by Lacey Alpha
I drift behind him, my chest constricting the higher we rise towards daylight. This doesn't make any sense. It must be to do with his anxiety. If only he'd talk to me, maybe I could help.
“Ethan?” I halt him at the top of the stairs, taking my bag from him and shouldering it.
I try to catch his eyes and he frowns as he meets my gaze. I can see pain in his expression as he continues to look, doing it just for me.
I know then that he does care. But this pain inside him is holding him back.
He grimaces, turning away from me, looking ill. “I can't look at you, I'm sorry.”
I go to say something, trying not to be offended, trying to ignore the jolt in my stomach and the ice freezing my heart.
“Okay,” I breathe then I walk away, determinedly and without a word.
I head straight home, my chest compressing and compressing as I practically jog down the road.
I had to get out of there. The way he looked at me, like he's disgusted by me, it cut right to my core.
I desperately want to be strong enough for this. For him. He needs help. And I'm going to give it to him.
There was no explaining, I just fled. Maybe I should have said something, maybe I should have told him what I was thinking. But I was so compelled to do something that I just – ran.
My dad's words ring in my ears. There's one of two things you can do when faced with a problem in life: you can slip quietly away without a sound, or you can do something spectacular with what you've got.
I rush up into my flat, barely slowing as my neighbour Mr Lark exits his apartment.
“Sorry!” I squeak, nearly knocking him over as I fly by.
I hurry into my flat, dropping my bag before running to the desk in my room and fishing out my old university notes. I thumb through them, finding the essay I wrote on how to treat phobias.
I carry it to my bed, sinking onto the edge and curling my knees up beneath me.
I make some notes on my phone, figuring out a way to tackle Ethan's issue. He can do this. He can get past it. I'm certain.
When I'm done, I scroll onto his number, readying to call him. Before I can, my phone rings.
It's my mum.
I raise my brows, lifting it to my ear as I answer.
“Hi Mum, how are you?”
She's quiet for a moment then takes a rattling breath. “Darling, you need to come to St Thomas's Hospital.”
My heart races, my palms sweating. I clutch the phone tighter. “What? Why?”
“It's your father, Annalise. I'm afraid he's- he's-”
“What?” I demand, my hands trembling with terror.
“He's had a heart attack.”
⊱✿ ✿⊰
I arrive at the hospital, my body shaking as I ask the receptionist for directions.
A few minutes later, I halt outside the room, gazing through the window. My mum is sitting beside a hospital bed, hiding my dad from view.
I take a slow breath, readying myself for this.
My phone buzzes in my pocket but I ignore it, stepping into the room.
Mum turns around, her blue eyes bright and watery, the only sign that she's rattled. The rest of her his fixed to perfection, her short blonde hair styled in place, her plum lipstick painted on her lips.
She takes my hand, squeezing and guiding me closer to the bed.
Dad smiles weakly at me, his eyes creasing at the corners. The sheets are tucked around him, exaggerating his large belly.
He's always been such a rock to me, such an unbreakable strength that never seemed capable of crumbling.
“Dad,” my voice breaks and I fall onto the bed, taking his hand and dropping my head to his chest.
“I'm alright, darling,” he says softly, stroking my hair.
But I don't think he is. His skin is so pale, his hands cool to the touch.
“That's enough, Annalise. Don't smother him,” my mother insists, drawing me away.
I sniff, tears leaking from my eyes. I want to be strong for him, like he has always been for me, but I'm incapable of it, my world breaking apart.
“We had quite the shock,” Mum explains, picking a piece of lint from her skirt. “Had to take an emergency flight back to England. The Italian authorities organised it all - very nice people – after he was recovered enough in the hospital, we were flown home, first class no less.”
I can't draw my eyes from Dad's sallow cheeks, his hollow eyes. Her words worm their way into my mind, jolting me out of my shock. “Wait – how long ago was this?”
“Two days ago,” Mum says offhandedly.
