Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
BENJAMIN
Icould still smell her.
I don’t know how.
She used the vanilla and lavender washes that I used. But underneath that there was the smell of her. And it was everywhere in the house.
Before now, even this much would have set me on edge, but with her it felt different.
“Ben?” I refocused on Alex from where he sat opposite me, leaning forwards in what was our father’s old office chair.
“Yes. That’s fine.”
He frowned. “What did I say?”
“There are more storms on the way. The windows are needed for the orangery. You need to go to the manor. Will I be okay here?” I repeated the gist of the conversation and his frown intensified.
“‘Yes that’s fine’ to which part?” He tried to catch my eyes, not wanting me to look away.
“All the above. The windows are almost completely treated. The glass is separate; you will need to take a toboggan.” I halted, thinking. “Two separate hauls ideally. The new frames and glass will need moving separately if you don’t want to damage them.”
Alex growled, the frustration he often hid from me was harder to smother at the moment. It was Isabelle, but I didn’t understand his issue.
He schooled his features, wrestling down his emotions to level a calmer gaze. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, Alex.” I shrugged. His anger at Isabelle the other evening, even lashing out at Seb, was out of character, and he was assigning me as the central focus of his concern so I refused to add to his worries.
“You’d tell me if you weren’t?” He looked so concerned.
“Alex. I’m okay.” Truthfully I was. Although there was a current of tension running under my skin. One that, based on experience, would come out sooner or later. Either through a healthy release, or infused into an episode.
But come out, it would.
“We need to replace the belt on the generator. And the diesel will last to the end of this storm but then we need more.” I moved the conversation on.
He didn’t speak for a moment, jaw flexing. When he finally did speak, it was quietly. “Didn’t we just replace that?”
Ah, he was worried about money too.
“No, Alex. We recently replaced the voltage regulator.” When this didn’t soothe him I offered him platitudes.
While they weren’t typically in my nature, I knew they helped others.
Sometimes. “But it’s unlikely we will need the generator so much when the snow thaws and the lines are restored.
If they fail like this every year, we will soon have entirely new lines to the cottage so maybe we won’t need the generator at all. ”
His huff was lighter but unconvinced.
As if on cue, the power dropped. Again.
I’d been waiting for this.
I stood and he didn’t stop me, retreating back outside to the now hushed generator room.
Flicking off the switch on the gently whining machine, I removed the cover panel on autopilot. If I had to bet, the belt had slipped and the output dropped. I could do enough to get it running properly.
Reaching inside the panel, my fingers brushed over the hot components and I hissed at the pain. Careless, Ben. I shook it off, completing the work to stabilise the motor.
Huffing, I switched the engine back on and the thrum of machinery filled the space once more. It didn’t sound great, but it was working.
Looking to my hands, I realised my fingertips were now stained with grease and I puffed out a breath.
I couldn’t stand dirt on my fingers. But similarly, I abhorred gloves of any kind. Leather was too constricting, quality aside, rubber sweated, plastic, I couldn’t even get started on plastic gloves, even the thought of the material had me shuddering.
Reaching to secure the panel, I felt the sharp prick of metal through my sweatshirt and in my haste to disentangle from whatever was digging into me I heard the telltale devastation of tearing fabric.
Horror rose through my chest, surging up from my stomach until I had to physically swallow it back down.
My skin pricked with heat. The tension that coiled under my skin tested the restraints I had it under, joining the new coursing emotions until my breath was stolen from my lungs.
All available space in my body becoming overrun with primal panic.
I looked for something to focus on, to hold. Tightening my grip on the wrench I carried, the smooth and square edges dug into my skin. The sensation easing a sliver of the panic. I fisted it and identified the next task.
Replace the panel.
Lifting it one-handed, I eased my hold on the tool spinning it and beginning to tighten the bolts until that task was done.
Next, I needed to take the tools back to the workshop.
I could do that.
Gathering them and making my way carefully outside, over to the barn, and inside.
I focused on replacing the items exactly where they belonged. The reassurance of every item being where it needed to be held the wave of pressure at bay.
Surrendering the final wrench to its home, I looked at my palm. The dark pink almost circle shape of the tool embedded into my skin. Shame formed a heavy fog, falling over me to meet the advancing waves of overwhelm.
I knew the moment they met I would have an episode.
