank you,” he said.
“For what?”
“For trusting me.”
December 23rd.
Maren said, “You’re holding hands now?”
“Yes.”
“How does it feel?”
“Scary.”
“Good scary?”
“Yes.”
December 24th.
Christmas Eve.
The shop was closed.
I was alone.
At 6:00PM, Elias knocked.
I opened.
He had no gift.
Just himself.
“Can I?” he asked.
He pointed to his hand.
I nodded.
He took mine.
We sat in the dark.
No lights. No tree.
Just hands.
At 7PM, he said, “Merry Christmas, Vesper.”
“Merry Christmas, Elias.”
December 25th.
Christmas Day.
He came at noon.
Not six.
“Can I?” he asked.
I nodded.
He took both my hands.
Kissed my knuckles.
Once.
Twice.
“Thank you,” he said.
“For what?”
“For letting me.”
December 26th.
6:00PM.
He didn’t ask.
He just took my hand.
I didn’t flinch.
We repotted.
One hand working. One hand held.
It was awkward.
It was perfect.
December 27th.
He touched my wrist.
Not my hand.
My wrist.
Thumb on my pulse.
“Can I?”
“Yes.”
He held it.
Felt my heartbeat.
Fast.
“Scared?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Of me?”
“No,” I said. “Of this.”
“Me too,” he said.
December 28th.
He touched my face.
Just once.
Back of his fingers.
On my cheek.
“Can I?”
“Yes.”
It was cold.
His fingers.
But it burned.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Yes.”
December 29th.
I touched him back.
His hand.
My thumb on his palm.
“Can I?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
I traced a line.
He didn’t move.
“Your hands are scarred too,” I said.
“Work,” he said. “Not belts.”
“I know.”
December 30th.
He braided my hair.
Badly.
“Can I?” he asked.
“Yes.”
His fingers in my hair.
Slow. Careful.
Like I would break.
I didn’t.
At 7PM, he finished.
It was lopsided.
“I look stupid.”
“No,” he said. “You look mine.”
I didn’t correct him.
December 31st.
New Year’s Eve.
The town was loud.
We were quiet.
At 11:58PM, he took my hands.
Both of them.
“Vesper,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Can I kiss you at midnight?”
“Yes.”
11:59PM.
He didn’t let go.
12:00AM.
He kissed me.
Hands still in his.
Not desperate.
Not rain.
Choice.
Happy New Year.
January 1st.
6:00PM.
He came.
Hand out.
I took it.
Like always now.
“Happy New Year,” he said.
“Happy New Year.”
We sat.
Hands together.
January 2nd.
He touched my back.
Over the shirt.
Over the scars.
“Can I?”
“Yes.”
His hand was warm.
Heavy.
Safe.
“Thank you,” I said.
“For what?”
“For not being afraid of me.”
January 3rd.
I let him hold my face.
Both hands.
“Can I?”
“Yes.”
He kissed my forehead.
My nose.
My lips.
Slow.
Hands steady.
January 4th.
We didn’t work.
We just sat.
Hands together.
For an hour.
At 7PM, he said, “Vesper.”
“Yes.”
“I love your hands.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re brave,” he said. “They bleed. They plant. They hold mine.”
I cried.
He didn’t let go.
January 5th.
Maren said, “You’re disgusting.”
“Why?”
“Because you look happy.”
“I am.”
“Good,” she said. “Don’t ruin it.”
“I won’t.”
January 6th.
6:00PM.
Elias came.
He didn’t ask.
He just took my hand.
We walked.
To the alley.
To the roses.
Snow on black.
He stopped.
Turned me.
“Vesper,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Can I?”
He touched my jaw.
Thumb under my chin.
“Yes.”
He kissed me.
In the snow.
Hands on my face.
Mine on his chest.
January 7th.
He didn’t touch me.
At all.
I panicked.
At 7PM, I asked, “Did I do something?”
“No,” he said. “I’m giving you space.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to want it.”
I took his hand.
Put it on my cheek.
“I do,” I said.
He exhaled.
Like he’d been holding it.
January 8th.
He touched my hair.
Again.
Better this time.
Two braids.
“Can I?”
“Yes.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” he said. “Because I like touching you.”
January 9th.
I fell asleep on his shoulder.
At 6:45PM.
He didn’t move.
For fifteen minutes.
When I woke, he said,
“Can I keep doing that?”
“Yes.”
January 10th.
He traced the necklace.
The black rose.
Over my heart.
“Can I?”
“Yes.”
His fingers didn’t shake.
Mine did.
January 11th.
He kissed my hands.
All ten fingers.
One by one.
“Can I?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because they’re yours,” he said. “And you let me have them.”
January 12th.
I said it first.
“Can I touch you?”
He stopped breathing.
“Yes.”
I put my hand on his chest.
Over his heart.
It was fast.
Like mine.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi.”
January 13th.
6:00PM.
He came.
No words.
He just took my hand.
I took his.
We sat.
Hands together.
Scarred.
Steady.
Alive.
January 14th.
Maren said, “You two are done hiding.”
“Yes.”
“Good,” she said. “The town’s ready.”
“For what?”
“For Black Petals.”
January 15th.
6:00PM.
Elias came.
He didn’t sit.
He knelt.
In front of me.
“Vesper,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Can I?”
He took both my hands.
Kissed them.
“Yes.”
“I’m not letting go,” he said.
“Don’t,” I said.
He didn’t.
*END OF CHAPTER 12*
- Writer
