9. Gilli
Gilli
A crack cuts along the right corner of the ceiling at an angle, like someone took a box cutter and slashed through the plaster.
I scrub the base of my hands into my eyes hard enough for black and white spots to bloom behind closed lids, but I still see the crack.
Watery gray sunlight filters in through the curtains.
Another night of not sleeping well and the restlessness is catching up. It’s in the aches along my knees and elbows, the forward slope of my shoulders, and the constant throbbing headache across the top half of my skull.
How many more of these nights can I take before the breakdown happens? Because seriously, it’s coming.
I roll over with a groan and reflexively reach for the phone I would’ve stashed on the nightstand if I hadn’t chucked it. It’s weird not to have a cell, to be able to do something about myself, my situation, my life.
I’d replayed Aiden’s words for hours after I’d gone to bed. He probably sees my mom more than I do. He certainly knows her better than he knows me.
To say I love her is an odd thing, because I guess there is always going to be some love for the woman who birthed me .
Do I like her? Is affection even possible after everything that has happened?
I’m not sure I like my own self so how can I like anyone else?
I brush my hand against my face again, letting the chill in my fingers sink into my overheated forehead. The clock reads 7:09 and the bright red numbers stand out against the gloom.
I should stay in bed and try to sleep. Or maybe I should go to town and find the public library so I can access their internet.
If I’m not able to do my own research here on the threatening user, then I need to get out and try. That’s what I came to the cabin to do.
So why can’t I step out of my own way?
My stomach churns with that stupid heat.
I’m not sleeping, I’m needling my stepbrother who has every right to kick me out, and I’m fantasizing about men I have no business fantasizing about.
What gives?
The others will probably want to sleep in after their late night. I don’t want to talk to them. I don’t want them to know why I’m here. They want me out, anyway. Is it even worth it to stay?
I push off the bed and swipe at my forehead again, erasing sweaty evidence of my nerves. The house is quiet and the door to the bathroom slightly ajar, the light off.
I should leave right now. Push the car to its limits and go literally anywhere else, find another, less obvious hiding place.
I do nothing.
Swinging into the bathroom, I flip the shower knob to get the hot water going. A chill spreads down my bare legs until goose bumps erupt while I wait.
I’m too much of a scaredy-cat to run again. It took everything inside of me to get here, and now that I’m in the cabin, I want to stay. It’s a great place despite the less than welcoming black cloud in the other bedroom.
Maybe that’s fucked-up of me, to want to stay where I’m hated. I just keep ducking my head down like a beaten dog while Soren’s icy chill freezes me to the bone.
Aiden is fine; he’s cool and he does his best to be friendly, but I know when the chips fall, he’ll back whatever Soren says. They have a bond.
I step under the pulsing spray and swipe the hair back away from my face, closing my eyes against the steam.
For better or for worse .
I had yesterday to get my bearings. Now it’s time to stop fucking around and get down to the business of saving my life.
The thought sends another shiver down my spine, one even the hot water isn’t able to wash away.
Scrubbing quickly gets the stickiness of a sleepless night off my skin. Done, I swipe the brush through my hair, wrapping a towel securely around my torso.
Aiden and Soren are already up when I make it out of the bathroom.
Tense voices sound from the kitchen.
I shake my head. Slinking out and avoiding them is doable . Then my stomach gives a rumble, the pangs traveling the length of my abdomen and up to my chest.
I pop into the bedroom long enough to get dressed and the men are still bickering back and forth when I’m done.
Without options and craving breakfast, I stroll into the kitchen, braced for conflict. “Morning!”
Their conversation ends like someone flips a switch.
Soren glares at the stove like it insulted him, shoving a spatula through a skillet of scrambled eggs. The eggs I bought yesterday.
Aiden at least tries to offer me a smile like I haven’t interrupted something important. “Morning back,” he says lightly. “You hungry? We made eggs. ”
Yeah, starving. I hoist a thumb over my shoulder. “I’ll just scrounge something up. It’s fine.”
“No worries. There’s plenty of coffee, and Soren’s frying enough for everyone.”
Despite Aiden’s reassurances, the agitation mounts, skyrocketing, and I feel it everywhere. The knots in my stomach are tighter now than before.
Will it ever feel better? Easier?
“Or maybe you’d rather head to town for breakfast at the diner,” Soren supplies. “That may be more to your liking.”
