Chapter 42
“O -F-F-E-N-S-E.”
I crack my eyes at Ever’s voice, wondering how the fuck I ended up at a football game and why—
I’m in the bathroom?
I’ve never seen it from this angle but it looks like my bathroom.
Am I on the fucking floor?
“Throw that ball.”
And Ever’s behind me?
“Uh…”
Ever’s…chant? Is she chanting a cheer right now? Whatever she’s saying ends as she starts shushing me, an elongated garbage can shoved in my face.
“Shh. Shh. It’s okay. You’re okay.”
She pets my head.
What the fuck?
I push the garbage away and try to sit up, my back cold the moment I do. I half-turn to see Ever sitting with her legs spread in a wide V, one on each side of me, with her back pressed to the wall.
“Oh.” She drops her arms and tilts her head at me. “You’re up.”
I groan at the churning in my stomach.
“Kind of,” she mutters before pulling me back into her embrace. I go with her because she’s warm and soft and makes the queasiness subside significantly.
Fully relaxed against her front again, I hear her ask softly, “How do you feel?”
“Like shit.”
“Yeah. That happens when you purposely give yourself food poisoning.”
Last night comes back to me in bits and pieces. I ate the spoiled ceviche. Everybody did. Except Ever. If I hadn’t gotten her out of there in time, she’d be in her own bathroom.
Why is she in mine?
“What are you doing in here?” I croak.
“You were so weak you couldn’t hold yourself over the toilet. I was scared you were gonna choke on your own puke, so…”
“So what?” I look down at our bodies. She has one arm over my chest, holding me to her. “You held me upright?”
“Yeah,” she says with a shrug like I’m not almost a hundred pounds heavier than her.
“All night?”
“Yeah.”
“How?”
“By reciting all the cheers I’ve ever learned.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I only did what you would’ve.”
“I don’t know any cheers,” I say after a minute. She’s right. I would’ve taken care of her, but I like to do that kind of shit. Ever barely knows how to take care of herself, let alone another person. What’d she do? Watch a fucking tutorial?
I glance at the garbage next to us. It seems to be just a bag but stretched over something.
She just might’ve.
“I wouldn’t be too sure. You may have picked up some subliminally.”
“What’s that?” I point at the garbage bag thing.
“Your laundry basket. Less splashage, easy cleanup, and it helps with the smell.”
Splashage. Cleanup. Smell.
I groan again. Jesus Christ. I’ve been puking my guts up in front of Ever Munreaux, the girl that has a maid clean her bedroom and bathroom for her. She doesn’t even take out her own garbage. She leaves it out in the hall for Edwin.
“You need to leave,” I grumble as I try to sit up, this time much slower because fuck, my body hurts. I don’t know if it’s from the food poisoning or sitting on a bathroom floor…or both.
Ever just giggles. “No, I don’t.”
“You weren’t supposed to see any of this.”
“Okay…but I did.”
“How? I put a chair in front of my door.”
At her silence, I glance back at her. Her lips are pursed and her eyes are downcast, then as if she can sense me studying her, her gaze lifts to mine. Her entire expression changes in a blink.
“I know. I’m the one that got past it.”
I squint at her. “How?”
“What does it matter? I’m in here now. I’ve been in here for hours, taking care of you—”
“You weren’t supposed to. I didn’t want you to take care of me.” For fuck’s sake. I could’ve shit myself. That’s something you can never come back from.
“Too bad. I did. And I’m going to continue taking care of you, so get used to it. I’m not going anywhere.”
She immediately gets up and goes to the shower. Which has a bunch of tied garbage bags in it that are full of…stuff. Black stuff?
Did I fucking shit myself?
But I’m still in the clothes I was in last night, so…
“Ever?”
She stops to regard me.
“What the fuck is in those bags?”
I brace for the worst possible answer.
“Your vomit.”
“Why is it black?”
Her gaze falls again, and with a voice holding only curiosity, no judgment, she asks, “You don’t remember?”
“Remember what ? Me puking in my own laundry basket?”
She perks right up, grabbing several bags at once. “Yep. Probably just something you ate.”
“I didn’t eat anything black.”
Passing me, she shrugs. “Maybe the ceviche was so bad it turned black. I don’t know.”
The mere mention of ceviche has me gagging.
“Aim for the laundry basket,” she calls over her shoulder, disappearing from the bathroom and leaving me to expel my stomach in private.
Nothing comes up, thankfully, but I kick the door closed anyway to get a moment alone and wrap my head around what happened. Ever Munreaux saw me at my worst and took care of me through it. She sat up with me all night—literally—holding me upright, so that I didn’t choke and die.
The door opens sooner than I was hoping, then Ever appears above me.
“You were really out of it last night, huh?”
“I guess.” I don’t remember anything about…anything. There was cramping, an insane accumulation of saliva, then what felt like a never-ending purge.
Although, now that I’m trying, there is a moment playing at the edge of my mind. But it doesn’t make any sense. My head hanging in the laundry basket, I heard Ever mutter, “How is the charcoal supposed to help if he can’t keep it down?”
