30. DOWN THE DRAIN
The feelings came back. Washing the blood off my chest and arms and scraping it from under my fingernails removed the tenuous barrier between me and rock bottom. I knew the stages of grief, and I had them all out of order. I would have given anything for a little denial right now.
The weight of everything drove me down until Nash returned and tugged the shower curtain aside. He looked at where I sat huddled, shivering in the spray that had gone cold some time ago.
“I was starting to worry you’d drowned in here,” he joked but, instead of humor on his face, I saw only sorrow.
Rubbing my face mingled tears with the water dripping from my hair. “I thought about it,” I mumbled.
He cranked the knob off and grabbed a towel before stepping into the tub. Stooping, he used one end to wipe my chapped cheeks. I thought to tell him not to bother. With fresh tears already brewing, they wouldn’t stay dry long.
I curled up with my knees under my chin as Nash draped the towel across my body. The warmth brought immediate relief, lessening the ache in my chest as a shiver shook me.
My eyes burned as I squeezed them shut. I didn’t see him sit beside me, but I felt him crowding in. A sob clogged my throat as I crawled into his lap and looped my arms around his neck. I pressed my chilled, wet body against his dry one.
He returned the embrace, squeezing me tightly. That usually calmed me, but nothing could quiet the internal storm that had been raging for hours now.
“Nash, I need something,” I whispered.
“What, baby?”
“I need to forget. Forget tonight, forget the gang, forget my entire fucked-up life…” I drew a stuttering breath. “Can you give me something? Please?” Pulling back, I stared at him, shamefully desperate.
He frowned, considering the reply before he gave it. “You can’t forget Donovan, Fitch. He’s part of you.”
I sniffed and wiped the towel over my snotty nose. “Then I’ll forget me, too. We’ll all be better off.”
Nash caught my chin in a tender grip, holding me level. “Don’t say things like that.”
Frustration balled in my chest and pounded like a fist against my ribs, demanding release. I winced and shook Nash’s hand away. “Please,” I hissed. “I can’t… I can’t take this. It hurts.”
“I know.” He leaned in to kiss my forehead, but I fought that off, too.
“If you know, then fix it!”
While emotions mounted in me, Nash stayed maddeningly calm.
“I can’t,” he said.
“Then what good are you?” Force lashed out of me, throwing him against the tub wall. There was the anger. The catharsis. I wanted to chase it, bury myself in it. But it wasn’t meant for him, not for the man who was unfailingly kind to me, and maybe even he didn’t know why.
Guilt trumped my momentary relief, and I sputtered, “Shit, I’m sorry. Fuck. I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s fine.” Nash stood unsteadily. “We’re fine.” He stooped and offered a hand up.
Rather than take it, I stared.
I needed relief. If I couldn’t forget all that had happened today, maybe I could direct my thoughts to other things. Something good and fast and euphoric. Closeness and pleasure that would blank my mind for a little while.
Nash could give that to me. I could take it from him.
I clasped his hand and stood, letting the towel fall to pile around my feet. Then I thrust myself against him, burying my face in his throat where I began to kiss and bite.
“Fitch?” He caught me by the forearms and held them between his chest and mine. “What are you doing?”
I looked at him, my brows knit together and my cheeks streaked with tears.
“Talk to me,” he said, sounding sad and confused at the same time.
Yanking my hands free, I crushed against him again. My fingers traveled downward to fumble with his belt buckle.
“Fitch, stop.” Nash grabbed my shoulders. He shoved me a single step back, then locked his elbows, holding me at arm’s length.
“I need this,” I said, choking on the same sob I’d been fighting since he arrived. Like a dangerous undertow, it threatened to drag me into deep water, and I was too tired to swim. “Please,” I begged. “I need you.”
He moved one hand to my face, tangling his fingers in my hair. His eyes were dark in the muted light as he trained them on me. “I’m right here, baby,” he replied. “You’ve already got me.”
I shook my head and squeezed my eyelids shut, setting loose a cascade of hot tears.
“Please just fuck me,” I said. “I need to feel something that isn’t this awful… emptiness.”
“Fitch, I don’t want to fuck you.” Nash’s voice was a rumble in my ear.
I bristled, ready to ask why the hell not. The fact that I was a snotty, soggy mess may have been reason enough, but he beat me to speaking.
“Can I just hold you?” he asked. “Will you let me do that?”
“That’s some real pussy shit,” I mumbled, but God, I wanted it.
He watched me, unmoving, until I let my head drop in a nod. I swayed back as he stepped over the side of the tub, then helped me out, too .
In the adjoining bedroom, a change of clothes was waiting on my side of Nash’s bed. We broke apart and I went to put them on while Nash turned down the sheets.
Dressed in borrowed pajamas two sizes too big, I stood in place, hugging my arms around my chest.
Across from me, Nash rifled through his bedside table and came out with a small glass vial filled with milky liquid. Walking around the bed to me, he held the bottle aloft. “Open wide,” he said.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t help,” I said with a sigh.
He shook his head. “This is just to help you rest.”
I did as bidden and watched as he flipped off the cork. He poured the draught into my mouth, and I swallowed. It tasted chalky and a bit like cinnamon, coating my raw throat on the way down. Nash cupped his hand to the nape of my neck and pulled me in for the forehead kiss I’d earlier rejected.
Either the potion was incredibly fast-acting, or I was exhausted enough not to need it. Dazed, I followed Nash’s instructions to lay down on the bed. There, I was further weakened by the silky sheets and plush mattress that cushioned me. A headache thrummed behind my eyes, begging me to close them.
I rolled onto my side, curling up, wanting to shrink. To fade away. To disappear. Part of me wanted to die or to be the one who had died instead. It would have been fairer that way.
The comforter draped over me, and I scooted toward the middle of the mattress, making space for Nash to press in behind me. His body was a welcome warmth as his arms snugged around my ribs. I eased into him, molding myself into every curve. His bristly cheeks scrubbed the back of my neck.
Somehow, that wasn’t enough, and I turned face-first into Nash’s chest. I tangled up in him while my body shook with sobs.
“I wanted a better life for him, Nash.” I stumbled through the confession. “He deserved better than this. Better than me…” I choked up and fought for a gasp of air to say, “I’m toxic. I ruin everything I touch. I’ll ruin you, too.”
“That’s not true.” Nash’s fingers smoothed my hair in slow, repetitive strokes.
“Pippa hates me,” I mumbled, struggling with a tongue that felt suddenly thick. “She’s right to hate me. I’m no good.”
Nash shushed me again, then kissed the top of my head. “Pippa’s fine. Don’t worry about her.”
A final thought wisped through my brain, slipping out on a yawn. “Is Ripley okay?”
If Nash replied, I wasn’t awake long enough to hear it.