27. Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Decorum gone
Blaine
R unning on two hours of sleep, I shut down my body, allowing me to drift off to dream that this situation is all a horrible, horrible misunderstanding. Weston was with Hilde, the receptionist at the clinic the whole time. She was all “gee willikers” and other embarrassingly clueless statements as per usual. Weston came home stuffed full of sugar and smiles. He was never snatched up by someone.
Waking up to Zeb crying and realizing that isn’t the case makes me crave sleep again…the dreams of Wes being alright.
I would give anything to see him run through the room in his cowboy boots and karate uniform being loud in his morning greetings. Fucking anything. Letting the animals loose, throwing things in a full tub, or yelling out jokes.
Caleb walks past with Zeb on the way to the kitchen for a bottle. I move Eden onto the chair kissing her forehead to follow him. “I’ll take him.”
Passing him over, he continues to get the bottle ready. “Kim and Chris are here. They’re in Hutton’s addition right now getting settled in.” I’m not surprised Chris would want to be here. His experience with the Realists could be beneficial.
It can’t hurt.
Waverly walks in wearing the clothes she had on yesterday. “Daddy B?” A slight hiccup of a cry escapes. “Did they find Wes?”
It’s too much. Waverly standing here at nine years old, so close to the age Eden’s brother had been when he disappeared. Her little mini. The curly blonde mop of disheveled hair. Eden’s blue eyes filled with tears looking up from Waverly’s face. I sag heavily onto a stool, biting back tears. “Not yet, honey.”
History repeating itself.
She says no to breakfast, sitting next to me and resting her head on the counter. “I wish I hadn’t yelled at him to leave me alone when he wanted to show me the note he wrote his teacher yesterday morning.” Her lip trembles as she speaks.
We all watch Zinnea stagger into the kitchen, her hair also messy and wearing the clothes she put on yesterday. “Mornin’,” she says quietly, sitting across from Waverly.
Caleb offers Zinnea food but after looking us over and seeing we’re not eating, she shakes her head no. “Did you get any sleep?” I ask her as she continues staring at Waverly. She’s still giving me the creeps. I’m trying…I’m hoping any acts of goodwill may work in our favor.
She shakes her head again. I’m expecting more silence when she says to Waverly, “Weston told me when I moved in that his older sister is magic.”
I freeze, not knowing if Zinnea is going to be mean or comforting. Honestly, with her it could go either way. Waverly isn’t sure either as she sits up, regarding her cautiously. Zin continues, “He said whenever he didn’t feel good or got hurt, you made him feel better. I told him that’s not possible, but he said all I had to do was tell you…tell you and,” her face reddens as she tries to go on, “you’d say or do whatever you could to make me better. Like magic.”
Tears stream down my face. I look over to Caleb and mouth, “Oh my god.” He nods before looking at the floor, his eyes red.
The previous trembling of Waverly’s lips is accompanied by a squeak before she drops her head on her arms wailing. Zinnea carefully gets down from her stool, walking to Waverly’s side. She pats her back lightly without saying anything more.
She doesn’t have to.
Just another example of Weston trying to help make others feel better. If anyone is magic, it’s him.
Chris finds me sitting in my car staring at the compartment holding the pills I desperately want to swallow. To blot it all out. To forget the current state of things.
“What’s up, boss?” He opens the passenger door, sliding in. His tall frame, like his brother's, causes him to hunch. “Sorry if you were looking for some alone time.”
No, he’s not, but I don’t care right now.
I should tell him about the pills. I’ve helped him through the same thing…we lean on each other for support for our addictions. But I don’t tell him. The pull of escape overwhelms my desire to stay clean. Right now, I need the pain to stop.
“Hear from Hutton?”
When he says he hasn’t, we spend several minutes bullshitting, pointless talk when our world has imploded. I lean back, closing my eyes. “Ready to really talk now?” he asks as he lights a cigarette up.
I open my windows. “Oh, sure, feel free to smoke in my car, jackass.”
He gives me half a smile. “Thanks man.”
“With some self-reflection, I think my ability to cope as an adult is a figment of my imagination.” I wave away a plume of smoke as he turns to look at me. “At least exhale out the damn open window you shit.”
“What’s in your car?”
“Huh?”
“Got some pills or something in here?”
Well, I didn’t expect that. He’s better at reading me than most people, though. “Damn.” I let out a breath, my hands gripping my steering wheel so hard my knuckles are whitening. “I’m that transparent, huh?”
“Nah, man. But you’ve been out here a couple times, and when you’re not, you’re looking out here. I’ve been there…I came so close to getting trashed when I heard about Weston. Luckily, Ma was there.”
“I’m barely holding on here…” My voice is soft, tears pressing in. “I won’t be able to if he’s not home soon.”
He passes his cigarette to me. I hold it for a few seconds before taking a drag off it. It’s been years since I’ve smoked; Matt and Eden didn’t like the habit.
It’s still better than a few pills washed down with alcohol, which is what I’m craving.
Keir peers out the window at us. For a few hopeful seconds I think he’ll come out to investigate. But instead, he turns around to speak to Matt. Does he give one single fucking shit about me?
Some days it feels like the answer is a strong no.
I’m good for a rough fuck…
I’m funny occasionally…
I’m just not someone he cares about.
Chris has known Keir much longer than me, and he sees the look on my face as Super-Agent moves away from the window. “Damn, dude.” He chuckles, shaking his head as he ashes out the window, missing it by inches and causing white ash to rain down on the black leather door.
“Christ, Chris, come on.” I roll my eyes before leaning onto my elbow. “I’d like to keep my car burn-free.”
“Uh-huh, so this thing with Keir. Thought it was all good. Like goooood.” He raises his eyebrows as I smack his chest with the back of my hand.
“I don’t give two fucks about that right now. Our son is missing.” My tone is outraged at him for even trying to discuss this. On top of my struggle with sobriety.
“Mmmm…it’s like that? Sorry. If this helps you at all, Keir came from a place where emotions were a weakness. He couldn’t show them. He watches you, all the time, man. It’s not what you think.”
Yeah, fuck that. I’m not getting sucked into a conversation about my fuck buddy, brother-husband…whatever he would want me to call him. I’m going to tackle one problem at a time. Right now, that is keeping a clear head…a sober one.
“If you get any more ashes all over my car, I’m kicking your ass out.”
“Nah, I’ll behave. I forgot you’re a guidance counselor now and shit. You should’ve seen me when I was younger…woo wee. Not like you, I’m sure.”
“Oh, I bet someone’s parents were using me as a bad example when I was younger. Hey.” I look over at him. “Thanks for coming out here to check on me. Appreciate it.”