This entire experience must be payback for all the times I’d convinced myself I was strong, when in reality, I was merely hiding my cowardice behind my real fear: once again becoming the emotional burden that led Papa to take a job so far away, right after Badal passed. Mummy swears he left to be able to afford the funeral service, but it wasn’t until I moved for uni that he returned home to her.
I can’t help but let the memories of that time in our lives pull me in and drag me under.
I’d shrunk to the cool wooden floor of our small home in London, pressing my ear to the wall, eavesdropping on my parents' conversation, in hopes I’d gain some understanding of when Papa was coming home. The faint scent of cha masala steeping and sandalwood agarbatti curling from the kitchen carried through the walls, a comfort that never reached me.
“She’s too smart for you to keep acting like this, jaanu. She’s asking questions I no longer have the answers to. You needto come home,”Mummy told him. And no matter how hard I strained my ears, I couldn’t hear his response.
She’d let out a huff of frustration strong enough to rattle the foundation of our home, answering whatever he’d said with,“I know you’re doing your best for our family, but she is struggling. She needsbothof her parents, now more than ever. And”—her voice cracked—“I need you too. I can’t do this without you. I can’t lose you too.”She choked the words out, fading into a sob that tore the fibres of my soul straight from my body.
The weight of the memory crashes into me, making me stagger towards my bed, bumping into the wall. I catch myself, gasping for a breath that won’t come quick enough, shaking the thoughts out.
They’ve onlyjustfound their way back to one another; I can’t let my selfish desire to lessen my own emotional burden worsen theirs. I won’t be the reason they fall apart again.
I crawl into bed, my stomach churning with bile. The sheets cling to my clammy skin, cool against the feverish heat of my body.
Fuck,I’m going to be sick again.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
I’m exhausted,and after three days of minimal communication with Adhira, I can’t say I’m excited to get back to our flat. The tension has been making my skin crawl, and more than that, I’m starting to think there’s something going on other than her adjusting to having a new flatmate.
She came home yesterday looking drained, dark circles blooming beneath those cinnamon eyes. Her footsteps sounded slower, dragging a little on the wooden floors, her voice thinner when she said hello, as if even speaking took something out of her.
Her hair was slicked back in a ponytail, tendrils unintentionally framing her face, and when she slid her oversized tote off her shoulder, her cardigan snagged, tugging down with it.
She was quick to adjust it, but I swear I caught a glimpse of a square white bandage lying flush against her skin, just beneath her collarbone. For a moment, I almost asked what had happened, but the instinct died in my throat.
It’s none of your business,I remind myself, despite the way my entire body revolts against the memory of muffled sobs and the constant retching coming from Adhira’s room.
Right.Noneof my business. Got it. Cool.Great.
I rake a hand through my damp hair, rolling my shoulder until it pops, trying to shake the tightness from my chest.
I haul my kit through the flat, dumping it in my closet. I’m doing my best to leave as few traces of my existence around as possible, making it just as easy to be forgotten as always, while Adhira continues to ignore my presence entirely. I suppose I’m making that easy on her, but really, I can’t expect her to tolerate me, let alonelikeme, if I’ve got my sweaty trainers lying around.
The clock on my nightstand reads just past eight, so I’ve got about twenty minutes to get a shower before the girls call.
I wash up, revelling in the smell of my own body wash rather than the generic ocean-scented rubbish in the locker rooms. The familiarity of the warm bergamot and sage grounds me in my own skin.
Once I’ve showered, I sit at the head of my bed, a stack of pillows piled behind me while I wait for them to answer, unable to get comfortable with the knowledge that I shouldn’t have to be in here right now. My jaw ticks with momentary frustration. I hate that I can’t have this call in the living room. It feels like I’m already stepping outside of my routine—a routine meant to keep me in line and my family provided for. They’re the one thing that’s mine—small anchors I cling to when everything else keeps shifting.
“Lijah!” Ellie and Lyla shriek, the sound nearly bursting my eardrums before I can turn the volume down. The abrupt soundcuts through my earlier wallowing, and I sink into the pillows, plastering my most easy-going smile on.
“Hello, little ladies. How are you this evening?” I ask, my grin widening as Ellie’s blue eyes and Lyla’s hazel ones glitter on my screen.
“Mummy said we can have a tea party, Lijah. Do you have tea?” I chuckle, knowing Mum said no such thing.
“I said you could have teanext time,” Mum gently chides from behind them, shaking her head as she comes into view. Her blonde waves, the same shade as mine, are piled high in a ponytail as she takes the phone from the girls. “How’s my favourite son?”
I roll my eyes playfully. “I’m still your only son, unless you’ve got something you want to share?”
“You know, I think these two are enough of a handful, and I’m fairly certain all the cervical radiation I’ve had would’ve quashed any chance of that,” she tells me with an exaggerated wink. Despite her playfulness, my throat tightens, shame catching like grit with my thoughtlessness. “How’s the new flat?”
A tiny hand comes into frame, grabbing for the phone. “Mummm, I wanna talk to Lijah!” Ellie whines.
“Okay, you two, come sit beside me on the sofa so your brother can see you both. Alright?”
