Nineteen Evelyn
Jumping out of bed, I practically sprinted down the hall, my feet padding over the coarse carpet.
Before I could knock, the door swung open, and I was greeted by the sight of Vanessa in a silk camisole beneath a deep emerald robe. Her silky hair had been brushed out and left completely loose, giving her a warmer look. She held a steaming cup of what looked like tea in her free hand.
“Honey, come sit down. Can I make you tea while we talk?”
“Yes, please. Whatever you’re drinking smells amazing,” I remarked, inhaling its floral aroma.
“It’s sake. It has alcohol,” she deadpanned.
“I don’t care. Maybe it will help me sleep.”
“Sweetheart, we both know that’s not a solution,” she said in a softer tone.
“Again, I don’t care.” I straightened my posture, attempting to glance into the mug. “Besides, is it even strong?”
“No. Fifteen percent.” Sensing my efforts, she lowered the mug, allowing me to see the transparent liquid.
“Exactly.”
“Fine, but try a sip of mine first to make sure you like it.”
I took the mug from her carefully, the ceramic rather slippery. Adorned with Japanese writing, it appeared to be antique.
“Careful, it’s hot,” she warned.
I took a small sip and, and for the first time, actually liked one of Vanessa’s drinks. It was unexpectedly delicate. She poured me a glass, sensing my approval. I stood there awkwardly while she poured herself more, not wanting to be too intrusive.
“Evelyn, relax. You can sit down.” She ushered me to the couch, sitting next to me. “So, what’s on your mind?”
“Nothing, I’m just restless”—I gulped down a mouthful—“but I think the short change of scenery will help.”
“I owe you an apology. In hindsight, I realize the pressure I put on you likely only compounded what you were already struggling with,” she apologized as I tipped back the mug.
“It’s okay, you didn’t know I have insomnia.” I shrugged. “This is really good, by the way. Can I have some more?”
Her eyes shot downward, narrowing slightly as she realized the mug was in fact nearly empty.
“Honey, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Why don’t you try talking to me instead? You shouldn’t have to handle this all on your own, especially when you’re exhausted.”
“If I talk, will I get more of this?”
“I’m not bribing you with alcohol.”
“Everything affects my sleep. I’m always too stressed to relax.”
“Okay…well, what causes that stress?” she asked seriously.
“Guess,” I teased, not in the mood for a deep conversation.
“This isn’t a game. Stop making this harder than it has to be.”
“My family, work, everything,” I shrugged her off. “Now I want more alcohol, please.”
“Evelyn, stop chugging it,” she exclaimed before I could finish the last few sips in one gulp. “It’s high quality and quite rare. You have to savor these kinds of things,” she explained, utterly appalled by my lack of manners.
“Oh… well, do you have something stronger?” I asked innocently, when she probably expected an apology.
She scoffed, grabbing my mug and pouring what little was left into her own. “Not for you, I don’t,” she muttered, sipping what had just been in my mug.
“Hmm… why is your room so cold?”
“Because I was about to get under the covers before you texted,” she answered, pulling her robe tighter, concealing her chest.
“Should I go?”
“Will you be able to sleep?”
“No, but maybe if you gave me more—” I began, wanting to try once more.
“Evelyn, stop this nonsense. How can I actually help you?”
“Can I take one of the blankets? I’m actually freezing,” I said, goosebumps visible on my arms.
“Sure, why don’t you just invite yourself into the bed.”
It was obvious sarcasm, but feeling bold, I got up abruptly and jumped onto the massive bed, falling onto my back from the pillowy bounce.
“Evelyn, get off. It was a joke,” she ordered in her sternest voice.
I giggled, feeling bad for her. It wasn’t her fault I found it so sexy when she got mad.
“Oh, it was?” I teased, snuggling deeper into the soft king-sized mattress.
“Great. Just tuck yourself in at this point.” Again, sarcasm. But I followed through, pulling the blankets up to my chin, and inhaling deeply, loving the vanilla aroma coming off the sheets and pillow.
“Evelyn, you cannot just lie in my bed, especially without asking.” Her eyes narrowed, but not nearly as sharply as I'd seen them narrow at other people. That was a good sign.
Control freak.
“Why not? I won’t fall asleep; we already established that, remember?” I grabbed another pillow to prop myself up.
She rolled her eyes before pushing herself to her feet and walking toward me, her expression softening with every step. I released my lower lip from between my teeth, realizing I wasn't about to die.
“You really are a lightweight, sweetheart,” she remarked sweetly. Delicately sitting on the edge of the bed, she looked down at me pitifully. This wasn’t the reaction I wanted or expected for my behavior.
