My head bobs in a nod, and Evan peers through the smoke-filled cabin. Stepping in, he inspects the area, releasing a small sound of understanding in the back of his throat once he spots my now soggy and black bread sitting in the sink, staining the steel.
“I’m fine.” I place the dish towel back, scrape the soggy bread from the sink, and transfer it to the trash with trembling fingers, my stomach deciding to growl for dramatic effect. “I… got distracted… and then… the toaster got jammed. Just my luck.” My words pour from my mouth, sounding like a jumbled mess. “I just need some air… I can’t breathe in here.”
I make it to the steps leading up to the cabin and drop down, head against the metal bannister. It cools my sweating forehead, and I take a deep breath, feeling woozy. There are footsteps behind me, but they sound muffled, like my ears have been stuffed with cotton.
“Flo.” Evan sounds closer now.
His mouth is moving as he bends down in front of me, talking more, but the words don’t reach my ears. “What?”
“I said, are you okay?”
“I’m… fine—I just need to get…” I rub at my temples, taking another inhale to compose myself before I try to stand again, but then there’s a finger under my chin. It tilts my face up, and I’m met with Evan’s very close, concerned face.
“Flo, look at me.” His tone grows serious. “You don’t look fine.”
My throat is dry, and even though I try to swallow, I can’t. Panicking isn’t a nice feeling, especially when you feel too out of it to help yourself in the moment. My chest is tight, which is a stark difference from how my limbs feel.
“Hey,” Evan whispers comfortingly, before realisation washes over his face. “What do you need? Sugar? Do you need sugar?” He’s on his feet now, rummaging through the cupboards and drawers like a madman, mumbling to himself. “Chocolate? Will chocolate help?”
I shake my head as he pulls a purple bar from a drawer and holds it up. “Doesn’t work fast enough.” My vision is slightly blurred, and I push the heels of my palms into my eye sockets and rub. “Juice. I… need juice, please.”
“Juice,” Evan repeats, yanking the fridge open and snatching the empty carton of orange juice out. “Shit, it’s fucking empty, Flo.” Growling in worry, he says, “Stay here, okay? Don’t try to get up. I’ll be right back.”
All I do is nod as he jogs quickly towards the main house, remerging in record speed with a carton from his own fridge. His strides are heavy as he marches to me, and he gets onto his haunches and unscrews the cap of juice.
My fingers half-take the cartoon from his grasp, shaky, and he wraps his own around mine so I don’t drop it as I down some of the liquid.
Evan waits, eyebrows drawn and lips in a flat line, before he takes in my sitting position, all slouched over and uncomfortable on the hard steps. “Oh, fuck it,” he murmurs before sweeping me up into his arms. They’re protective as they wrap around me, holding me to his chest tightly as he walks us over to the double bed, gently placing me down now that the smoke has escaped the room.
He hovers beside me, tapping his fingers against each other in anxiety, Adam’s apple moving up and down as he swallows. Placing the back of his hand on my forehead, he swipes the beads of sweat that have accumulated.
I continue to sip at the orange juice until I’ve had enough, and once Evan notices me trying to set it down onthe floor, he takes it from me and asks, “How long until it starts to work?”
“About ten minutes.” I shut my eyes and feel the dip of the bed beside me, Evan’s warmth rolling off him in gentle waves, smothering me. But it’s a nice feeling.
“Ten minutes. I’m gonna sit here with you, okay? Until you feel better.”
“Okay, thank you.” My voice is breathy.
Neither one of us talks. The room is still. Somewhere between the owls hooting and crickets humming from outside, there’s a fast rhythm coming from Evan. His heartbeat. Quick and erratic. Like he’s not calm at all, despite the soothing sounds outside that people would usually have to pay some sleeping app to produce for them.
His throat works with a heavy gulp, and the sound of him breathing in through his nostrils touches my ears, which are now starting to feel less like I’m underwater.
But I let my eyes fall shut.
And breathe. In and out.
Slowly.
Until the tingling in my hands stops, and my hands are no longer shaking.
“When’s the last time you ate?” Evan asks softly after about ten minutes.
“Um, brunch… I think.” My eyes open.
He presses his tongue against his teeth and whistles, unhappy. “Shit, Flo. You need to take better care of yourself.”
“I know.” I run my hand through my hair. It’s damp. “Sorry. I probably woke you and Leo up.”
