Chapter 21 – “Older” - Lizzy McAlpine #2
“Well, I’ll call to check in on you later regardless.” He kisses my forehead. “Please communicate with one of us, with Mom—hell, even August—if you need something, okay?”
“I will, I promise.” I yawn. “I’m just tired, so I’m going to try to take a nap.”
My twin nods, looking down at me solemnly. Everyone says we have the same eyes, but I think his are much kinder than mine. He takes a knit blanket off the top of the couch and drapes it over me before heading to the door.
“Love you, Lele!” he calls.
“Love you too,” I grunt through gritted teeth.
I tug my knees to my chest, wiping away my tears with a shaking hand.
I’m staring at the kettle on the stove, and it feels like it’s taken eons for the water to heat, and all I want is a fucking cup of chamomile.
It feels like someone held a fork over a flame and is now repeatedly stabbing me in the center of my gut with it, twisting it all about to ensure I feel every one of the prongs.
I want to lie down, and I want to shower, and I want tea.
I want to scream at the kettle to heat faster, I want to scream at myself to stop being so fucking crazy, I want to scream at my body for making me feel this way.
I want to throw coffee mugs across the kitchen, craving the shattering of something that isn’t me.
My jaw clenches tight enough to ache as the scream lodged inside my throat attempts to force itself out of my mouth like a battering ram.
Dropping my face into my hands, I find the strength to hold back that roar, but I’m too weak to accomplish much else.
Tears soak my palms, my chest heaves with sobs, and my body trembles beneath the weight of it all.
I didn’t sleep at all. I absent-mindedly stared at the television for some undetermined amount of time before I couldn’t take it anymore.
I needed something. A distraction, a blunt, a fucking drink.
The surge in that craving was enough to get me off the couch and to the kitchen, attempting to make a cup of tea in hopes it’ll calm the urge.
Finally, the whistle of the kettle blows just as the front door slams, and the clash of sounds sends me spiraling.
I know rationally, I should stand up and remove the kettle from the burner, but instead, I just cover my ears and hope all the noise will diminish on its own.
“Elena?” The voice is muffled through the screaming and my covered ears, then a sudden silence sweeps over the house. “Elena,” he whispers, much closer now. “Look at me.”
My head lifts, and emerald eyes behind black-framed glasses come into view. His brows draw together as he tilts his head, a rogue chestnut curl falling into his face.
“You’re home sooner than I expected. I wasn’t going to leave a mess for you.”
“I don’t care about your mess.” He cups my cheeks with both hands, shaking his head. “Leo told me you left work early.”
I nod, swallowing. “Cramps.”
He gives me an unconvinced expression. “Have you started yet?”
I shake my head.
“So, it’s a flare-up?”
I nod again.
“They’re not always like this, are they?”
“Most months aren’t this bad, but this whole week I’ve…” I trail off as my emotion clogs my throat, tears erupting once again. “I’ve been fucking crazy, August. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me.”
“Shh.” He hushes me. “Nothing is wrong with you. You’re not crazy.” He brushes away the hair falling loose from the bun atop my head. “Can I touch you?”
I nod, and August slips his hands down my shoulders and beneath my arms, hauling me into him. I throw my hands around his neck, and he scoops beneath my ass, lifting us both as I hang off him like a fucking sack of potatoes.
“Wrap your legs around my waist, Little Vice.”
The low vibration of his voice rumbles against my neck, sending a blaze to my core. I know he didn’t mean it salaciously, but it doesn’t stop a surge of heat from flooding my body as I tighten my thighs around his hips.
He carries me out of the kitchen, but doesn’t start up the stairs the way I expected him to. He goes past the staircase, through the living room and the library, and straight into his room.
“What’re you doing?” I ask.
“You don’t have a tub in your bathroom, but I do.”
He nudges the bathroom door open with his shoulder, lowering me onto the edge of the tub.
I lift my head, blinking around the dark room.
It’s huge. A double-sink vanity with opulent mirrors sits across from me, with a standing shower and a toilet in the corner beside it.
I turn slightly toward the deep, oval tub.