“I’m not drunk. I barely had a glass of that,” I argued, rolling onto my side to face her.
She raised a brow as I reached my hand forward to touch her hair. It looked so soft, and my inhibitions were gone. She surprisingly let me hold the strand, which I curled around my finger several times.
A soft smile played on her lips at my genuine enjoyment.
Nothing about this was overtly sexual in nature; it was a calm, comfortable moment between us—until another impulsive thought popped into my head.
With no warning, I yanked the piece of hair—not too hard, but hard enough to make her face scrunch up adorably. I giggled like a child when she, in turn, grabbed my hand, unclenching each of my fingers carefully before pulling it away.
Gently, she took my hand in hers, holding it as she spoke. “If you were acting like this sober, I would not be letting you get away with this.” She spoke slowly, never breaking eye contact.
“So don’t. Do something about it.”
“You’re not sober,” she answered calmly, still holding my hand.
I rolled my eyes, my talking back once again getting me nowhere. Giving up, and I yanked my hand away. “Mood killer,” I muttered to myself under my breath.
“I’m not trying to set a mood, Evelyn,” she replied, her condescending smirk at my lack of volume control starting to annoy me—but not enough for me to actually leave.
I turned the other way, lying back down, inhaling and exhaling the intoxicating vanilla radiating from the pillow, as she took out her laptop.
Taking in my surroundings and savoring the moment, a familiar-looking book caught my eye on the nightstand.
The cover was completely innocent, but if the book was the BDSM novella I believed it to be, it was anything but.
I reached out to check my theory, unable to see it properly while lying on my side. But before I could grab it, Vanessa yanked it away, confirming my suspicion. Was she watching me this whole time?
“You can’t just grab people’s things without asking!” she snapped.
“But the smutt in it is so hot,” I tried to justify without thinking.
Oh—so maybe I was tipsy after all…or just dangerously sleep-deprived.
Her eyes widened at my words before her composed demeanor returned. “Just lie back down and stop talking before you say another drunk thing you’ll regret,” she said, her eyes returning to her screen.
“I’m not—”
“Evelyn, is putting up a ludicrous fight over nothing going to help you relax?”
It was a rhetorical question, so I stayed quiet, recalling every chapter of the book in my mind, my favorite character seeming to grow more like Vanessa by the second.
I switched to lie on my other side so I could hopefully stare at Vanessa some more.
But as my weight shifted—trying to keep myself moving so I wouldn’t drift off—her gaze met mine.
My eyelids had been getting heavy for a few minutes now, but I’d fought the urge to close them.
If she knew I was getting close to sleep, she’d kick me out to sleep in my own suite, in my own bed, alone.
“Evelyn, stop fighting off sleep. That defeats the whole purpose of what we’re trying to accomplish.”
“I know, but I’m so comfortable. I don’t wanna get up,” I whined halfheartedly.
“So don’t. You can sleep here,” she shrugged.
“Are you sure? I don’t wanna invade,” I questioned, not believing her too-good-to-be-true words.
“Yes. I don’t mind taking the fold-out bed.”
My heart sank, but I attempted to mask my disappointment, keeping my brows from furrowing and my voice from dropping an octave. “Oh, I’m not kicking you out of your bed. It’s okay—you’ve done enough.”
She knew what I’d thought, what I wanted.
I sat up reluctantly, trying to regain enough energy to get up. A hand pushed me back down by the shoulder, making me fall onto the soft mattress with a gentle bounce. “No. You’re just going to wake yourself up again by moving, and I’m not carrying you. I’m also too relaxed.”
“Vanessa, you’re not taking the fold-out bed. I’m guessing you’ve never slept in one, so you don’t realize they suck.”
She let out a long exhale. “Evelyn, just shut up and move over.”
“What?”
“And stay on your side. I mean it.”
“Okay.”
She disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes as I tried to process what was happening.
When she came out looking as eye-catching as ever, she slipped off her silk robe and slid into bed before shutting off the lamp.
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” she whispered.
I pretended to be asleep, not trusting myself to act as nonchalant about this as she was.
“Evelyn, I saw you watching me. I know you’re not asleep.”
Now I really wouldn’t be able to speak. But what would she do—yell at me for being awake? That would just wake me up. There was, in fact, nothing she could do to catch me.
“Goodnight to you too, Vanessa,” she muttered quietly.
It was a trap, and I fell straight into it headfirst. I burst out laughing so hard the whole bed shook. It wasn’t funny, but she knew it would work, and it did.
“Idiot,” she scoffed.
“You’re a genius,” I ogled, still laughing.
“No, you’re just overtired, drunk, and predictable.”