Chapter 27
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
CINDEL
Isweated buckets last night. My sheets are drenched, but I feel as though my fever has finally broken. At least there was one sliver of light at the end of this twisted tunnel.
Dreams like these were reoccurring. There’s no escaping them, just as much as there’s no avoiding sleep.
I drain the water beside my bedside, not giving much thought as to how it miraculously became full again. Then, I ventured into the kitchen, a blanket draped over my shoulders, finding half of the living space bathed in sun. It’s late afternoon.
A folded note lies on the counter. In crude handwriting,
I hope you're feeling a little better. Leftovers are in the fridge. I picked up some elderberry tea and honey for you. See you tonight. -A.
That was really kind of her. My stomach twists a little thinking about how we’ve been acting toward one another, but I know deep down, we both would do anything to help one another.
I put the kettle on and grabbed a mug from our vast collection.
Still weak on my feet, I know I’d need at least one more day of rest before returning to work.
Honestly, I couldn’t afford to not work.
I dunk the tea bag into the hot water, while scrolling mindlessly on my phone.
I read through posts from old college friends, who were now growing their families or flourishing in the fashion world.
When I have enough of comparing my insignificant accomplishments to others, I switch gears to something more productive.
I investigate when the next Craft Bazaar will be.
I did really well all things considered and next time, I’m wearing a fanny pack!
Looks like the next one will take place, early spring.
Is that enough time to embroider a whole new collection? I had hoped the upcycled pieces would sell better. They were much less time-consuming and sincerely more enjoyable to make.
Fashion has always been my passion! Cheesy…
? Very! Our professor in art school would say it before each class and it just kind of stuck.
Andrea and I caught ourselves saying it way too often.
Eventually turning into a superstition that if we didn’t say it while dressing up for a night on the town, we would have a fashion crisis.
When’s the last time we actually did something fun like that? I feel like it stopped after we graduated. When all we seemed to do was work, work, work.
Seriously, if I knew what a scam being an adult was, I would have held onto my sticker collection.
No one says “good job” for paying your taxes or vacuuming your room.
Those nauseatingly cheerful Lisa Frank stickers would have been a great incentive right about now!
“Look how well you did, not punching that customer in the face. Here’s a sticker! ”
Even though I was making more money as a manager than holding two different jobs, I knew this wouldn’t last. As of right now, I can cover my bills, but I have other things to consider. Big adult things. Like… should I go on another date with Eamon if he asks me?
If what I believe is true, Eamon and my stalker are in fact two separate people, then I should stop seeing one of them…
shouldn’t I? I mean… I like Eamon. I feel at ease with him.
It feels familiar. He’s protective, generous, and really kind.
However, he did keep things from me. Like Cassie’s passing and that he knew my brother.
I still haven’t received a sober answer about any of that yet.
Wait… I texted the stalker about my brother. Holy shit! Does he know Theo too?!
I realize I’ve been bouncing the tea bag in my mug for far too long. Resting the little string over the edge of the drink. Then leaning forward over the hot beverage, I bring my arms up and press my palms into my eyes, willing my mind to settle.
Okay, deep breath, Cindel. Filling my lungs to capacity, I hold everything in for long moments before letting out a smooth and steady stream. “Count back from ten,” my therapist would say.
Focusing on what I know to be true, as opposed to the “what ifs.” I bring up my recent job searches for vacant positions in the area.
Staying long term at The Black Sheep will be difficult.
Whether I’m “with” Eamon or not. It’s funny…
I had no idea he even owned the place, up until recently.
What changed? As I see it, there’s no harm in continuing to spend time with Eamon.
Both of these men know more than they’re letting on about my brother.
In addition, I’ve made no such commitment to be exclusive to anyone.
It’s a wise decision to start hunting for a job.
I can’t stay there forever. I need something to cushion my fall, because like so many times before, I will fall.
A twinge in my chest suddenly has me blinking away unwanted tears. When do I stop picking myself up? From what I’ve had drilled into me, Theo stopped trying.
