CHAPTER 30
Sybil
Wednesday morning arrived like Dorothy’s tornado had sucked me up again, depositing me without ceremony, back in black and white Kansas.
Emotionally overwhelmed and exhausted, I felt completely twisted.
This was also my third bed this week, and every limb felt numb.
I wasn’t used to this much change, and I could feel it scratching at my nerves.
It was silently clawing its way deeper into my psyche, and I’d neglected the warning signs.
Nash was absent after quietly holding tight to me all night. He seemed to sense exactly the right amount of comfort I wanted and needed right now. He was the only constant thing keeping me whole.
Alone, it took everything I had to hold the frayed ends of my sanity together. Everything was curdling to pieces. Terror’s sword had stabbed me in the chest, and I wanted nothing more than to rip it out, hold it above my head, and scream to the universe that I was over this.
I wanted to be happy. I was ready to be excited and brave, and proud of myself. Bee showed me that strong women could exist. I’d seen it firsthand. This was my tipping point.
I could either level up or fall back down the ravine. Somehow, I had to find my way out of this soggy marsh. I had to teach my brain to keep pushing, keep trying, no matter what. I couldn’t even blame my parents at this point. I was the only obstacle in the way.
But first, I needed a minute. I was exhausted. Just a few more minutes. Just one more hour.
Nash kissed my forehead at some point early this morning, moving quietly around the room as he dressed before leaving for work. It was still dark outside.
I knew he was busy, and now I knew why. I was the reason. Red was the reason. I’d berated Cat for not telling me about the auction. I was furious. Why did she think keeping it from me made the most sense? The entire thing was embarrassing. Not having the facts was harming me.
My brain could not stop rehashing the way the dinner had gone and my sudden and unavoidable shutdown. I’d sat at the dining room table, like a gluttonous fool, pouring over articles and headlines about the auction.
This thing had grown legs. Spiraling so far out of my control, I never wanted to lay eyes on a paintbrush ever again. I’d tried so hard to keep the fame, the pressure, the fear from reaching me. It found me anyway.
Why was the one thing you tried to avoid always the first thing you attracted?
I lay there frozen for a long time, trying to convince myself:
I am safe. I am small. I am alone. No one will find me. No one needs anything from me. I am not PERL; PERL is not me.
Again.
I am safe. I am small. I am alone. No one will find me. No one needs anything from me. I am not PERL; PERL is not me.
Over and over.
It was no use. I felt the familiar bell jar descending to suffocate me.
When I’d first read Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar, I remember thinking how right she was. A bell jar was the perfect way to describe the suffocating feeling of anxiety and depression. I could picture the echoing chamber, descending unseen until it was too late. It trapped me inside.
Lying here, “stewing in my own sour air,” as Sylvia would say, all I wanted was Nash. He was like the scaffolding erected around my townhome. He was the support I needed to rebuild.
Basic movement seemed too hard; even getting up to use the bathroom was near impossible. I knew if I could just feel him, I could crawl out of this.
It was frightening to depend on someone this much, particularly after being so self-reliant for most of my life.
Sure, I’d leaned on Cat a lot, but she had her own world to live in, and there was a limit to where our needs aligned.
With Nash, it felt like everything had the potential for perfect alignment.
I was opening myself more than ever before, and I feared what happened when the other shoe dropped, as it always did.
There was a point I’d mustered enough energy to take Bill out, only driven because this wasn’t my house, and I didn’t want him to have an accident.
I knew all too well what was happening to me. The feeling was familiar—the whole-body pain that set in and the cortisol ripping through every muscle, yanking it taught.
Depression was pulling me under.
At one point, I tried to keep myself afloat by sliding a book from one of the bedside tables toward me and opening it.
It was a book about plants and flowers, microscopic images of cells and small worlds up close.
It kept my darker thoughts at bay for a time, and I lay with it, looking at every image.
Despite my efforts, the bell jar made its final descent, snuffing out the last candle.
I laid my head against the pillow and shut my eyes; everything hurt.
Time was long and listless. I couldn’t tell you how long I lay like that before heavy footsteps sounded in the distance.
A weight caused the bed to dip, and my world shifted to the side.
Hands traced along my shoulder to where the covers began, tugging.
Unwelcome light poured in as he pulled them back.
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust. When they did, concern creased the skin between Nash’s eyebrows.
“Have you been here all day?” he asked in a soothing voice, tucking hair behind my ear.
I nodded, feeling on the verge of tears, a sharp sting tickling my nose.
