16. Flick
Flick
Sebastian is at his conference and I’m not working at Knit Happens today, so I decide to walk to the coffee shop for a cup of tea.
I need to finish up some dyeing before the Chronic Pain Crafters group this evening, but first, I need to stretch my legs and get out of the house.
The bell above the coffee shop door jingles as I step inside, a welcome blast of warmth chasing away the late autumn chill.
The smell of roasted beans and cinnamon surrounds me, and for the first time all day, I feel a sliver of calm.
“Hey, Flick!” Grace, the barista, waves from behind the counter. “Your usual?”
“Hi, Grace.” I smile, setting my purse on the counter. “Yes, please.”
“One decaf earl grey coming right up.” She grabs a to-go cup and writes my name on it.
I look around while waiting. Because it’s the middle of the day, the place is quieter than usual—just a few people hunched over laptops.
My eyes settle on someone at a table by the window.
They’re dressed in a black hoodie, face partially obscured by the brim of a baseball cap.
Something about them makes my stomach twist and my anxiety spike.
I tell myself it’s nothing. Plenty of people wear hoodies and baseball caps, especially when the weather is chilly. They’re not even looking at me. I’m just hyper-aware right now because of the messages and package.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I hope it’s Sebastian. I want an update on how the conference is going and need a distraction from my anxious thoughts. I pull out my phone and look at the screen. It’s a text from an unknown number:
Nice choice. I’ll have to try the earl grey next time.
I freeze, immediately glancing toward the window where the person in the hoodie had been sitting. They’re gone. The chair is pushed back like they left in a hurry. A chill runs down my spine.
“Here you go, Flick.” Grace sets the to-go cup on the counter, snapping my attention away from the window.
“Thank you.” My voice comes out as barely a whisper.
I grab my cup and walk outside, scanning the street for any sign of the mystery person.
Nothing. I don’t know what I would do if I saw them anyway.
I need to call Sebastian, even though he’s hours away.
I just need to hear his voice. Hopefully he’s not giving his presentation or busy with other things.
The phone rings three times. “Hey! I was just thinking about you. What’s up?”
I take a shaky breath. “Sebastian...” I trail off, trying to compose myself.
“Flick, are you okay?” Concern laces his voice.
“No... they were here... at the coffee shop. They sent me a message about my order and then left.”
His tone turns urgent. “Are you still at the coffee shop? I need you to go back to your house right now and lock the door, okay? I’m going to stay on the phone with you until you get there.”
I nod, even though he can’t see me, and hug my warm tea to my chest. The street suddenly feels too quiet and too empty.
But Sebastian’s calming presence on the other end gives me courage to start walking.
My quick breathing clouds in the cold air as I walk but I don’t slow down.
I’m not running, but I am walking at a determined pace.
Halfway home, a car’s engine rumbles to life behind me.
I turn, heart pounding, just in time to see a dark sedan pull away from the curb.
Was it them? Or just a random person?
I ask Sebastian how the conference is going to distract myself from the feeling of being watched.
He tells me a funny story about one of the other presentations.
By the time I get home, my heart has slowed to a healthy rate despite the pace of my walk, and I’m even able to smile a little at the childhood stories he’s telling me to keep my mind off what just happened.
“Okay, I’m home.” I tell him once I’m inside.
“All locked in?”
“Yes, all doors and windows are locked and the cameras are on.”
“Good. I’m so sorry I’m not there with you, Flick.”
I chuckle. “Sebastian, you have a job and a life. Don’t apologize for not being at my beck and call 24/7. Besides, I have dyeing to do and then the Chronic Pain Crafters group tonight. I’ll be just fine.”
“Okay.” He sighs. “But I still wish I was there.”
“Me too,” I admit softly.
“Be careful, and check the cameras before leaving your house, please. And call me—or the police—if anything else happens.”
“I will.” I promise before ending the call.
I take a deep, calming breath. Everything is fine. But my gut tells me this isn’t over yet.
“Sorry, I can’t make it tonight,” I type into the Chronic Pain Crafters message thread.
Immediately, bubbles appear as Maya types. “Oh no! Are you not feeling well?”
It’s a common event, of course—one of us skipping a crafting meetup because we’re having a flare or feeling more under the weather than usual. I’m good about pushing through, though, and unless I literally can’t move because I’m in pain, I always make it to our get-togethers.
“No, just busy,” I type back. “I’m only halfway through with this dye lot, and I need to get it all up and drying tonight.” Plus, after what happened at the coffee shop today, I’m not in the mood to leave my house.