“Two days?!” I bark. “Why didn't you tell me?”
“Oh darling, we didn't want to worry you. We knew you were away this weekend and didn't want to spoil your fun.”
I frown, my head pounding. “How could you keep this from me?”
Dad reaches for me and his expression tugs at my heart strings. I soften, trying to calm down, not wanting to cause him any stress.
“Don't be petulant, Annalise. It doesn't become you,” Mum says in a haughty voice. That woman thinks she's the bloody Queen sometimes.
I scowl, folding my arms.
“Do you want the doctors to see you like this? There's a couple of nice-looking ones around. You should try smartening yourself up a bit.”
I glare at her in disbelief. “How can you think about hooking me up with men, now?”
“Please don't fight, girls,” Dad says in a soft, placating voice.
Mum sighs, reaching for his hand. “You're upsetting your father.”
I stand, furious that she's accusing me of causing the issue.
My dad gives me a small smile over her shoulder, silently telling me to let it go. My shoulders drop heavily. “Can I get you something? Tea, coffee?”
“Your father's had a heart attack! He can't have caffeine.” Her preened eyebrows fly upwards at me and I set my jaw in silence, heeding my dad's wishes.
“Something else then,” I say through gritted teeth.
“A juice, please,” Dad says and I nod, heading out the door before my mother can say anything more.
I walk to the cafeteria downstairs, buying a couple of bottles of juice. My phone buzzes again and I take it out, finding Ethan calling.
I don't know if I can handle this right now. But part of me longs to speak with him.
Frowning, I hold the phone to my ear and answer, pressing the button to call the lift.
“Hi,” I say, my voice weak, the world weighing heavily on me.
“Lise...can we talk?”
“I can't right now, Ethan.” I sigh, my heart beginning to break open again as I step into the lift.
He pauses and I blink back tears, the fear of losing my father hitting me hard.
“Is everything okay?” he asks, evidently sensing my mood.
“No,” my voice breaks and the tears spill over, sailing down my cheeks. I sob, clutching the bottles of juice to my chest, unable to breathe.
“Shit, what's wrong?” he asks, his voice strained.
“It's my dad. He's had a heart attack, I'm at the hospital.”
“Fuck...Lise. I'm so sorry.”
I bite down on my trembling lower lip, trying to fight the emotion in my chest, cramming it into a box.
“Which hospital?”
“St Thomas's,” I breathe, gaining a hold on myself.
“I'll come meet you,” he suggests and the idea makes my chest swell.
“Really?”
“Yes, I'm on my way.”
I hang up as the lift doors open and take in a shuddering breath.
I can do this.
ETHAN
I hurry into the hospital, taking out my phone and texting Annalise.
I'm here. Where are you?
I don't know if I should have offered to come. But I was compelled to see her, to make sure she's alright. I don't have any family, I have no idea what she's going through. But if I can offer anything to her, I'm here to give
it.
She appears down the corridor, her pace quickening as she spots me. I freeze, not knowing how to act. Not knowing what's appropriate. The last time I saw her she was running away from me.
She jogs the last few feet to me, throwing her arms around my neck. I crush her against me, tugging her waist flush to mine. I kiss her temple, my heart beating faster.
“Thank you for coming,” she says into my shirt, her voice small.
“Are you alright?”
What a stupid fucking question.
“Not really,” she whispers.
My gut churns.
I'm not cut out for this.
She tiptoes, nuzzling her cheek against mine. I stroke her hair, just holding her and hoping it's enough.
“Annalise?” a woman's voice sounds and she springs away from me.
I meet the blue gaze of an older woman, her short blonde hair tucked carefully behind her ears, her lipstick a deep plum colour.
I raise my brows, glancing at Annalise for an introduction.
“Ethan, this is my mum. Mum...this is Ethan.” Annalise gazes between us, frowning.