He pulled the covers further back without hesitation, folding the open book of plants closed when he found it tucked under the covers with me. He snaked his hands under my thighs and back, hoisting me into his arms as he had last night.
I felt like deadweight.
On his knees, he backed off the bed until he stood, eyes on mine the entire time.
I wanted to smile; I wanted to feel happy to see his glittering gaze, but moving felt too hard and far away.
Everything from the past few weeks had tied me up in ropes too heavy to bother unknotting.
If you threw me overboard, I wouldn’t resist drowning.
He brushed my hair back, pressing his lips to my forehead, my nose, then brushed across my lips.
My head rolled against him, my ear to his chest, his heart thudding hard and hurried.
He deposited me on a bench, leaning me back against a wall.
I realized we were now in the bathroom. I watched as he walked to the tub and ran the water, his fingers feeling the flow and testing the warmth before appearing content.
The tub filled as he drizzled in some soap, suds billowing with the smell of lavender filling the air. He rolled his sleeves back to keep them from getting wet, jacket already off as usual. Walking back with a confident stride, he knelt down until our eyes met.
“Is this okay?” he asked, lifting my feet and pulling off my Bill socks. Then he stood, taking my fingertips in his. He pulled me up with him, and it hurt to stand. His hands found their way under my oversized sweatshirt, skimming across my skin and tugging up at the hem.
I nodded with his eyes on mine, unwavering.
He pulled, the fabric brushing against my skin as he lifted.
It cascaded over my head with a soft whoosh, leaving my top half bare except for my bra.
It dropped to the ground with a dull thud.
A muscle jumped in his jaw when our gaze met again, tight with tension and barely caged desire as he stood before me.
The sparkle in his eyes was mesmerizing. I fidgeted with the hem of my sweatpants before he helped me pull them down, taking my hand to steady me as I stepped out of them. I stood before him in nothing but the new underwear Bee had bought for me.
His restraint was palpable as he forced his gaze to remain on my face. “Turn,” he said, voice thick.
My head was buzzing, and I didn’t want to overthink things—so I turned away from him.
He unhooked the bra, brushing the straps down over each shoulder and letting it fall to the ground. Fingers ghosted, inch by inch, down my spine. I shivered as I felt every hair on my head stand on end. His feather-light fingertips grazed my hips and the hem of my underwear.
“Is this okay?” he asked again, voice husky in my ear as his lips trailed down my neck. His hot breath sent shivers down my spine, and he hooked his thumbs under the thin band of my underwear, his fingers brushing the V that led to my center.
I nodded, biting back a whimper.
He pushed them off, so slowly it was like a prayer, his breath falling across my bare back as he knelt.
Lips pressed against the base of my spine and hands gripped my hips as he guided me to step out of them.
When he stood again, I could feel his heat so close, he was a hair’s width from enveloping me entirely.
When he stepped back, the cool air caused my skin to prickle, nipples tightening.
Overwhelmed, I felt my knees weaken with exhaustion and desire, threatening to buckle.
An arm hooked under my thighs, the other around my back, catching and lifting me.
He buried his nose in my hair as he carried me to the overflowing bath and set me on the edge.
I slid in, the warm water a silken embrace under a frothy blanket of bubbles.
Nash’s hands found my shoulders, and he urged me to lay back. He cupped my hair in his hands, letting it spill over the side of the tub. His fingers combed out the tangled strands a few times, gripping the base of my hair with a few gentle tugs before he released and stood.
“You need to eat,” he said, his voice deep, almost unrecognizable. He cleared his throat and strode out of the room.
I took a deep breath, letting the weight of the situation settle over me.
Closing my eyes, I sank below the surface of the water, the muffled silence lulling me for a moment.
I could hear my heart beating, a fast and healthy rhythm now.
Chest beginning to sting from lack of oxygen, I surfaced, breathing deep and washing the hair back from my face.
The air in the room cooled my fiery-hot cheeks.
I kept my eyes squeezed shut, tears pooling over; I let them.
They fell freely for a moment, my breath fast and shallow as the panic peaked and fell off again.
It’d felt like this all day, endless waves of sharp fear, like a relentless blood pressure cuff filling and releasing; pinching, then letting go.
Just seeing Nash and hearing his smooth voice steadied my attention, but I still needed to find a way out of the ravine. The look on his face when he saw me, the steadiness of his care for me now and last night. He loved me, didn’t he? This is what that was.
My chest warmed as it greeted the thought, letting it in.