As I finish the text, the knuckles on my right hand start to ache. I wince and put the phone in my apron pocket. Some heat would probably do my joints good right now, but I don’t really have time for that. Not with this order to finish and emails piling up.
Putting on some music, I get back to work on soaking this lot. Cat comes into the kitchen, a tinsel ball in her mouth. She drops it on the floor and bats at it.
I chuckle at her, this little kitten that seems to have doubled in size since I found her under that bush. Maybe Sebastian is right. Maybe she is my cat.
I mean, I’m glad he hasn’t found a home for her yet... And I kind of don’t ever want him to.
Both of my hands start aching, and I take them out of the water to warm them in a towel. It doesn’t do anything to help, though, and an additional pain flashes through my chest.
“Shit.” I hiss, bent over the sink.
No, no, no. This can’t be happening.
And yet it is. My hands are so stiff I can’t even move them, and the pain in my chest is taking my breath away. I’m having both an arthritis flare and a pericarditis episode.
I turn away from the sink, trying to remember where my heating pad is. When did I last use it? While falling asleep on the couch last night?
No. It was?—
Another jolt of pain seizes my chest, powerful enough to make me cry out. Cat looks at me with big eyes and runs out of the room.
That’s right. The heating pad is in my bedroom. And all my hot water bottles are in other rooms.
Rooms there’s no way in hell I can make it to.
Rendered immobile by the pain, I slide my back down the cabinets until I’m on the floor. Tears fill my eyes, which I squeeze shut.
Okay, I’ve been here before. I can make it through this.
Except this is different. The rheumatoid arthritis combined with the pericarditis brings this pain to a whole new level. And here I am, on my kitchen floor, as helpless as a newborn baby.
There’s no way around it. I need help.
I could call Hannah, but this isn’t how I want her to find out about the pericarditis. If only my parents were here.
Which is a crazy thought. They can be so overbearing; it’s one of the reasons I don’t live in the same state as them. And I’d have to tell them everything if they were nearby.
Right now, though, I just want someone to take care of me. No. Not want. Need .
Gasping in pain, I reach my stiff hand into my apron pocket and pull out my phone. It’s so much less embarrassing to send a text, but my fingers won’t let that happen.
And so, I call Sebastian instead.
As it rings, I hold my breath. He won’t be back from his vet conference until tomorrow, and I know there’s a good chance he won’t be able to answer, but I just want to hear his voice. I want to know that I’m not as alone in the world as I feel right now.
“Hey, you.” He answers, that deep voice a tonic that, for a brief moment, takes all the pain away.
“Hey.” My voice cracks over the word, and I close my eyes in shame.
“Flick?” Concern floods the line. “What’s wrong? What is it? Did they contact you again?”
“No... I just...” I sniffle. “I’m having a flare, and I wanted to talk to someone. I’m sorry. I know you’re at your conference. I can?—”
“No, I’m not. I’m driving home.”
“You...” A searing wave of pain steals my next inhale. “Are?”
“I left the conference early. Two nights was more than enough. I didn’t want to be away any longer. I wanted to see you. I just didn’t call because—I don’t know... I didn’t want to seem desperate or overbearing.”
I let out a half sob, half laugh that racks my chest and takes the pain up another notch. “That’s how I felt calling.”
He chuckles. “Maybe we should stop pretending then, huh, and just show how we really feel?”
“Maybe.” I murmur, in too much pain to say much else.
“I’m an hour and a half away. What do you need? I’ll come right there.”
I look around the kitchen, everything too far away for me to reach. Cat is in the doorway playing with a piece of paper, her earlier fear of me forgotten.
“Just for you to come here.” I whisper.
“I’m already driving as fast as I can.”
“Don’t get a ticket.” I blink back tears. “Or crash.”
“I’ll be careful. And I’ll be there soon. I promise. Everything will be okay.”
“Okay.” I murmur back. “See you soon.”
I hang up before he has any more time to notice just how hard it is for me to talk. If he knew the amount of pain I was in, he would probably drive dangerously fast.
Putting the phone down, I eye the radiator a few yards away.
Knowing Sebastian is on his way gives me a boost of energy, and so I half crawl, half slide my way across the kitchen floor.
Pain rockets through my body, and I cry out more than once, but I finally make it to the cast-iron tubes.
Leaning my back against their warmth, I close my eyes and work on taking slow breaths.
Cat climbs onto my legs and makes her mini biscuits on my jeans. Though I want to reach over and pet her, even that is too hard.
“Good Cat.” I whisper. “Don’t tell Sebastian I said this... but I’m glad you’re here.”