Candles line the sides. August picks up a small wicker basket from the edge, sorting through bath bombs, salts, and soaps.
“You get a lot of company in this tub, Augustus?”
A smile tugs at his lips as he sets aside two candles, a bottle of bubble bath, and a small bag of salts. “Nope. Just you.” His eyes meet mine when he turns the faucet on, testing the temperature of the water. “You know I like baths, Elena.”
The heat in his gaze steals the breath from my lungs, memories flashing through my mind.
My old apartment on the harbor had a big, beautiful bathtub like this.
It was only a few short months that August and I spent wrapped in our secret love, but many of those nights together took place in that tub.
One night in San Francisco had been my favorite of them all.
It feels like a hundred different lifetimes have come and gone since that brief one we had the privilege of living inside. I wish we could’ve stayed in that life. I wish we’d never left that hotel room.
I wish I’d never left him at all.
August breaks eye contact, pouring a generous amount of soap into the water, followed by a shake of the salts. “Strip and get in,” he says. “I’ll be back with your tea and a lighter for the candles.” He stands, watching me expectantly, but I don’t move. “Do you need me to undress you too?”
Yes.
I shake my head.
He nods. “Want me to grab your e-reader?”
“No.” I sigh. “My eyes hurt, so I don’t feel like reading right now. Can you grab my laptop so I can watch something instead?”
“Sure.” He turns to walk out of the bathroom, leaving the door wide open. “Now, get naked for me, Little Vice.”
“Are you doing that on purpose?” I shout in his direction. “Saying things you know will turn me on?”
I only receive a deep, echoing laugh in return.
When August comes back a few minutes later, he’s holding a steaming mug of tea in one hand, with my laptop tucked beneath his other arm. I’m fully submerged in the near-full tub, bubbles covering the majority of my body.
I still have pain, but the muscle soreness I was experiencing on top of my cramps has faded substantially, and my headache has gone from full roar to dull throb. August sets everything down on the vanity counter and bends over to rummage through the cabinet below it.
He pulls out a long wooden tray and a small white pillow. The tray sits perfectly across the tub, resting on the edge of either side. August then motions for me to sit up as he slides the pillow between my back and the side of the tub.
“Damn.” I sigh, settling back. “You really do love baths.”
He laughs, setting my tea and my laptop on the tray before sitting on the edge of the tub. “They help with my panic attacks.”
“Panic attacks?” I ask. “How long have those been happening?”
He tilts his head, offering a sorry smile. The kind that tells me there is no point in answering. They’re another one of the many aftershocks from the earth-shaking catastrophe the two of us caused.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He shakes his head, dipping a hand into the water to run his fingers along my thigh. We’re both quiet for a moment, watching the water ripple past his hands as he brushes my skin. “I’m going to warm up some clothes for you in the dryer, then I’ll come back and check on you.”
“Lucky day for you to get off work early, huh?”
He gives me a bemused expression as he lifts off the tub. “I didn’t get off early. I left when Leo said you weren’t feeling well.”
“What?” I ask. “Why would you do that?”
“I know you don’t like your family seeing you like this.
” He leans against the door, crossing his arms. “I know I’m the only person you allow to take care of you.
Even though you don’t want to, I’m the person you trust to know what you need without you having to voice it. You need to be taken care of today.”
Those all-too-familiar black threads of guilt creep over my shoulders and slowly tie themselves around my throat.
I’ve been wrapped up in work, in my family—in August. I’ve started to forget all my sins.
I’ve forgotten the reason I shut myself out to begin with, the reason I didn’t allow myself the distractions of love, friendship, self-worth.
I’ve allowed myself to forget that I don’t deserve any of this.
“How many panic attacks—how many night terrors—have you experienced over the years that you had to handle on your own? That I wasn’t here to care for you?”
“And how many flare-ups did you go through on your own?” He swallows, rubbing a hand over the stars tattooed on his wrist. “You left me to crumble beneath the weight of my pain, but I see now that you forced yourself to suffer too.” He lifts his eyes to mine.
“I just want to know the why of it all.”