Mavis is like a statue, palms covering her mouth. I don't think she's even breathing. Stalking up the stairs, I back away, hitting the opposite wall. He looks straight through me to her, a mist of utter betrayal clouding him.
“I fucking knew you were shagging someone behind my back. I asked you so many times if something was wrong. If you wanted to end things, and you always said no. You told us I was being weird when we asked why you were being distant this weekend.” His fist collides with the picture frame hanging the closest to her, the photograph of the manor house in its eighteenth century glory days falls to the floor in a broken heap of smashed glass and wood.
My body flinches as he continues to shout, but Mavis remains utterly frozen in horror.
“You gave up everything we had for a guy like that? Corbin fucking Claythorne? We trusted you—always wanted only you.” He closes his eyes and pushes the edge of his palms into them. He towers over her, imposing, and I honestly don'tknow whether to intervene or run to get his brother. “I'm such a fucking idiot,” he bellows, completely losing all composure. “Here I am coming to look for him and check on you, when neither of you give a fuck about me. I can't believe you'd do this. I thought—I thought we fucking loved each other.” His breathing is choppy and he's clearly starting to hyperventilate, repeating himself, flexing his hands over and over but not moving. I'm not following his entire meaning or who he's now talking about, but she sobs louder, and my face is wet too.
A whimper echoes out and I realise it's coming from me. Bran does too and whirls around, dark eyes wild like a rabid fox being chased by foxhounds. I'm visibly shaking, palms flat against the wall, unable to stop each broken noise that leaves my lips.
Bloody knuckles, crying, screaming, flashing lights. Phin and Lil's father punching the wall as he found my mother dead in their bedroom hits me over and over. Police officers taking us to their cars whilst the housekeeper Katherine screamed into her phone. The same officers placing him in handcuffs.
“Jesus, fuck. Robin, are you alright? You need to breathe.” He doesn't manage to continue before inked skin and midnight curls crash into him until he's a heap of limbs on the floor.
A blonde mop of overly familiar hair appears next up the stairs, lowering to me at the top where I've somehow fallen into a crouch. I stare into comforting soft blue eyes, as I'm told to breathe. He pulls my hands from my ears and rests one on his chest as he tells me to follow his breathing. Hold it in for six and let go.
“What the fuck is going on? So help me if you laid a finger on her.” I hear an eerily calm voice say, splintering my insides because I know that voice as soft and playful. A bedroom door opens and another familiar voice cries out to Mavis through the mind fog I’m caged in. My heartbeat pounds in my ears and seizes my lungs. Lily rushes past my curled body to wrapher friend up into her arms. Before the first sob slips, Mavis is rushed into the bedroom and the door slams, a click echoing.
“Hey, Robbie, do you remember that idea you had for that television show? What was it about again?”
I blink. Ragged breaths leave my body as I force my lips to move and push against the dark cloud making everything thick. My skin is uncomfortable with a sheen of sweat and a tremor starts from my hands to my chest.
“I said it would be-be, awesome if someone like D-Dita Von T-Teese did a tongue-in-cheek cooking show.” My teeth rattle and I try to match Phin's slow breathing pattern. He smiles and there are little crinkles next to his eyelids, humour warming his baby blues. Both his outstretched arms support me, but also keep what's going on in the corridor from view.
After two more inhales and exhales he asks, “A Christmas special?”
I scoff and the pressure keeping me in a chokehold eases. “A Halloween special,” I corrected him. “I said it should be a Halloween special. With puppets, innuendos, and baking.”
He nods, curling one arm in so his palm can rest against my cheek, his thumb wipes under my eye. “You were convinced the bots in your laptop heard you and told the big wigs in Hollywood.”
A flood of annoyance clears more of the fog, my breathing starting to calm down and I feel my numb finger tips start to tingle. It hurts actually, each sensation returning with a sting of cramp.
“Well, they did! It might not have been Dita, but that year they released a Halloween baking program and it was exactly how I said. Horror sixties chic.”
He clicks his tongue, leaning in like it’s our little secret. “They owe you millions then.”
I roll my eyes and try to push at his chest, but my arms feel so weak. I kind of need him to keep me upright, so I settle back against the wall and he wipes the other side of my face.
“There's my bestie.” He wraps me into a hug as I finally see through the wisps of mental fog left, and lean my head into his shoulder.
“Robin, I am so sorry.” Bran hiccups, still on the floor and now rocking with his long legs up and arms cradling them. His brother, Detective Starling and Goldie appear from the stairs, cramping the landing and start to demand answers. Bypassing us both, Merle drops to his brother's side and lifts his knuckles to examine the damage. None of us speak, the only noise is the shaky breaths from myself and Bran, who shifts onto his knees and allows the others to help him stand. Starling steps around Phin's body cocooning mine, gesturing behind him to the stairs. “You're both going to come downstairs and tell us what the fuck just went on here. Are the women in that room okay?” His back teeth grind together and he looks visibly outraged. I'm certain he wouldn't have hurt Mavis or myself, but Bran was losing control the longer she'd silently stood there. Was she even sorry? Where was Jay?
He nods solemnly and dips his head as he passes, muffled crises from behind the bedroom door floating off with him. His brother looks shattered with dark circles under his eyes, but Merle follows with Goldie guiding them downstairs. I could sleep for days, so even despite my deep well of unanswered questions, I still worry for my friend.
“Pretty girl?” Wren's voice is hesitant, full of worry but also affection. It's weird how I can tell so easily how he feels from his tone, his eyes a dead giveaway as they come into view from my position in Phin's neck. His lean build folds in on itself as he crouches down beside us, gently stroking my cheek and he tucksa long strand of hair behind my ear that's fallen out of the pins. “What's this I hear about Dita?”
“I have a Halloween special proposal.” I say weakly, feeling like I’ve ran a marathon whilst screaming the entire time.
“Is that so? I wonder if any of your publisher friends can get it across to her.” He muses, the smile I can't see in his voice because I'm smothered by our best friend.
Phin laughs too and I can feel the vibration in his body whilst he keeps me wrapped to his chest. “Can't—she’ll get sued for copyright.”
“Fom what I hear, it wasyouroriginal idea.” Wren pouts, musing me and the memory Phin used to ground me back to the present. It's a technique our therapist taught us pretty young to help each other through the panic attacks, mainly I suffered with into adulthood. If not, the five things method worked wonders. As we got older, it became easier to work through them alone, but he would always be my comfort. Our co-dependent arses be damned.
The little energy I had remaining all at once feels spent.
“How about this Wife, you come stay with me tonight. I've got plenty of big T-shirts, I'll run you a bath and I even have bath bombs.”
My eyebrows rise with interest. “Which ones?”