His words rankle me in the wrong way. Instead of backing down, I step up. “You wouldn’t even have eggs today if I hadn’t gone to the store. You’re welcome.”
I don’t mean for it to come out as snarky as it does. Before regret has a chance to settle in my veins, Soren growls under his breath in his go to mode of communication.
His shoulders bunch together, the muscles straining beneath the fabric of his black T-shirt. Even his brawny arms are constricted where he clenches the spatula hard enough to snap the plastic handle.
His jeans have holes in the back of the thighs and are frayed around the ankles. He’s left his long hair loose around his shoulders and he says nothing.
Smartest move he’s made .
“Thank you for the eggs, Gilli.” Aiden is the voice of reason. “You know how much we growing boys appreciate it.”
“I would’ve been happy to cook for you.”
“You were taking a shower,” Soren grunts. “Did you use up all my shampoo?”
Aiden swallows back a chuckle.
If Soren isn’t careful, he’ll annoy me to the point where I have no choice but to fight back, out of spite and a warped sense of principle.
Now I want to double down and tell him again that I have as much right to be here at the cabin as they do. Even though they are blood related to my stepfather and I’m not.
Our parents have a happy marriage. It was an obstacle course to get there for them, and people got hurt, but it has nothing to do with me.
It boils down to Love, capital L.
Is it always worth the risk? Is it always worth the cost?
I wonder as I grab the mug I used yesterday from the drying rack beside the sink. Personally, I can’t say one way or the other. For our parents, it certainly was worth it.
I’ve never had the kind of good luck others have in love. I’ve still got time, sure, because I’m young enough to have the opportunities to get out there and meet people, if I stop working myself to death.
I pour my cup three-quarters full of coffee and cross to the fridge to generously lighten the black brew with creamer.
It’s my terrible track record with men. No matter how badly I want to connect, or how hard I try, I’ve got issues. When you hate yourself…you project it outwardly even when a part of you is screaming to stop.
Men leave. Why would they want to stay?
How can they love me when I can’t love myself?
Abandonment is always imminent, and because I expect them to leave, because I wait for it, they eventually do. End of story. So I’ve carved out a cozy little life for myself all by myself.
I turn and lean against the counter.
“She’s not going to answer you, Aiden,” Soren says, his voice filtering through the noise in my head. “She’s clearly not paying attention.”
“Maybe she’s got some great stories going on in that brain,” Aiden retorts.
“I might be distracted but I’m not deaf,” I say dryly. “I hear you talking about me.”
“Ah, there she is.” Soren is brisk .
“You’re telling me you never get lost in your own head?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I can’t afford to. My clients understand that if I’m not present, they don’t get the best deals or they lose their first choice of property. They lose money.”
“Oh, right. You’re in real estate.”
It feels good to know something about him. Something he clearly doesn’t expect me to know from the way he stiffens further.
“I suppose your mother told you that.” He spits out the words.
My mother .
Like he loathes her just as much as he loathes me, or maybe I’m guilty by association.
“You must be very lucky because most people I’ve talked to occasionally get distracted. No matter their line of work,” I reply. “No one can operate at your level of efficiency.”
“Fucking A right.”
“Don’t let him shit you,” Aiden mutters, accepting Soren’s offered spatula scoop of runny yellow. “He burned the first round of eggs because he wasn’t paying attention. Something about a heron out on the lake.”
Soren unceremoniously dumps the pan over Aiden’s plate. “Screw you. This isn’t about me.”
“ Sure .” Aiden uses his fork to scrape out more. “But it woulda been, if you’d burned the second set of eggs.”
“Maybe I’m trying my best to make conversation because I am genuinely interested in Gilli and whether or not she has any hobbies. So far she’s been sadly one-dimensional.”
Soren dumps the rest of the breakfast on his plate and sits, releasing the hot pan to clatter against the wooden table.
I bristle, my fingers tightening around my cup. “How in the world do you go from accusing me of being lost in thought to a question about hobbies, of all things? Maybe I shouldn’t have taken as much coffee as I did, Soren. You apparently need it more than I do.”
Aiden bursts out laughing and Soren looks toward the smoking pan, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.
“But yes, of course I have hobbies.” It takes everything inside of me not to step in and eat directly from Soren’s plate out of spite.