Oh shit. I doubt she wanted to introduce me to her mother. I glance down at my clothes, wishing I'd changed into something other than the joggers and t-shirt I wore on the flight.
Her mother's eyes flick up and down me in a flash. And I know with an absolute certainty that I've not passed the test.
“And what are you to my daughter, Ethan?” she asks, smiling warmly but I sense a warning tone to her voice.
Shit. How do I answer that? We haven't exactly defined the relationship. And I'm not able to give Annalise any commitment. I'm her fucking stalker for Christ's sake. This is so fucked up.
Annalise steps in, saving me. “We're seeing each other.”
“Why didn't you tell me you were seeing someone?” her mother demands, her eyes scorching as she gazes over me again. I don't pass that test, either.
I try to swallow the lump in my throat. This woman sees me exactly as I am: unworthy of her daughter.
Annalise shrugs, moving closer, her shoulder rubbing mine.
“Well...what do you do, Ethan?”
Oh fuck.
Tell her what a loser you are.
“I'm, er...unemployed.” I hunch my shoulders, feeling smaller and smaller by the second.
I shouldn't be here.
Fucking waste of good oxygen, you are.
“Hm,” she says simply, seemingly losing interest in me. “Well, now isn't the best time for introductions I'm afraid. My husband is lying in a hospital bed.”
“Mum,” Annalise says through her teeth. “I asked him here.”
“And do you really think that was appropriate, darling?” she says through a smile.
I need to shut all of this passive aggression down.
“I just wanted to see that your daughter was okay.” I squeeze Annalise's arm before moving away. “I'll give you some space.”
Annalise's hand curls around my arm. “You can stay.”
Her mother reaches across the space between us, taking hold of Annalise's wrist. She gives me a hard, unwavering stare. “I think it's best if you go, Ethan. It was nice meeting you.”
My chest constricts.
I release Annalise's hand. She looks furious, like she's about to explode at her mother. Instead, she takes me completely by surprise, launching herself at me, and pressing her lips to mine.
I go stiff in surprise, cupping her head, electricity firing through me.
“I'll call you, I'm sorry,” she murmurs against my mouth, leaving me aching for her.
I nod, resting my forehead to hers briefly before turning on my heel and striding from the hospital.
Useless prick.
⊱✿ ✿⊰
I wait anxiously for Annalise to call, pacing around my flat. The sedatives my doctor prescribed glare at me from time to time on my bedside table. I don't take them. This weekend proved I can handle my shit. With her by my side, anyway.
My phone rings and I stride purposefully across the room to answer it, snatching it off the bed. My stomach plummets at the sight of Clarissa calling. I'm half tempted not to answer but considering I've not been in touch for days, I figure it's best to put her at ease.
“Hello?”
“Ethan, how are you? You've been quiet.”
“Have I?”
“Yes. And considering how much you've been seeing me lately, I figured I'd check in,” her voice is a soft and warm tone.
“Well everything's fine. Thanks for calling.” I try to round this up, not wanting her to ask too many questions.
She continues quickly before I have a chance to hang up, “You'll bring your journal with you next time I see you, won't you?”
My stomach twists tightly. “Yes,” I say through clenched teeth, glancing at it across the room. It's so private, I can't bear picturing her bright green eyes assessing every detail. Drawing conclusions about me from my most guarded thoughts. It's no accident that she hasn't got her paws on it yet. I don't want the woman near the thing.
“Good. Let me know when you'll be in next.”
“Will do.” I go to hang up, my thumb hovering over the button.
“Oh and, Ethan? Are you still seeing that girl?”
I pause, unsure how to answer. I guess I have to stick to this lie. “Uhuh.”
“And is she making you happy?”
I frown. What a question. Annalise is making me more than happy, she's making me feel brand new, a slate wiped clean. “Yes,” I say earnestly through a breath.
“Good...good. Well, see you soon.”
Perhaps Clarissa really does care about me. Perhaps she'd like to see me happy. I mutter a goodbye and hang up, feeling strange after talking to her, an odd niggling sensation growing in the centre of my chest.