Obviously, that didn’t happen because I’ve never consumed charcoal, especially not recently. If I had, that’d explain the black.
“Where’d you put those bags?”
“Out in the hall.”
“For Edwin?”
She gives me a “duh” sort of look.
“How’s he doing?”
“I don’t know. I don’t care. You’ve been my only concern.”
“You haven’t heard from anyone else?”
That earns me a different look, one that says I should know better. I should. I do. Nobody talks to Ever in this house.
“Why did you eat it?” she asks me.
“It was the only way.”
“Only way to what?”
“Get Ryan fired. If I didn’t get sick, too, it would’ve been suspicious.”
“You could’ve died.”
“It would’ve been worth it.”
“For who?”
“You.”
Her head rotates side to side, her eyes glassy.
“You should’ve told me.”
“You would’ve tried to stop me.” She did try. Fucking threw my plate on the floor. Brat.
“Because it wouldn’t have been worth it. My freedom already has too high of a price.”
I frown up at her. “What does that mean?”
“It means don’t put yourself in danger for me ever again.”
“It’s my—”
“Don’t fucking say it’s your job again. We both know that’s bullshit, Crue.”
We stare at each other.
“It’s my choice. I’d choose your life over mine, every time, without hesitation.”
Voice raised with a crack in it as well, she replies, “Well, I’d choose yours!”
“Is that what you thought you were doing last night, trying to eat that shit?”
“Yes, actually. If you can poison yourself, so can I.”
That doesn’t even make sense. It defeats the entire purpose. And no, she fucking can’t. She doesn’t get to make that kind of choice.
“You sound so stupid right now,” I tell her.
“You look so stupid right now.”
“I feel stupid right now.”
“Good. Don’t do things without telling me again.”
“Not that.” I fully stand by everything I did last night. I would do it again and again and a-fucking-gain for her. “I meant lying here.”
“Oh.” She loses some of her steam as she takes in my pathetic position. “Can you walk?”
“How far?”
“To your bed.”
I tap my chest with all ten fingertips, hating the feeling of being powerless but not these revelations. I knew Ever was possessive. I didn’t know she was protective, too. And selfless? Gotta be honest, I never saw that one coming. She’s going to make a hell of a mom one day.
Before I can stop myself, I’m imagining Ever cradling a baby, our baby, her motherly instincts sharpened to a fine point. She’ll be loving all right, fiercely so.
I shake my head to clear the fantasy, and tell her as seriously as I can, “You’ll have to carry me.”
Ever widens her eyes while her face lights up from a grin, making her the prettiest thing in the world. Fuck any mountain range, river view, beachscape. A smiling Ever Munreaux is more postcard-worthy than any of those.
Stupid fucking girl. I love her with every ounce of my being. She better not ever put herself in danger again. I couldn’t live with myself.
“I can’t,” she admits.
“What do you mean? You got past my barricade.” Supposedly.
She rolls her eyes before stretching those dainty hands out to me. “That was a chair. You’re twice my size.”
I take her hands and pretend to let her pull me up. I’m not going to my bed though. Strangely, I’m not even that tired. Probably because I had a cheerleader for a pillow.
“What are you doing?” that same cheerleader asks when I turn on the shower.
“I gotta get the stench off me.” Hopefully it’ll wash away some of this humiliation, too. “I’ll only be a minute.”
Ever sheds her clothes in record time, absolutely fucking naked in seconds, exactly the way I like her.
But no, I’m gross. I can smell myself and I reek. I know Ever thinks so, too. How can she not? She’s not used to unpleasantries and I’m currently unpleasant as fuck.
“That wasn’t an invitation, little bat.”
She scoffs. “I have an open invitation when it comes to showering with you.”
“Not this time. Come on.” I point at the door. “You gotta get out.”
All she does is cross her arms over her chest, like that makes her more intimidating. If anything, it makes her more enticing. Her small swells are all pushed up, ready to be devoured.
I cross my arms, too, since that’s my move. I’m more threatening of the two of us. What I say goes.
What I say sometimes goes.
What I say should go more than it actually does. I fold way too easy for Ever.
But I’m not folding on this. I’m showering alone. End of story.
“What if you fall?” she asks.
I almost fucking snort.
“We know your ass won’t be picking me up. You just said so yourself.”
“No.” Smiling, she strides right past me, into the shower and under the spray. Hair wet, tits pointy, pussy distracting, she says, “But I’ll stay on the floor with you until you can pick yourself up.”
Thank fuck the water’s running, otherwise she’d be able to hear the sound of me folding all over again.
I remove my clothes just as quickly as she did, then I’m in the shower with her, turning her around so I can wash her hair because even when I’m at my worst, I’ll still put Ever’s needs before my own.
“You don’t belong on the floor.” I have the strangest urge to call her butterfly. I have no idea why. Probably because she’s being so sweet, unlike her bat-like tendencies. I just ignore it to add, “Your soul’s in the sky.”
She doesn’t reply right away, but when she does, it’s quiet yet serious.
“I belong wherever you are.”
I don’t bother with a response because we both know that’s not true.
