prince ♛ cole mackenzie

08 | i won't hurt you

"We should sue. That was completely unfair,"

Silas followed Cole into the small room used to store cloaks. Cole seated himself in the furthest corner and pulled his legs close to his chest.

"He's always been like that. He doesn't seem to like anyone. Except Prissy," Cole sighed and turned his head to the door where a familiar red-haired girl appeared, fuming.

"Mr. Phillips had no right to insult you like that. I'm sorry you had to endure it."

"We're reporting him," Silas informed her, though he was joking.

"Oh, how I wish we could. To who?"

"I don't know. Someone who cares."

Silas stole a glance to Cole. He sat still, looking at the floor in deep thought.

Eventually he spoke. "You noticed that I always seem to get detention for no other reason than I'm . . ."

"What?" said Anne.

"Different."

Silas lowered his eyes to meet Cole's hesitant gaze. He quickly looked away again as Anne took a seat beside him.

"There's nothing wrong with different. I'm unusual, too. And that's why we're kindred. You're unique."

"I don't want to be unique. Unique means weird."

"I think it means singular and extraordinary," Anne said, ever the poet.

"Well, I'd rather be ordinary."

"Why? Ordinary people live ordinary lives and then die ordinary deaths. Wouldn't you rather live the way you wanted to?" Silas told him.

"An ordinary person wouldn't be a brilliant artist," Anne added.

Cole smiled gently. "I'm not, but thanks. How does one die an ordinary death?"

"I don't know. They spend too much time with Mr. Phillips."

The three laughed the rest of lunch break away and just about made it through lessons alive.

*   *   *   *   *

"You ever wonder what it's like to be a bird?"

Silas was watching Cole sketch again in the wooden hut.

"Not really. I guess it would be pretty okay. You can go anywhere and do anything a bird is able to do. Except your lover will leave you every fall and not come back," Cole replied.

"Swans don't do that. Or geese. Or cranes."

"I'd like to be a swan, then."

"You've already got the neck."

"I'm not that much taller than you."

Silas laughed lightly. "I'd like to be a starling. They're named that because the white spots on black plumage were thought to look like the night sky."

"Why do you know so much about birds?"

"My father had a book once. In Vancouver. Anyway, what's your favourite animal?"

"You changed the subject."

"What?"

"You never talk about your family." Cole set his sketchbook on the dirt beside him. An array of impressively realistic hands were presented in charcoal.

"Neither do you," Silas turned his head to watch the forest through the minuscule spaces between the logs.

"I live on a farm with my mother and younger sisters. I don't want younger sisters, I'd rather have someone my age who can talk to me. I don't like living on a farm. You go."

"I live in an old farmhouse with my parents."

"You didn't want to tell me that?" Cole said.

"I don't like this game."

"It's not a game. Are you okay?"

Silas did not answer for what seemed a thousand moments. He wanted to close his eyes and let the silence to swallow him whole.

"I live in an old farmhouse with my parents and little sister. She's sick. We came here to help her get better but it's not working."

Cole's expression shifted in understanding. How gentle he could look, how caring. How loving.

Silas couldn't hold his feelings anymore. A sound escaped his lips, like a whimper. The next thing he knew he was in someone's arms and tears were stinging his cheeks. Cole's arms.

"I'm sorry," he whispered eventually. The day had once again gone dark; the starling's white spots speckled the feathers of the sky.

"It's okay. I won't hurt you."