CLARISSA
I continue to touch myself after Ethan hangs up, sucking on my lower lip as I absorb the pleasure.
Even his voice effects me. This is completely unlike me. He's just a man. I should be more than capable of getting him to fuck me.
I have to move things along between us.
I want that journal. It will give me the insight I need to unravel him, I'm sure. But if he keeps evading my request, it's going to be a problem. What is it he's hiding in there?
When I've given myself release, I head downstairs to where Nick is tied up on my frame, a ball gag in his mouth.
I splay my hand over his abs, feeling him shiver from my touch. “Have you been behaving?”
He nods, a frightened noise escaping his throat. I worked him hard today. The bloody marks on his back and legs are proof of that.
I think of Ethan tied up here and extract my hand. It's not Nick I want, it's him.
I untether Nick, letting him down. He drops to his knees in front of me, bowing his head. I run my fingers into his hair, my mind elsewhere.
Ethan seems happier lately, and that bothers me. He doesn't rely on me like he used to. It's this girl he's seeing, I suspect. She's probably sucking his cock every night. That'd make any guy happy.
Slut.
I release the gag from Nick's mouth, dropping it to the ground. I slide a finger under his chin, tilting his head back to look at me.
“Am I beautiful, Pet?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
It's a drilled response and does nothing to boost my self-esteem. I sigh, scraping a fingernail across his cheek. “Do you love me?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“And do you want to please me?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
I encourage Nick to his feet and gaze up at the once-strong man I used to adore. I lean against his broad chest, hearing his heart beat erratically beneath his ribcage. Nick used to make me feel loved, he used to come to me in the night and wrap me in his arms. I miss those days. Before he betrayed me. Before he lied to my sister, told her we were nothing.
I slide my hands up his sides, digging my fingers in. “Are w
e nothing, Nick?” I murmur, not really expecting a response.
“I'm nothing,” he breathes and I glance up, his expression vacant but his eyes glinting.
And for a second I feel something in the pit of my stomach, an old wound dragged open.
“Go back to your room,” I command, my voice a whisper.
He moves, marching straight across the basement and disappearing through the door.
I inhale deeply, forcing the pain away, not letting myself remember. I have a new focus now. Nick is my past. And Ethan is my future.
ANNALISE
At 2:03 am that night, my life is irrevocably altered.
Mum called me, told me it had happened quickly, he hadn't felt a thing. He was on a lot of medication. There'd been no pain.
But I feel it, all of it, every last drop, every ounce of pain in the world.
Her words echo in my mind, over and over until I'm split apart by them, until there is nothing that exists but them and me.
“He's gone, darling, he's gone.”
Life is fleeting and fragile and can be extinguished as quickly as breath on a candle. And there's nothing you can do except live on in the darkness left behind by its absence.
⊱✿ ✿⊰
Mum moved in with me, she had to. She and Dad had sold everything to buy the yacht. Now it was laid to waste, sitting in a harbour in Italy and who knows how long it would remain there.
As a week passes and the day of the funeral arrives, I withdraw into myself, thinking of my father each day, remembering my childhood, remembering his passion for life. But it's as if he's taken that inaugural zest with him, stealing the few pieces of it that lived in me too.
I haven't seen Ethan since that day at the hospital. I called him, told him what had happened, told him it was best if we didn't see each other for a while.
I sit at the small table in the kitchen. Mum sits opposite, fixing her make-up in a little compact mirror.
I bite my nails as I read through the letter my dad wrote for me before he died. It was like he knew this was going to happen. And that makes me furious because he never said a word. He let me believe he was going to get better. And that wasn't fair, because I would have given more of myself, I would have said something, I would have told him how much I adored him, how his light filled me up and gave me hope each day. How every time I worried things wouldn't work out, I'd think of him and his quiet, unwavering confidence in fate and find comfort.
