CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
I pushand shove at my pillows, shifting between sweating my bloody arse off and freezing my bollocks until they shrivel up, unable to find any semblance of comfort as my mind races with memories of that day just six years ago.It might as well have been a lifetime.
My heart was in my throat as I sat on the scratchy black carpeted floor with the girls, shuffling their toys around and rewinding the small race car so it would speed off, and with it, my sisters, for a brief, revitalising second.
All I needed was a moment to breathe, to prepare myself for the worst and plead for the best with anyone who might be listening.
“Lijah, what’s wrong?” Lyla asked, tilting her head as her high ponytail of curls fell into her face.
I gave her a small, unconvincing smile, shifting forward to gently push her curls back. “Just waiting for Mum, is all. She’ll be out soon,” I reassured her, skirting around the real issue. The one that would further determine the course of my entire life, as if I hadn’t already given up everything.
No one asked me to, but how could I not? How could I have made any other choice? That’s the thing though—there never was one.
Luckily, she’d accepted the answer, moving on to play with Ellie, bopping her on the nose. They both erupted into laughter, a sound so bright it threatened to swallow me whole.
My body was not my own that day, my thoughts far more grim than I’d usually allow.What if she dies? What if it’s not gone? How the hell will I make these girls well-rounded, responsible, brave, and kind? But above all else, how will I make themhappy?
Those were just a few of the many thoughts running rampant in my mind that day and all the days surrounding it.
When the door creaked open, my head snapped up at the sound, eyes searching for answers. I was met with Mum’s wide smile and glassy eyes, mirroring my own.
“It’s gone, baby. The cancer is gone,” she’d said, and just like that, I was flinging myself off the floor, wrapping her frail body in my arms, never wanting to let go.
The relief I felt was unmatched, second only to the weariness that had crept into me, the fear that one day, we’d be learning of a new diagnosis instead of celebrating her remission.
Routine and therapy usually lend to eventual rest, but with the addition of Adhira’s blatant lies last night, I find myself lying here, trying to piece everything together like some knock-off Sherlock Holmes.
I can’t shake those thoughts from my mind, contemplating every interaction I’ve ever had with her.
So much has happened to get me to this point in my career, and while I wasn’t looking for anything more than a flatmate, Adhira has gotten under my skin.
She’s aloof and appears cold, but when she shares little glimpses of herself, I see the softness in her eyes and the warmth radiating from her. She’s intelligent, with an incredible memory, able to retain even the most seemingly meaningless information and regurgitate it back to me.
But most of what I know about her is from quiet observation rather than spoken words. Sometimes, when we’re on the sofa and she’s watching the telly while I’m pretending to read, I just breathe her in. I take in her concentrated stare, the furrow of her brows when she finds something ridiculous, the almost imperceptible quirk of her lips when she’s amused. And when she takes a phone call from a friend or her parents, she handles them with such care, weighing their words and deciding whether she has anything meaningful to add. When she does provide her two cents, her responses are blunt and weighted, yet full of meaning. She never minces words, saying exactly what she means in as few words as possible.
And while I’ve come to know all of these traits through stolen glances and shared space, somehow, it feels like they tell a more truthful story of who Adhira is than if she were to tell me herself.
There’s something in the way she behaves, as if she’s built these heavy walls not to protect herself, but to shieldme.It feels so familiar. She puts on a brave face, much like I had when I feared my mum was going to die, leaving me to care for my baby sisters and my nan with dementia—may she rest in peace—but I don’t believe it. I don’t believeher.
It’s clear she can take care of herself, but she doesn’t have to protect everyone around her while she’s at it. That isn’t her responsibility, and whatever's going on, I can only hope she’ll let me in after I’ve proven myself worthy of her quiet struggles.
Sleep continues to evade me, and as it does, I become more and more restless, anxiety gripping my heart like a vice.
There’s no point lying in misery.
I roll over, flicking on the lamp, and grab my e-reader, hoping to drown my restless thoughts in Kath Richard’s incredible storytelling, falling just as in love with Maxim and Mary as I had with Nate and Vanessa.
From Mary’s overall reluctance, cold exterior, and hidden gooey centre to Maxim’s complete, utter obsession with her, even when she’s being downright mean to him, I feel like I’m being called out. Between all the pining and dirty fucking these two are doing, my mind has taken a different turn over the last several chapters.
I try to ignore the growing pressure in my groin and the need coursing through me. I really bloody try, but when I reach a particularly depraved scene, my mind betrays me, swapping Mary’s face for Adhira’s. I realise I am too far gone to recover without blowing a load in my briefs.
I groan, tossing the e-reader to the side, and head into the bathroom, turning the knob on the shower. The white-tiled walls quickly bead with condensation, steam billowing around me as I strip down and step inside.
Hot water burns down my spine, warming me from the inside out, and I bask in the feel of it, of something whollygood. I tilt my head back, and my eyes close, my callused hand gripping the base of my length.
I squeeze my shaft tightly, wishing it were a softer, smaller hand wrapped around me, my body yearning to have someone I care about sharing this intimacy with me. I’m unable to stop the images of the little spitfire of a woman I’ve grown so fond of on her knees before me.
