“No, I’m glad you did,” I say, moving closer, bridging the divide he’s trying to create. “We tell each other everything. Right?”
He nods, but I can sense his mistrust. I’m slowly losing him … or maybe he’s already gone.
“I love you so much, Lucas, and I always want you to tell me the truth. There are people who can help you—medicines to stop the voices.”
“No!” The piercing quality of his voice startles me. He pushes off the couch and begins to pace, eyes wild, hands grasping at his hair. “You can’t tell anyone, Celia. No one can ever know about this.”
“Please, calm down. It’s okay, just calm down. I want to help you—”
“By sending me away? Because that’s what they’ll do,” he says, charging back toward me, grasping me by the shoulders. “No one can know about this. You have to promise me, Celia.”
“No one’s going to send you away. Why would you think that?” I try to keep my voice even and soft, hoping my calm will soothe him.
“I don’t think it … I know it. Everyone will think I’m crazy, Celia. I’m not c-cr-crazy,” he stutters, as unshed tears glisten in his eyes.
I wrap my arms around his waist and drag him closer. Unable to watch him crumble, I bury my head in his chest like the coward I am.
“I know that. I would never think that,” I say, my words muffled by his shirt.
Time passes in timid silence, and Lucas’s breathing slows considerably, his heart stops pounding uncontrollably, but neither of us budges. I feel his breath lightly blowing the strands of my hair, tickling the rim of my ear.
“This is our secret, Celia. You have to promise me.” He squeezes me tightly, holding on with all his might. I hope he’s clinging on to us, the love we have, but I think he’s grasping for a reality that no longer exists instead. “Promise me you won’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”
At first glance, it seems I have a choice to make. I either keep his secret and try my damnedest to protect him by myself … or what? Break his trust and have him shut me out of his life? I can’t help him if he pushes me away, and his mother’s recent state of denial tells me she’s not up for the job. The decision is made for me.
I’ll always choose Lucas.
I grasp the back of his neck and bring his forehead to mine, wishing I could leech out the sickness that torments him. His shuddering breaths bounce between us, and his watery eyes slay me.
“I promise you,” I whisper. “I promise, Lucas.”
And those few words are the beginning of the end. The cold, steely chains grip me, bind me, tie me. Each word, every vow, anchors me to this path of destruction.
I promise.
I promise.
I promise…
“Bright” by Echosmith
Present Day
I SEE THE tiniest twitch of her nose and perk up at the first sign of life. Celia hasn’t moved a single muscle since I dumped her into bed last night, as far as I can tell. If it wasn’t for the slight rise and fall of her chest, I’d call 9-1-1, hollering “Dead fairy, dead fairy!”
I stayed longer than I should have last night, watching her from across the room to make sure she was okay. No, I’m not a creeper; I’m a fabulous fucking friend. Friends don’t let friends drown in their own vomit. I didn’t enjoy it … not one bit, I swear.
Mr. Biscuit, my dog and trusty sidekick, is perched on my knee, body shaking and tail twitching. He’s waiting for my okay to pounce, and I release his collar. He bounds across the room and hoists himself on the edge of the bed while slathering Celia’s face in doggie kisses. When she rouses, I tap my knee, signaling him to return to me. He hops back into my lap and swipes his tongue across my cheek before curling into a furry ball of barely contained energy.
I snatched Mr. Biscuit from my apartment early this morning when I hurried home to grab a shower and get a couple hours of sleep. I have plans for Celia today, and I know he’ll enjoy the day, too. Plus, chicks love guys with dogs. I’m not above using the hound for my gain. I know he would approve.
Celia’s eyes creak open to tiny slits, little dimes turned sideways, as she whips her head back and forth. She immediately thinks better of it as she grips her head and groans in pain.
“Don’t worry, he’s gone. Mr. Biscuit and I chased him away,” I say with a chuckle.
“Huh? Chased who away?” she asks, lifting slightly on her hands and turning to me. She looks confused by my presence, but not necessarily mad about it. I’ll take that as a good sign.
“The raccoon that left the fur coat on your teeth.”
“Ugh. I do have a fur coat on my teeth.” Her lips curl in disgust as she tries to swallow down the cottonmouth I know she’s sporting. “And who’s Mr. Biscuit?”
He barks at her question, tail shaking in excitement. I tap his butt, and he pushes off my leg to meet her.
“Go easy on her, Biz, she’s in a fragile state.”
He lets out a bark in response, and Celia clutches her head and groans. As my hound rains kisses and licks across her face, it doesn’t take long for the groan to morph into giggles.
“I must say, Cain, this is not the dog I pictured for you. St. Bernard, Great Dane? Sure. You don’t strike me as a Jack Russell man.” She scratches behind Biz’s ears, and he flips over, legs up, belly on full display. He’s such a whore.
I prop my ankle on my knee and a fist on my temple, settling into the chair, eyes on Celia. “I don’t require an enormous dog to prove my manhood. That goes without saying, darlin’. Jack Russells are extremely intelligent. I need a dog that can match my quick wit.”
A bit of spunk returns to Celia as she shoots me a grin. “Did I hear you say nitwit?”
“And she’s back,” I say with a smile, beating back the tug on my heart. “Glad to hear it, because I have big plans for us today.”
She stops scratching Biz’s belly and cocks her head at me. “What if I already have plans?”
“Cancel ‘em.” I watch her intently, not wanting to be the first to break eye contact, willing her to go along for the ride with me.
Biz paws at her hand and whimpers, begging shamelessly. She brings her attention back to him, rubbing his belly while she coos at him. “Okay,” she whispers softly.
“Then it’s settled.” I slap my hands on my knees and rise up. “Biz and I will wait for you in the living room.”
“Wait,” she says, only now looking down at her fully clothed body. “I’m assuming you brought me to bed, so thank you. Did you … stay?”
I wave a dismissive hand, hoping to downplay the entire thing and wipe away the embarrassment I see forming in her expression. “Nah, I made sure you were safe and sound, then headed home. I had to round up the hound for our adventure, anyway. I knew he’d want to tag along.”
“I-I’m really sorry about last night, Cain. The whole thing—getting locked out, acting like a blubbering idiot.” She’s quiet for a few moments, but it’s obvious she isn’t finished. “Sometimes it just becomes too much.”
“What becomes too much?” I’m hoping for a sliver, just a tiny glimpse into who she is … what she’s endured.
“The sorrow,” she admits with lowered lashes. “The sorrow and the … the helplessness. I just needed a night to feel sorry for myself. I’m sorry you had to see it.”
“Don’t ever apologize for needing a time out with me. I’ll unlock your door, wipe your tears, carry you to bed, anytime … every time,” I say. I sense the clouds creeping in, so I opt for a change in mood. “That’s what friends are for, right, Tink?”