“I had to carry you,” said Etienne, voice low and shy.
Ophelia was dying. “Fucking hell. Okay, keep going.”
“That’s really it. You eventually calmed down and fell asleep. I left shortly after.”
“Oh, okay. Good. Good.” Ophelia heaved a sigh of relief. “My grandmother said you sensed my tiger. How?”
Another uncomfortable pause filled her car. “I did, yeah. I could see your protector in a way that’s difficult to explain. When I touched you to heal you, it was like the tiger projected itself in my mind, letting me know it was there, keeping you safe. I’d never experienced that before.”
“My Mawmaw said she felt something similar once with me. Do you have a protector?”
“No. That gift doesn’t run in my family.”
Before Ophelia could ask more about it, Etienne interrupted her. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I need to leave in a couple of minutes for work. Let me know if you have more questions or if you need help with all the Traiteur stuff.”
Etienne was offering her help. She didn’t care if it was merely an empty offer stemming from decades of Southern manners. She was going to seize it.
“Well, I don’t want to keep you, but since you brought it up…I was wondering if we could meet up sometime soon to discuss Traiteur stuff. I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to use my gift, and honestly, I could use some pointers and practice. Would you be open to maybe…helping me? Or at least talking about your experience?”
“Sure. Just let me know when.”
Etienne was a man of few words, but at least he confirmed that he would help. He probably wanted to say even less over the phone. Ophelia wondered if he preferred to text like the rest of her generation. She didn’t care either way, but sometimes talking through something verbally was just easier.
“Okay, great. I’ll text you later to set something up.”
“Sounds good.”
“Thanks again, Etienne. Talk to ya later.”
“No problem.”
Click.
She was grappling with so many feelings. She felt like she had been a huge imposition to him with the amount of treating he had to do for her. She was mortified, but she still needed his help. She wasn’t used to Etienne suddenly being normal around her, willingly helping her.
Well,she was about to burst into his life whether he liked it or not. She had this gift, and she needed to hone it. Use it. Buthowwas the question.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
When Ophelia returned home in the late afternoon, she walked through the doorway of her bedroom, fell face-first into her bed, and slept till the next morning. She only woke once at one in the morning to relieve her bladder, then immediately fell back to sleep.
Monday morning came like it always did, bringing a feeling of anxiety and only a sliver of motivation. She had so much to do. The long list in her head kept getting longer, and if she didn’t get to her desk soon to write some of it down, it would surely all be lost. Her phone vibrated, pulling her out of her stress spiral. It was somewhere in her bed, so she reached around the comforter, finding it tucked under a pillow.
Mateo: Morning, Ophelia. I’m taking you out Friday night. 8 pm. Wear a garden-themed costume.
A garden-themed costume. She weirdly had something just for the occasion, compliments to her ever-growing Mardi Gras costume closet. However, she was very, very curious about where he was taking her. Since throwing herself into treating, her feelings for him had slightly cooled.
Ophelia: Mysterious. I like it.
Ophelia tossed her phone to the side and made haste with her morning routine. She settled herself into her studio with her iced coffee and listed out everything in her mind. First, there was work: fundraising emails, artist outreach, prep for a weekly call with the board. Then there was her personal life, which felt like it was in much more need of a list. Groceries, laundry, check news for Cutthroat Killer updates, call Detective Lewis (again), catch up with Jade, confirm work schedule at Prytania Botanica for the month, determine next visit to Oakdale, and schedule practice session with Etienne.Andshe still needed to figure out how to incorporate treating into her life.
She felt that familiar overwhelming feeling where there was too much to be done, too little time, and only one person to do it all. But instead of starting on her bountiful to-do list, she plopped into the giant pillow in her studio and shut down. Paralyzed. In a world where common human reactions to stress were fight, flight, or freeze, she did not love that she froze. Ophelia lay there cocooned by the giant pillow, praying for the will to get up and do just one task. Just one.
She did not.
She despised when this happened to her. She knew from school and therapy that it was just her body and psyche trying to relax in response to the stress, but it always felt like laziness. Thirty minutes ticked by as a storm of thoughts crowded her mind, and just as she was on the verge of panic, her phone vibrated with another text.
Avery: Hey, boo. Rachel is out sick, and she was supposed to work evening shifts this week. Any interest in helping out? I’ll be there all day, but I really need help during the post-work rush. So, like any help from 4:30-7ish would be much appreciated.