Tinkling laughter echoed outside. Izzy and Seb’s voices growing louder.
No. Nope. Not now.
I dug my fingers under my glasses and into my eyes, the pressure painful and another doomed attempt to keep it all under control. I hissed in irritation as the oil slick on my fingers transferred to my face.
Tearing my damned hands from my face I scrubbed my skin with my jumper, glasses driven up onto the top of my head and into my mess of fair hair – one of the last reminders of my biological parents.
The door creaked inwards and they both stalled, their smiles falling from their faces.
Seb pulled them both over the threshold properly and secured the door blocking the gusts of bitter cold air from stealing the warmth of the space.
“Ben?” Seb curved an arm around Izzy, drawing her softly towards me, her features written with a blend of concern and discomfort.
I grimaced, resuming scrubbing at my skin.
The sound of crockery on my work surface caused me to pause in my frantic movements. Izzy had placed a plate of turnovers onto the counter, the smell finally reached through my daze.
“Benji?” Seb hadn’t moved any closer, but he watched me.
Normally I appreciated how well attuned he was to my moods, my needs, but right now it irritated me.
I knew, so his knowing made no palpable difference.
“Seb, I know.” I infused a warning into my voice.
“Okay…” he tried to encourage more from me but I didn’t really have the ability to vocalise it. Or perhaps the will to.
I tore the glasses from my hair and threw them down. “I’m having a tough day.”
“Okay. And how do you want to manage it?”
I scowled at him. “Don’t therapise me, Seb.”
“I’m not, I am asking what you need. Because you know what you need.” He rested his palms on the counter leaning towards me, his face expectant.
“I…” I stalled. I should damned well know by now. I’d lived with this for years so I should be capable, surely, of de-escalating.
“Stop that.” Seb rounded the workbench and leaped up to sit on its worn surface, so lithe despite his size.
I scowled at him. He read my thoughts better than I could.
“Either, there is something worrying you, which we can talk through, or you’re over-stimulated and need to reset. Those are two of the fastest ways to de-escalate. How close are we?” His eyes that were always so empathetic were creased in concern.
“We?” I snipped, knowing instantly that my attitude was unfair. I grimaced, but Seb just smiled. “Sorry.”
Izzy shifted and I tracked her movement now.
She wanted to leave. I could tell. This made her uncomfortable.
I made her uncomfortable.
I fucking knew I would.
“Should I leave you to it?” Dirt scuffed under her boots with her retreating shuffling. “You guys could do with space.”
“Not from you, Killer.” Seb didn’t turn to her but the confidence in his voice had her pause and she tilted her head at me for confirmation.
The loose braid she wore over her shoulder had stray strands reaching in every direction, her worried eyes looked a warm brown in the filtered light.
She was back in her massive tracksuit which made me smile.
But her top wasn’t torn like mine was and I frowned at that, before clocking the slashes over the knees.
Some tension left me as I looked at them.
When no-one else spoke, Seb picked back up the thread. “So, anything we need to discuss?”
I shook my head.
“Are we defaulting to a sensory distraction or more in the vein of reducing input?”
Always so goddamned clinical.
“Distraction.” Shutting myself away would only have me spiralling further, a guaranteed meltdown.
“Apple turnovers?” Izzy was smiling tentatively. She’d returned to the baked goods on the workbench and lifted the plate in offering. “The sugar might help too?” The hope in her voice was beyond adorable.
“I think we can offer him something sweeter than pastry.” Seb reached for Izzy and she took his hand without hesitation, allowing him to tug her around the table and in front of him where he tucked her between his legs.
She twisted to look at him and he placed a feather soft kiss on her mouth before taking hold of her jaw and turning her to face me.
“Why don’t you have some sugar, Benji?” As always Seb managed to infuse a sense of utter debauchery into his words. It was a skill of his and it never failed to get a reaction from me.
I hesitated for a fraction of a second before I closed the distance, pulling up just short of where Seb’s knees bracketed her small form.
Her pupils had dilated slightly, reacting to the body contact from Seb and the innuendo he was selling. My eyes caught on her lips, pale pink and full, they tilted into a small, shy smile.
Seb’s fingers released her jaw, his index finger seeking her lower lip and dancing gently across it earning a small gasp from her, I felt a kick of arousal when I saw her tongue dart out to run over the pad, earning her a dark chuckle from Seb.