“Love you too.”
10DON’T FEED THE ANIMALS
Waverly
Damn, I was hot, as in on-the-cusp-of-boiling hot. If this was how it felt to go through the change of life, I’d have to figure out a way around it, or maybe respectfully request a pause to menopause. Who the hell named it that anyway? Taking the first three letters into consideration, I’d guess it was someone who never experienced their monthly visit from Aunt Flo. Men-o-pause. Such bullshit. Also, whoever let the little drummer boy loose in my head was going to find themselves locked in a jail cell for rude behavior.
Note to self: internal word vomit was an annoying side effect of day drinking. Who knew?
My tongue was plastered to the roof of my mouth and my intestines were riding a gnarly tsunami. It was my own damn fault. No, actually, it was Shayne’s. She was the one who took me to the bar, and she was the one who told the waitress to keep the drinks coming. I was in no position to argue with her. By empty glass number two, my father’s vile words became muted to the point I could fill my lungs without the sharp stabbing pain in my chest. So I drankanother…and another. In the back of my mind, I knew there were more important things that needed to be done, but my sense of responsibility took a left turn at Oblivion Avenue with drink number five, along with every last fuck I had to spare.
Of course, I’d eventually have to deal with the repercussions of my actions––including, but not limited to, icing my hand. It throbbed like a motherfucker and I wasn’t certain I hadn’t fractured it against the Senator’s face. Right then though, I just wanted to go back to sleep and not wake up until next week. Was that too much to ask? My mind and body concurred.
The second time I opened my eyes, the room was a touch darker. Based on the loud rumbling of my stomach, I’d say I’d slept through dinner. Slowly, I rolled to my back, praising the universe when I wasn't overcome by dizziness or nausea. After a few minutes, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat up. Reaching over to the bedside table, I flicked the lamp on, immediately regretting the decision. The little drummer boy was back with a vengeance and the bastard brought the rest of the band with him.
Shit, that hurt.
“You’re awake.” Finn closed the distance between us in a few steps. He leaned down to kiss my forehead then handed me a large glass of water and two white pills. I swallowed half the cool liquid, then popped the tablets in my mouth and downed the rest. “It seems ridiculous to ask, but I’ll do it anyway. How are you feeling?”
The mattress dipped as he lowered himself beside me. I leaned into his side, seeking the kind of comfort only he could provide. He obliged, snaking his arm around my shoulders.
“Like death warmed over.”
He snorted. “That good?”
“Mmm,” was the only response I could muster.
“You’ll feel better after a nice hot shower.”
I heard it then, the sound of water beating down against tile. He must’ve turned it on before he came to check on me. It was sweet and thoughtful, although I wasn’t sure my body was on board with any sort of movement. When I told him so, he scooped me up, bridal style, and carried me to the bathroom. Once there, he wasted no time stripping us both, then took my hand, leading me into the stall.
There was nothing sexual about the way he washed me, nothing clinical either. It was intense, more… intimate than anything we’d ever done. I could feel the magnitude of his love with every gentle caress of his soapy hands up and down my naked body. When he turned me into the spray to wash my hair, the final thread of my hard-fought control snapped.
Finn caught me around the waist as my knees buckled, lowering us both to the floor. He didn’t speak words of platitude; he simply held me tight against his chest while I dissolved into a river of despair. I cried for Mom; for the difficult choice she made. I cried for me; for all the years I never understood the extent of her love. I raged against the injustice of it all. Then I took all that pent up rage and aimed it where it belonged. My father.
Fuck him for not picking up the pieces after her death.
Fuck him for being too selfish of a prick to see beyond his grief.
Fuck him for not loving me.
Fuck him!
Fuck him!
“Fuck him!”
“Fuck who, baby?”
I startled, not realizing I’d said that last part out loud. Also, Finn saying fuck instead of feck was weird. I’d let it slide for now.
“The Senator.”
He pushed to his feet, bringing me with him. “All right. Let me get the soap out of your hair, add some food in your belly, then you can tell me what happened. Okay?”
Even though a mammogram sounded less painful than rehashing the shitstorm from earlier, Finn had every right to know the kind of garbage my father was capable of spewing. He wasn’t the kind of man who’d run far and fast over family drama. Still…sharing was caring and all that hokey shit.
An hour later, with a fire crackling and popping in the fireplace, we lay facing each other on a bed of blankets Finn placed on the floor. He waited patiently for me to begin while holding a bag of frozen peas to my knuckles.