I’ve had so many odd jobs over the years that nothing was off the table if it paid well. Well, besides that! I may be technically involved with two men, but I wasn’t about to sell my body to the highest bidder.
Scrolling past server positions and sales associate offerings, I filter by pay and begin clicking through various listings.
I have no experience in the human resources department, but the idea of having a tidy little rule book to refer to was intriguing.
Perhaps this is one way to get back into the driver’s seat of my life, instead of holding on for dear life in the trunk.
As I continue searching, I don’t bother entertaining jobs with descriptions containing Designer I or Fashion Internship.
Isn’t that what you went to college for?
Why yes… Yes, it is! So, why am I not applying for any positions?
Easy, because everything I love gets ripped away from me and I just don’t think I could face the disappointment of losing one more thing I care about.
If I fail in that… I don’t know what I’d do.
Breezing past those postings, content with only dabbling in fashion as a hobby, for the foreseeable future.
Perhaps using my degree as a means for making a living causes it to be less enjoyable?
I hate feeling vulnerable. So… I’ll continue to keep the idea at arm’s reach. No one’s let down. No risk.
Brodi never understood my appeal to fashion. He said it was a “waste of time,” especially since all he wanted to do was take the garments off me, when we were together. Still, the fiery passion we had in the beginning fizzled out. Intimacy was one-sided, and I was always the one left wanting.
It’s hard to admit that maybe Andrea was right.
She has the ability to see things I can’t.
When she made up her mind about something, everyone else had better watch out!
Early on in my relationship with Brodi, she made it quite clear where she stood.
Only tolerating him for short stints, I could tell when she had hit her limit.
I’ve witnessed his puerile sense of humor cause her knuckles to turn white.
Somehow, I convinced her to go on a double date with me and Brodi.
She brought along a delightful coworker from one of her recent design gigs.
We all got along great until Brodi had a little too much to drink.
At the pool hall, he made juvenile comments about Andrea's date. Even thinking back to it makes me uncomfortable, I could only imagine what my best friend and her date must have felt. Andrea looked murderous, cracking a pool stick over her knee before storming out of the place with her date in hand. She didn’t come back to the apartment that night either.
Brodi and I fought. I was ready to end things, but he pleaded with me and said it was the alcohol talking.
Stupidly, I forgave him. I did that a lot actually, excusing his behavior.
Accepting his obvious lies. Who am I trying to kid?
Andrea was right. Maybe it is better off that Brodi just vanished off the face of this planet.
I applied for a grand total of zero jobs. Too bad there isn’t a job in the department of poor decision making, because I could be the CEO of that fucking establishment.
After my mug is drained, I head to the bathroom to peel off the duck pajamas.
I am looking forward to washing off last night’s sweat that still clings to my skin.
After removing my hearing aids, I climb under the hot pin pricks of water, bringing the bar of soap to my skin for a lather.
I did feel stronger today but was sure to hold onto the railing while climbing in and out.
Steam covers the mirror despite my express shower.
I’ll brush my hair at my vanity table. I don’t think I can hold myself up much longer.
Wrapping the towel around me, I carry what I need back to my room.
Pushing open the door with my foot, I shuffle to the vanity and dump everything onto the counter, before the mirror.
I all but collapse onto the stool and begin to brush my wet tangles from the tips of my hair, working up to my scalp.
As I move the brush to the opposite side of my sopping-wet head, my vision shifts from my reflection to what lies behind me.
Springing up from my seated position, the small stool falls over and I back into the nearest wall.
My heart hammers in my chest, but I dare not draw breath.
Positioned on my bed, looking like he was posing for the centerfold of a magazine, was the man clad in black.
My stalker. Is he? Wearing that eighteenth century hat?
Of course he was covered. In his usual balaclava, goggles, gloves, pants, and shoes that kept me from seeing any part of him. The only difference was his hat. The usual helmet sits at the end of my bed since he’s wearing the colonial hat, from Mairead’s crazy Boston bender.
Like an engine finally turning over, I sucked in air and rushed out, “Get your boots off my bed!”