Chapter 14 #2
If the demons with pitchforks decide to burn through my head and make me vomit, when will it end?
In another five days, when we disembark?
Assuming Sebastien, or even the captain, doesn’t get me kicked off the ship before that time has passed.
How would I explain this to Matilda? She didn’t fit in and was bullied at her last two schools.
She has no father and much as she and her mother love each other, Katrina doesn’t understand Matilda’s passion for books.
How can Matilda be proud of someone like me, who—
‘Felicity.’ Sebastien waits until he has my attention. ‘I’ll tell you what to do. You do it.’
‘The weather is only going to get worse.’ Robin again. ‘Sebastien will take you to your cabin.’
When a demon pokes, I pull a hand free and push against my temple. I squeeze my eyes shut and then I nod.
Robin repeats encouraging words—you’re doing well, keep going, not far now—as I walk across the floor, one foot placed carefully in front of the other.
But when we reach the steps, I grab the handrail and freeze.
I have a legion of demons marching into my head, but there are many more waiting downstairs.
They’re opening their trapdoors or dungeons or wherever it is they keep their pitchforks and taking them out to check that they’re sharp.
They want to be ready to join their comrades.
‘No.’
After prising my hand free of the rail, Sebastien keeps hold of it, pulls me around to face him and takes my other hand. ‘Yes.’
He looked after me two nights ago and on the plane.
And as Robin said, he knows what he’s doing.
He’s focussed, confident, determined. His jaw is tight; his mouth is firm.
His chestnut eyes are bright. With the first tug, he pulls me off balance but rights me again before I take the first step. He walks backwards and I walk forward.
‘Eyes on me.’
Another step, another. ‘My head hurts.’
He stops on a landing. ‘You’re safe.’
Robin walks behind us. ‘Should I get the doctor?’
‘Flick?’ Sebastien squeezes my hands. ‘Do you want that?’
‘Will you stay with me?’
‘Yes.’
‘No doctor.’
Sebastien walks backwards all the way down the stairs and then along the corridor. Door. Light. Door. Light. Robin runs ahead and opens a door. There’s a bed, side table, desk and upright chair in my cabin. The porthole is surrounded by a broad metal frame studded with giant steel bolts and—
‘Keep your eyes on me.’ Sebastien, hands on my shoulders now, shakes gently. ‘You’re doing well.’
Two demons shove their pitchforks into the furnace. The pitchforks’ prongs aren’t fiery red yet, but it won’t be long.
‘Can I go to bed?’ My voice is a croak.
When Robin fumbles with my boot laces, Sebastien, after sitting me down, takes over. And, when I can’t undo the zipper on my hoodie, he takes over with that as well. He orders Robin to unpack my toiletries and night clothes.
‘These, Flick?’ Robin holds something up.
‘She doesn’t care.’
‘That’s all very well for you to say, but—’
‘Yes.’ I nod weakly. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’ll pop them at the end of the bed,’ Robin says. ‘How about a freshen up before you put them on? The bathroom is surprisingly spacious.’
I sit on a stool in the bathroom to strip off my jeans and T-shirt, and Robin turns on the taps in the shower.
‘I’ll dampen a hand towel,’ she says.
‘I’ll go in.’
The pressure is low but the stream of water is warm and, with Robin chatting as she lays out my toothbrush, toothpaste, hair brush and underwear, I do my best to ignore the movement of the ship and the sounds of the engine.
I try to imagine I’m in a hotel room or in the cramped staff accommodation at Martin’s thoroughbred stud or in university student accommodation or even one of the rooms advertised as a bedroom in the rentals I lived in as a child but were really a tiny study or nook.
I don’t trust myself to stand upright for long because the demons roasting their pitchforks have malevolent expressions and a lot of demon friends.
After pulling on underpants and a crop top, I wrap a towel around my body and walk shakily back to the bedroom. My hair is wet on my back.
Sebastien grasps my arm. ‘Sit.’
The bed, wider than a single but narrower than a double, has a navy and white bedcover and three plump pillows. There’s a mirror above the side table and an upright chair behind the desk. The porthole glass is inky black and—
‘Lisse.’ A tug as Sebastien traps my gaze and lowers me onto the bed. ‘You’re safe.’
