16. Gwen
The last two weeks have been hell. I feel like I’m descending into some sort of madness.
No matter how early I get up, Charlie’s always gone, and I have no idea how he leaves without waking me. I’m tempted every single time to reach across this massive bed, to touch the indent in his pillow and see if it’s still warm. But I don’t, because I’m neither in a Hallmark movie nor fucking insane.
Ana’s been home, joining her classes virtually whenever she can and sleeping as much as possible. I spend a lot of time trying to give her space, sitting behind the desk Charlie set up for me, staring at the empty shelves.
When Ana’s done with school, and when she’s feeling up for it, I text Zane and he takes us wherever we ask. Movies, walking trails, less popular Smithsonians we’ve never gotten around to visiting. Or we sit on the couch and scroll through the seemingly endless movies and shows Charlie’s downloaded.
There’s something so normal about our routine that I would be just fine if it weren’t for the evenings.
It’s like Charlie’s proximity fucks with my cognitive function. He walks through the door sometime before six every night, and suddenly I’m reminding myself to blink at a normal rate. He and Ana cook together, she tells us about school, he talks about lawyer things I barely understand, we eat, I act like an alien trying to convince everyone they’re human. I’ve taken on cleaning up after dinner while Charlie and Ana do SAT and ACT prep and review the Carnegie Mellon application. I brainstorm ways not to be in the same room as him until after he falls asleep.
It’s so fucking ridiculous. You get horny while torturing someone with a guy one time and all of a sudden you can’t function around him?
Charlie hasn’t brought up the night at the farm again. We went back down into that basement three times. I mostly observed, watching how Charlie evaluated Kayden, the strategic way he timed his blows. After, he passed information to Emily, and they discussed strategies to suss out how far up in the organization the rot had climbed. But when we finally left, Emily half asleep on the couch, Kayden was very much still alive.
I doubt that’s the case now.
I find myself thinking about it constantly. The feeling of balance with that knife in my hand. The calm control it gave me, so different from the rage-fueled decision to kill Bryan.
Ana sometimes says that when she’s sitting in front of a sewing machine, the world around her disappears. Every sound other than the quiet, rhythmic hum of the machine fades into the background, and her hands move without conscious instruction. She just feels it.
I think I finally understand what she means.
And I’d probably be able to handle that, process what this means about who I am, if it wasn’t for whatever the fuck is happening to my nervous system.
Ever since that afternoon, I’ve been a string pulled too taut, a rubber band ready to snap. It’s not fair to him at all—it’s not like he knew teaching me would have this effect. But now I can’t help but read into every touch, every glance. I catch him looking at me in the mirror while I brush my teeth, and my brain spirals, convincing myself there’s longing in his eyes. We lay in his giant king bed, an empty space double the size of my body between us, and I have to remind myself the tension is imagined. That every slight movement he makes isn’t meant to bring him closer to me. That he doesn’t want my touch.
The passing attraction I felt for him when we met at Catalina’s used to be manageable, especially considering how advantageous our agreement is. But now it’s tormenting me.
I’m exhausted, and I know Ana can tell. I’ve done everything in my power to make sure she knows it’s not her fault, but it’s not like I can explain the truth.
I’m convinced that’s why she’s begging me to send her back to school.
“I’ve missed so much class right before AP testing, I don’t even know how I’m going to pass. And what if I don’t make softball captain next year? My resume is going to suck for Carnegie,” she whines, pushing her food around her plate.
“Your resume isn’t going to suck,” Charlie says, kicking her gently under the table.
She rolls her eyes with a tiny grimace but keeps staring at her plate
“Admissions committees are understanding of circumstances like this,” I add, but it doesn’t seem to help. Ana doesn’t say anything, but her jaw clenches and her cheeks burn. I feel lost, like I’m navigating this all wrong.
“I just don’t want you to push yourself so hard that you hurt yourself,” I say cautiously, setting down my fork.
“You’re always telling me to listen to my body, that I’m the only one who knows what it’s saying,” she shoots back, her lip quivering a bit. My chest clenches. “Does that not count here?”
The room is silent, none of us moving an inch. I catch Charlie’s gaze across the table, and his eyes are filled with pity that I’m pretty sure is for me, not for my sister.
“Look, give it two more days of going to class all day virtually,” I acquiesce. Ana snaps her head toward me, a hopeful look in her eyes. “Two entire days, Ana, no skipping any periods or mid-day naps. If you can make it through and you don’t feel completely awful, you can go back on Thursday, okay?”
She’s so excited that she shovels the rest of her dinner down, throws her plate in the dishwasher haphazardly, and nearly sprints back to her room, presumably to call Gray.
My anxiety about sending her to school, the fear that she only wants to go back because she thinks she’s burdening me, is enough to distract my reactionary nervous system from Charlie’s presence.
For a while.
But soon, despite my spiraling thoughts and busy hands, the one-sided tension can’t be ignored. I hate that I’ve been so fundamentally changed by that one experience I can feel where he is in a room, even when I’m not looking at him. It’s like I’m attuned to him.
Torture.
“We need to discuss her protection,” he says quietly as he joins me at the sink.
I hand him a freshly washed baking pan, he dries it, I build a domestic fantasy in my head that revolves around lazy kisses in dark kitchens, I want to die.
“Right,” I say with a heavy breath, trying to focus. “You think she’s in danger?”
“No, but I think people will take an interest in her, in both of you, especially as you’re seen in public with me more and more.”
I nod and scrub a plate that could definitely go into the dishwasher.
“So, how does this work? Does she need a bodyguard or something?” The thought seems ludicrous; some muscled-up dude in sunglasses following around Ana and her little gaggle of friends as they complain about their statistics teacher and sneak off campus for lunch.
