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“You don’t get it. I was frozen to the bone, I wasn’t sure life was worth living, not that day. My mom couldn’t remember who I was. Couldn’t even remember she ever knew me. If Gigi hadn’t brought me in that day, and if you hadn’t been so damn kind…I don’t know what would have happened.”
“Jesus, man. I didn’t know.”
“It’s not something I like talking about. And it doesn’t matter if you knew or not. You’re a kind person. Kind to me.”
I think about that day, about my sister dragging into the house a bedraggled, blue-lipped Jarett. About how her gaze silently begged me to help.
I think about basic human kindness and how it can change lives.
“Anyway, it wasn’t the only time you were there for me,” Jarett goes on. “When I got out of prison, and you came to pick me up with Gigi. And, fuck, every single time you were there, and you just accepted me, and let me in your family, in your lives… You’re the brother I always wanted, you know? The family I always wanted. You, and Octavia, and Matt, and all of you. But after Gigi, you were the first to show me kindness, and the reason I’m telling you this is not because I wanna cry on your shoulder.” Another quick grin, his gaze sliding sideways for just a second to fix on me. “But because I want you to know I’m here for you. You’re going through something. What it is, I don’t know. My guess is, you’re not sure either, but something happened to you long ago, and you tried to erase it from your memory. But bad things don’t go away easily, so it stuck in your dreams.”
For a guy who almost never talks, that’s a lot of words. “Jarett—”
“I’m here, if you need to talk, if you need peace and quiet, if you need a drink and the opinion of someone who’s seen bad things and had to find a way to deal with them. That’s all I’m saying. You can lean on others, buddy. On me. Just like I leaned on you.”
Hell. I stare at his serious profile, realizing he means all those things he just blurted. “Thanks, Jarett.” I turn my gaze back to the street, nonplussed. “Appreciate it. Though it would seem I kicked someone’s puppies in a previous life.”
“If you want to talk now…”
And I also appreciate the offer to get it all out in the dimness of the car, without the prodding of my wonderful but insistent sisters, describe my dreams to someone not involved with them, with whatever happened, someone who isn’t having fucking dreams about me, seeing me dying and worrying to death. A sort of neutral party on neutral ground.
But… “Thanks, man, but I honestly can’t do it today. Maybe tomorrow. Need to catch some Zs.”
He nods and leaves me right outside my building. Thanking him, I drag my feet to the elevator and then into the apartment. JC doesn’t seem to be around. It’s dark and quiet, and all I want is to roll into my bed and sleep for days.
But it won’t work that way. I haven’t slept through a night for God knows how long. The thought of my bed makes me shudder.
I need to sleep. Sleep and not dream, not think. Not remember.
The sleeping pills don’t actually stop the dreams. Don’t I wish. Nothing stops them. But there’s no way I will sleep without some chemical help right now, so I get out my stash and swallow a couple dry.
Then I lock my bedroom door, to be left in peace until tomorrow. It makes sense in my head. It all makes sense.
Or it will, after I’ve slept. Right? And Cos said we’ll figure it out together.
So I don’t know why I call Ross at the number Octavia gave me. I have it saved in my contact list, and I find myself scrolling to it and hitting Call.
I find myself answering to his questioning “Hello?” and asking how he is. Telling him who I am. Why I’m calling. Asking about his dad. Our dad.
About axes and bodies.
About a silver swan.
“What did you say?” he asks.
What am I doing? This is nuts. I laugh, because I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing or why. It’s as if I’m dead drunk, drunk off my ass. Has to be the pills, but it’s still hilarious.
He’s saying something when I fall face first on my bed, and the lights go out.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cosima
“Ready to go out?” Lin is all prettied up, in a little black dress and high heeled pumps, her chestnut hair pulled up in an artfully messy bun. Huge black hoops hang from her ears. “Cosie. Need help with your make-up?”
I shake my head absently and turn back to the bathroom mirror, lipstick held tightly in my hand.
Merc didn’t look so good. I don’t want to be the controlling girlfriend, checking in with him every five minutes, the hysterical paranoid girl who’s always thinking the worst. Merc is a grown man.
