CHAPTER 20—DAMIAN
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Damian: Is your sister okay?
Princess Peach: She's in love.
Princess Peach: with my best friend...
Damian: Are you okay?
"I'M HAPPY FOR THEM , you know," Maddie says, her voice soft as we hammer out the last details of the Christmas-Eve-Adopt-thon in the laundry room. It's become our little refuge, this cramped space with its hum of machines and scent of detergent.
There's something in her tone, a little hitch that has me reaching for her hand before I can think better of it. My fingers interlock with hers, and she melts into the touch like we've been doing this for years. It feels right in a way I'm not ready to examine too closely.
"You're scared to lose them," I state, not a question.
"I'm going to sound awful," she murmurs, eyes downcast.
"You're going to sound human, Princess." I pause, clearing my throat. The words I'm about to say have been locked away for so long, but they come easier than I expected. "I've seen things. Done things. Shit that keeps me up at night. I've been pushed away by my parents on Christmas Day. That's when they abandoned me. On Christmas Day."
She doesn't go all sappy on me. Instead, she tilts her head, squeezes my hand a bit tighter, and says, "That explains the music. And your strong dislike of Christmas." A beat. "Have you ever done therapy?"
"Art therapy for PTSD. It helps. And therapy online once or twice. I reached out to the Crisis Text Line once. Couldn't get out of my head. It was somehow easier to tell a complete stranger the shit that was sprinting through my brain, you know." I pause again, bring her fingers to my lips. "And yeah, I've been doing therapy for almost a year, now."
"You've been doing therapy?" Her surprise is evident.
"I have. And since October, I've really put in more of the work. It's a process. Felt like I needed to help myself. Deal with a few things. Before..."
"Before?"
"In case I ever do want to let someone in," I admit, rubbing the back of my head, feeling exposed but not entirely hating it. "Well, at least that's what I'm starting to realize. I'm not fixed..." I trail off, the words feeling heavy on my tongue.
Maddie's voice is soft, barely above a whisper. "What if it's not about fixing yourself? What if it's accepting the parts of you that you kept in the shadows for so long and soothing them..."
I swallow hard, her words hitting closer to home than I'd like to admit. "You've mentioned your therapist."
She winces, a flicker of discomfort crossing her face. "The first time I went... I didn't want to reveal too much about myself."
"You didn't want them to judge you," I state, recognizing the feeling all too well.
"I wanted them to like me," she admits, her eyes downcast. "And, well, I didn't want them to think I had any shortcomings."
"Everyone does," I say, my voice gruff but not unkind.
She meets my gaze. "I know. And I've been more honest with myself." She sighs. "I have to write those three letters to #DearSanta..."
The laundry room door bangs open, and in walks Maddie's sister, frowning like she's stumbled onto a crime scene. "Seems every damn time I'm looking for you, you're with Mr. Vampire here." She sticks out her hand. "Hi, Mr. Vampire. Nice meeting you."
I nod, sizing her up. "My mom's hooked on your 'Love In The Hospital' soap. Says you steal the show every time you're on screen."
"Oh, I like him," Rose chirps, her eyes zeroing in on our linked hands like a hawk spotting its prey. I brace for Maddie to yank her hand away. She tenses up, but doesn't budge. Her sister keeps her trap shut, like she knows this thing between us is as fragile as spun glass.
"Rose, this is my..." Maddie hesitates, her hand still in mine, but it feels like she's holding onto more than just my hand—maybe she's holding onto whatever this is between us. Her eyes flick down to the floor, as if she's searching for the right word there, before she looks back up, her brow furrowed just slightly. I can practically hear the cogs grinding in her head, that tiny wrinkle between her eyebrows deepening. "Friend," she finally spits out, her voice faltering, like she's trying to convince herself as much as Rose. She tugs at the hem of her shirt, a small, nervous gesture I've noticed before when she's unsure about something. Then, slowly, like she's peeling off a Band-Aid, she pulls her hand away. The sudden loss of her touch hits harder than I expect, like a sucker punch right to the gut.
"Hmm-hmm. The friend in a pink towel you like to visit in the middle of the night. You should listen to your own advice, sis."
"Sis? Really?" Maddie shakes her head. "Yes, but maybe I don't want to have that conversation with you here when we haven't talked about it ourselves. Yet."
Well, that's becoming very interesting," I mutter, smiling. Maddie's hand finds my thigh, her touch lingering just a little longer than usual. It's not just a casual gesture—there's something more behind it, something she's not saying. Her fingers press into my leg, like she's grounding herself, and I can feel the tension in her touch, the way she's holding back. She opens her mouth, ready to tell me something, but then she hesitates, her eyes flicking back down, avoiding mine. She's searching for the right words, the courage to say what's really on her mind. Her hand stays on my thigh, though, warm and firm, like she's not ready to let go of whatever this is between us. I definitely am not ready to let go.
Rose smiles, but then her eyes catch on the wall of Post-its behind us. Her lips curve up in a smirk that's eerily similar to her sister's. "Princess Peach drawing, huh? You two leaving each other love notes or something?"
Maddie's face goes red as a fire truck. She snatches the Post-it I left her three weeks ago before her nosy sister can get a good look at what I wrote. Good thing, too. "Never ever will I smell lavender and not think of the scent of your panties as I..." Yeah, that's not exactly family-friendly material.
"It's a way to communicate," Maddie mumbles. "You know, building stuff."
Building stuff, my ass. But I get it. Those moments? They're ours. Private. Not for prying eyes or gossiping mouths. So I keep my trap shut, even as I remember every damn word I've written her, every drawing she's left me.
Not caring that I've turned into a sap.
So I stand up, brushing off imaginary lint from my jeans. "I should get going. I'll see you at the shelter for the adoption prep, Maddie."
She nods, a flicker of something like regret in her eyes. "Yeah, I'll be there.."
As I head out, I can feel Rose's eyes on my back. Doesn't matter. In a few hours, Maddie and I will be alone again, surrounded by furry critters looking for homes.
One more step in Maddie's track out of Swans Cove. But it doesn't have to mean out of my life.
I clench my jaw so hard I can hear my teeth grind. Gotta remind myself what I'm learning in those therapy sessions: you can't control other people's choices. Can't make decisions for them. All you can do is be straight with yourself and with them.
"Oh, she'll see you, alright," Rose chimes in, her voice dripping with innuendo. "I won't be there, but she'll come."
"Really?" Maddie groans.
There's a grin on my face as Maddie hisses at her sister to shut it. Gotta admit, it's kind of nice seeing Princess all flustered for once. Usually, that's my job.
But I keep my trap shut. No need to add fuel to this fire. Besides, the way Maddie's cheeks are flushing? That's a sight I'd rather savor in private.
Too bad there are going to be a lot of people around this afternoon.