“Not exactly,” Charlie says, reaching over to pluck the overly-clean plate out of my hand. “Ana’s school district has a security services department. I’ll place someone I trust—her name’s Lily—in their office. She won’t follow Ana all the time, but she will have to have a geo-locator in her backpack so Lily can find her in an emergency.” He takes a breath. “Ana doesn’t even have to know.”
My stomach clenches, but I know he’s right. There would be too much to explain. Another secret I have to keep from her.
We’re silent as we finish the dishes, my body and brain caught in separate chaotic spirals. When we”re done, and the kitchen is wiped down, Charlie heads to the bedroom without a word.
Two days later,I have no choice. Ana made it through her entire school day both days, and even insisted on going out afterwards. She passed out right after dinner, but she held up her end of the bargain, so I have to hold up mine.
Charlie’s up before I am, as always, and drives himself to work—which work he’s going to, I never know. Zane’s waiting for us by the car when Ana and I are ready to head into the city. Ana gives him a bright, excited smile, which seems to take him a bit by surprise. But Ana’s sunshine cannot be dimmed today, and some of my fears are abated by how happy she is, for the first time in a long time.
On the forty-minute drive, Ana tells me about everything Gray’s informed her has changed since she’s been away. Melissa Bulwarke, the girl who sits behind her in history, shaved her head in solidarity with Ana’s diagnosis, not knowing that Ana wouldn’t need chemo. Mrs. Layman, the chemistry teacher, had to explain multiple times how radiation therapy wouldn’t make Ana radioactive. Gray’s taken to calling her the most popular freak in school, a title apparently previously held by the kid who’s double jointed in his elbows.
When we pull up to the school drop-off zone, I want to ask her a million times over again if she’s sure, if she doesn’t want to rest for a few more days. But I don’t want to stifle her joy. I’m hiding so much from her, and even if she has no idea, I need to show her I trust her completely with something.
“You call me if you need anything, okay?” I ask, because I can’t help it.
She kisses me on the cheek as Zane opens her door.
“Thanks, Ginny,” she says, and she bolts out of the car.
The ride back is so much longer than the one there. By the time I get to the house, I want to collapse. I’m physically and emotionally exhausted.
I planned to run errands, distract myself for the rest of the day until l could get into the pickup line obnoxiously early, but nothing felt right. So I told Zane to drop me off, hoping maybe I could lie on the couch with my phone on my chest, waiting to sprint out the door if the school office called me.
I didn’t expect Charlie to be home. I assumed he’d be out for the whole day, like he’s been every other day since we moved in, but I can hear the shower running in our room.
I was going to change before making myself another coffee and hunkering down in the living room, but I hesitate. The few times he’s showered while I’ve been in the bedroom, I’ve had to recite the Gettysburg Address by memory to avoid imagining him dripping wet.
I need to get a fucking grip. I can’t act like this forever.
Exposure therapy, right?
When I peek inside, I can see the bathroom door is cracked. Steam and light trickle into the dark bedroom, and Charlie is silent, so I cross my fingers that I didn’t disturb him and make my way into our closet.
I shuck off my blouse and pants, wondering why I dressed like an office manager to drop Ana off at school, and grab loungewear from the built-in drawers without turning on the lights. I nearly trip and crash into the wall pulling on my running shorts, but steady myself at the last second, straining to hear if Charlie noticed me.
I can hear something that sounds like his voice, but the shower is still running. Quickly pulling socks on to muffle the sound of my feet, I lean out of the open closet door.
Was that…a grunt? Is he hurt? Or maybe it was a cough? I move out of the closet and start reaching for the bathroom door before yanking my hand back. What am I going to do? Walk in there while he’s soaked and naked and check to see if he has a cold? What the ever loving fuck has come over me?
I turn, intent on burrowing into the couch and pretending I’ve been there the whole time, when I’m frozen by the sound of a long, low groan.
Holy fuck. This cannot be what I think it is.
No, absolutely not. I will not think about this. I will not react to this. He thinks he’s home alone, and this is a massive violation of privacy.
But I can’t move. His breaths are coming louder and faster over the shower spray, and my imagination runs away with itself. Despite the fact that I’m wracked with guilt and embarrassment, I can’t help but think of slick skin and panting breaths, to wonder if this is what he’d sound like with his hands on me, with his body under mine.
My pulse is racing so hard I feel lightheaded. All the one-sided tension from the past two months is finally breaking, and the need that fills me is indescribable. The memory of every little touch, every platonic moment of contact, is overwhelming as I stand in the middle of the room, listening to him fuck his hand in our shower.
I can feel the flush crawling up my chest, my neck, my cheeks, my whole body feeling like magma. His breath catches, and he’s silent for a moment, and I hold my breath.
“Fuck, Gwen, please.”
For one millionth of a second, my body freezes, terrified that he caught me standing here listening to him. Until reality hits me like a train.
My name. He said my name. Groaned my name while he came. He’s coming in our shower and he said my name. Gwen.
The words reorganize themselves in new orders a thousand times over as I listen to him pant. They don’t seem real. This can’t be real. It’s got to be a figment of my imagination, the madness of unresolved horniness manifesting in a delusion-filled break. My hands twitch, desperate to touch myself, to feel how wet I am, to come while he says my name over and over.
The sound of the water turning off shocks me back to reality. I rush out of the room, trying to shut the door behind me as quietly as possible. Grabbing my purse, I’m texting Zane before I even have my shoes on. I need to go to the least sexy place I can think of.
Me
Can you take me to the Botanical Gardens?