He values the truth. He wouldn’t lie. Would he?
When the ship rolls on a wave, Robin, arms out, pitches forward and holds onto the bed. ‘Goodness.’
Sebastien looks up sharply. ‘Do you need help?’
‘No, but …’ As the ship rights itself, Robin grimaces. ‘I think I should lie down.’
‘I’ll sleep in your room to be closer to Flick. Mine is 222. Take your bag there.’
There were two demons at the front of the pack but now there are four. I put my head in my hands, rock forward then back again.
‘If I can sleep …’
The bathroom light goes on then off again. The bed dips. Sebastien loosens the towel and, assuredly but carefully, rubs my hair. He threads his fingers through the strands before twisting them into a ponytail and wrapping a band around it.
‘Can you talk?’ I say. ‘It helped when Robin talked.’
He finds my pyjamas, pale blue and printed with silver stars and moons. ‘There’s a storm.’
‘More.’
‘Southerly winds. Ten metre waves.’ He pulls the pyjama top over my head and shoulders and then, as I thread my arms through the sleeves, he pushes the towel down to my waist. He finds my hands and holds them. ‘Lisse? Open your eyes.’
There are eight demons now, sitting around the furnace. I open my eyes. His eyes are darker than usual.
‘Match my breaths.’
I follow the movement of his chest as he inhales and exhales.
Then, once he’s confident that I can breathe on my own, he slips pyjama pants over my feet before pulling them to my thighs and, after he eases me upright, over my bottom.
When he steps away to throw the towel onto the bathroom floor, I teeter and he grabs my arm, supporting me as I sit.
I lie down and curl up, press my head into the pillows.
‘It hurts.’
His knee creaks when he kneels by the side of the bed and rubs my back through the covers.
‘Breathe, Lisse.’
The demons have settled around the furnace in rows but the flashing lights aren’t as bright as they were. The ship tilts to the right. Wouldn’t it be easier to be afraid of hitting a whale or an iceberg and sinking to the bottom of the ocean instead of being locked up and—
‘Exhale.’ His hand stills on my back then slides to my shoulder. ‘Inhale.’
‘I forget.’
‘I’ll remind you.’
‘You can’t stay there all night.’ Shivering, I wrap my arms around my middle.
When he stands and yanks his jumper over his head, I miss his touch, the certainty of it. But soon enough he’s back.
‘This is wool,’ he says as he gives me his jumper. ‘I want you to put it on.’
I’m not sure whether my shivering is attributable to cold or shock, but it’s more sensible to do what he asks than not, so I sit and pull the jumper over my head. I bunch the cuffs over my hands to warm my fingers.
‘Thank you.’
‘Move over.’
As I shuffle to the edge of the bed, he props up two pillows and leans against them. Somehow, we both fit.
‘Give me your hand.’
I settle myself on the pillows and shift my hand on the covers.
He puts his hand over it. ‘You sleep on your side, yes?’
‘Yes.’
When he leans in, his hair flops over his forehead. ‘Breathe, Lisse,’ he says quietly. ‘Sleep.’
‘No!’ I thrash against the sheets. ‘No!’
Sebastien leans over me. ‘I’m here.’ His voice is sleepy. He squeezes my hand. ‘You’re safe.’
I push a finger against my temple. ‘What time is it?’
He lifts his arm and his watch lights up. ‘One o’clock.’
‘Did I have a panic attack?’
‘No.’ Even in the shadows, I see his frown. ‘You slept.’
‘That’s good, isn’t it?’
Silence.
‘Are you angry?’
He leans back against the pillows—not sitting, not lying down, something in between. ‘What else don’t I know?’
‘I panic if I can’t get out. I have nightmares.’
‘Yes.’
The ship dips and rights itself. ‘Do you ever get seasick?’
‘No.’
‘You can say a whole speech without notes, so why do you converse in monosyllables?’
A slight hesitation. Then, with a sigh, he turns onto his side to face me. ‘You feel well?’
I turn the cuffs on my jumper. His jumper. ‘Yes.’
‘Go back to sleep, Lisse.’
‘Why do you call me that?’
‘You now call me Sebastien.’