It’s not until later that day that we leave the confines of my bedroom, coming across an apparition of Arthur Munreaux in the kitchen with a glass of cloudy liquid up to his mouth and what could pass as duffle bags under his eyes. He is the embodiment of ill.
“The virus got everybody then?” he says when we enter.
“Virus? Is that what this is?” I ask, playing along before I can start hinting at the real culprit.
“I feel fine,” Ever brags.
“Keep your distance if you want it to stay that way.”
She leans away from us, but asks, “Where’s the chef? I’m starving.”
“I don’t even want to look at food right now,” I say with a forced groan. I’m not exactly hungry but I wouldn’t turn down a meal either. Which is weird because last time I had food poisoning, I lost several pounds from not being able to eat for days.
“The chef’s unable to perform his duties right now, so we’re on our own. It’s a good thing none of us are hungry.”
“I’m hungry,” Ever repeats, getting zero acknowledgement from Arthur as he sips from his drink. “Probably because I didn’t eat anything last night,” she adds before shooting me a nasty side-eye.
I’d rather her miss one meal than wind up like the rest of us. Jesus, the manor even feels contaminated. The air around us is stagnant as fuck.
“Be grateful you didn’t eat the cevi—” My body rebukes the word before I can even finish saying it.
Arthur’s gag tells me his does, too.
“The ceviche?” Ever supplies with a gleam in her eyes as they lock on her trembling father.
“Yeah, that. It was disgusting coming back up.”
“The ceviche was?”
Arthur has to cover his mouth to hold back another heave.
She’s doing it on purpose now.
I flash Ever a quick secretive grin.
I don’t have quite the same reaction anymore, but I doubt I’ll ever be able to utter ceviche out loud again. I know for damn sure I’ll never eat it again.
“How did it taste going down? Since I didn’t get to try it.”
“It was…” I consider how to answer that. It wasn’t great. There was a distinct flavor to it that wasn’t normal. But I want Arthur to come to that conclusion on his own. “It wasn’t what I expected. Very different than the other times I’ve had it.”
“Different how?” Ever asks.
“I don’t know. Just…not as good as I remembered it.”
“No, you’re right,” Arthur chimes in. “There was something off about it.”
“Off? Uh-oh.”
Now I’m shaking my head at Ever. She’s acting a little too pleased about all this. She might as well be drumming her fingers together in front of her face, an evil smirk tugging at her lips.
“It’s never a good idea to eat fish that tastes off.”
“No, it’s not,” Arthur agrees, getting a little bit closer to where I want him.
“I’m surprised the chef didn’t notice it,” I say. “Didn’t he say he always tests his dishes beforehand?”
Arthur frowns, deep in thought, but doesn’t answer.
“Wait… What if it’s not a virus?” Ever asks with more compassion than she had a moment ago. “What if it’s…”
“Food poisoning?” her father supplies.
“Could be,” I say, nodding. “That would explain why Miss Munreaux didn’t get it.” I almost throw her another grin. You’re welcome.
She’s on the move, going over to the refrigerator and grabbing a bowl out. Before she can even peel the plastic wrap back, I plug my nose.
“Oh my Goddess.” Ever practically gags herself, but thrusts it toward her dad for his inspection.
One sniff and Arthur’s expression turns murderous. “Goddamn it! Get it away from me!”
Forgetting all about my own survival, I quickly get between the two. I keep myself between Arthur and Ever at all times whenever they’re in the same room together, never giving Arthur the opportunity to get within arm’s reach of his daughter.
Ever tosses the bowl in the sink, uncovered, with a bratty, “It’s not my job.”
Even breathing through my mouth, I can sense how bad the ceviche stinks as I guide Ever away from Arthur. And the sink. Miles wouldn’t make a difference at this point. It needs to be on another continent.
“Jesus, that’s rancid.”
“It never should’ve been served. Any cook with half a brain would know that.”
Ever and I remain quiet, letting Arthur stew. Fortunately, it doesn’t last long, then he’s storming out, saying, “That error of judgement just cost a man his job.”
We fucking did it.
I mostly did it. I got rid of that motherfucker.
My joy is cut severely short when I hear him call back, “That bowl better be gone the next time I enter the kitchen!”
Ever’s lips stretch wide while I roll my eyes, knowing she’s not gonna clean it up.
“Just the bowl?” she asks innocently.
She’s so devious.
I love it. As long as it’s not directed at me, I love it.
I turn back around to take care of the radioactive fish soup, except Ever surprises me by stepping in front of me, telling me, “I got it.”
“You? You’re gonna throw it out?” I hang back to watch this. “Do you even know where the garbage cans are?”
“Do you?” she’s quick to shoot back.
All I can do is stand here, chewing on my own fucking hypocrisy. Edwin may take out my garbage as well. And the maid? She’s a very insistent woman. So, she’s been cleaning my room and bathroom, too.
“Looks like someone’s acclimating to this lap of luxury nicely.”
If we were in our abditory, I’d tell Ever her lap is the only one I’m acclimating to, and yeah, it’s luxurious.