9. Serenity
Chapter nine
Serenity
M agda is a sweet older German woman who introduces herself as Declan's house manager.
"What does that mean? House manager?"
Her smile is kind as she walks around the kitchen, putting things from her cloth bags away. "I take care of the bills, the shopping, the cleaners, the chef, and any errands Mr. Blake needs from me, so he can focus on everything else."
I sip the coffee she made for me and nod. A house manager, cleaner, driver, and personal chef. I can't even imagine that. I can't imagine the privilege, the ease at which he must go through life. The only thing he has to worry about is himself? On second thought, that sounds kind of awful. I'm not sure what I'd do with myself if I didn't have to work or cook or clean or grocery shop.
Magda's been quiet for a little while, so I look up to find her watching me with a gentle smile on her face.
"Be patient with him," she says, her accent still very pronounced.
"Patient?"
Is that what I'm being? Patient? Or scared? He clearly has anger issues. And how is that any different from my stepdad? When would Declan get angry enough at me to hit me?
I shake my head. I don't need to be patient with him. I need to stay out of his way for long enough that I can save up and move out, whatever that looks like. Maybe I can borrow his computer later. I need to figure out how to get a replacement ID and bank cards.
A weathered hand suddenly covers my own on the island. "He's been through a lot, and under the anger is a good man."
I don't really care. His anger, his goodness, is his own problem. I'm grateful for what he's given me, but I won't be around long enough to get to know the good parts of him.
I hum noncommittally.
We talk comfortably for a while. She asks how long I'll be staying, what my favorite foods are so she can add them to the list. I start to tell her not to worry about me, that I'll be fine with cheese and ketchup sandwiches or whatever else I can buy from the store, but she shushes me. "Mr. Blake has more than enough and I'm pretty sure he'll scold me if I don't feed you, so might as well take advantage of it, right?"
"You don't think he'll mind? I mean, I'm already staying here for free. I feel like eating his food is too much."
She shakes her head at me. "Don't be silly. A man like that was born to take care of people. Let him."
I ponder her words while we chat casually, but when Declan comes back from his run, the air in the house becomes more tense.
"Serenity, can I talk to you, please?" He calls from one of the front sitting rooms. I swallow nervously, but Magda gives me an encouraging smile.
I cast my eyes down as I stand in front of him, hoping not to look entitled or arrogant, standing in his home like I belong here.
He pats the couch cushion next to him as he sits.
He's got on athletic shorts and his muscular legs have a light sheen of sweat on them. I wonder what his leg hair would feel like if I ran my fingers up his leg. It looks so soft, yet masculine. I blush at the random train of thought my brain just went on, and wonder briefly if he can read minds because that would be mortifying.
I sit next to him, however, looking straight ahead, unable to look him in the eye. He's turned towards me, though, and rests a hand on my knee to get my attention.
"I apologize for being angry with you this morning. I was scared when I couldn't find you. Can you tell me why you were sleeping in the pantry?"
His run must have helped calm him down because this Declan is not the same one that was shouting at me an hour ago.
I swallow thickly and pick at my nails. Where do I begin? Do I give him all the details? Or just what he needs to know? I try to run through each scenario - what he'd do or say if I told him everything, and what he'd do or say if I told him nothing. But before I can pick which strategy to go with, his hand wraps around mine and I start.
I look down to see him pulling my hand away from picking my nails.
"Serenity. I can't help you if I don't know anything about you. You're safe here."
I raise an eyebrow skeptically at him. Am I safe? He was shouting at me an hour ago. But he apologized and said that he was afraid. I guess I get that. Being so scared, you get angry? And he was scared because he couldn't find me. He wasn't angry that I slept in the pantry, but scared.
Subconsciously, I squeeze his hand, only for him to thread his fingers between mine, fully holding my hand now. I know it's supposed to be comforting, reassuring, but it makes my heart rate speed up and my brain take off - wondering what it means.
He squeezes it again, dragging me back to the present.
"Oh, um. I felt safe there."
He's quiet as he watches me work through what I want to say. His face is still stormy, but his energy is calmer. "We didn't have a lot of money. So food was always scarce. I couldn't sleep last night after we got home, even though I was exhausted. But when I saw your pantry full of food, it felt... comforting. Safe." I swallow again, sure I'm not making any sense.
"There's something else, though...isn't there?"
I nod.
"A mental health thing?" He encourages.
"I have ADHD and generalized anxiety disorder. It makes a lot of things hard."
He nods thoughtfully. "Hence the pen and pad last night."
I nod. "Funny, isn't it?"
"Funny?"
"My name's Serenity... and I'm anything but serene."
"Do you take medication for it? Did you leave it at your house when you left? We can get you more." I appreciate how his brain went immediately to fix-it mode.
I shake my head. "No. I have a script but my parents fill it for themselves. They're..." I trail off. They're a lot of things, but talking about them is still hard. He frowns, and I add quickly, "I didn't like them anyway. One was a stimulant for my ADHD, but then the benzos were downers for my anxiety. On a good day they balanced each other out, on bad days I would pass out."
He nods. "I'd still like you to talk to someone, though. Dealing with both of those sounds miserable." I start to get choked up. No one in my life cared enough to try to help me. No one cared if living this way was miserable or not. No one cared to get me help or encourage me to seek help myself.
I let out a weary sigh before closing my eyes and resting my forehead against his shoulder.
"I need you to do something for me, though. Can you do that?"
I look up at him, eager to do anything I can for him. But lifting my head up from his shoulder means our faces are inches apart. His warm breath coasts against my cheek, causing me to shudder. I lean back to a safe distance as I watch his eyes drop to my lips.
My eyes widen in alarm. He clears his throat and leans back as well. "If you need something... if you can't sleep, I need you to come to me. No more running, no more hiding."
I shift uncomfortably on my seat and bite my lip. But he's given me a job, a place to stay, and seems to be really invested in my wellbeing. Why? I'm not sure I'll ever know.
"Thank you," I whisper. My very soul feels heavy and tired. Last night I was considering ending it all. Today, I have at least one person in my corner.
Who knows what tomorrow will bring?