“Ella,” I call out, circling her bed at the same time Jacob enters her room from the second-floor access.
“Ethan?” he questions. His attention turns when he hears the gagging sounds coming from Ella’s bathroom. He takes two quick steps, pressing the door open wider and stills inside the doorway. His voice fills with concern when he sees his stepsister and addresses her, “Ella, what are you doing?”
When she doesn’t answer him, he turns on me with accusation in his tone. “What happened here?”
“She was screaming, and I rushed up here to see if she was okay.”
“Clearly, I’m not,” she mutters as she gags over the toilet.
“You promised me.” Jacob softens his tone as he glances back at his sister. “You promised this wouldn’t happen again. You said you were better.”
I stare at the stricken look on Jacob’s face as he gazes down at his sister bent over the toilet. Then he turns on me. His eyes roam my body, taking in my appearance in boxer briefs and nothing else, not to mention, a largely, inappropriately timed hard-on. I must have been dreaming of her again and then holding her in my arms, even in her panicked state, did nothing to subside the way my body reacts to her. I’m ashamed, but mostly, I’m pissed.
“I heard her screaming from my room,” I repeat. “I think she was dreaming, and I ran up here—”
“He tried to poison me,” Ella interjects as she chokes around another wave of heaves.
“Poison you?” I shriek. “How? You don’t even eat the food I make.” I can’t believe this shit. Not to mention, the fear in Jacob’s voice implied something other than food poisoning caused this bout over the toilet. He said he thought she was better, but better from what?
“You stink like cheap sex. It made me nauseous.”
I glance from Ella to Jacob and back at Ella, who isn’t looking at me but facing the toilet with her eyes closed.
“Why are you dressed like that?” Jacob questions me, and I stare back at him.
“I just told you, man, I was sleeping. In my room. And heard her crying out…” My voice drifts. Why am I defending myself? His troubled eyes tell me he doesn’t believe me, and with Ella’s gagging as a soundtrack behind him, the entire scenario just looks wrong.
Who has patience for this? I was worried about her. Isn’t this what he’s paying me for? To look out for her? But now I have to justify that concern.
“Fuck this,” I suddenly blurt. I don’t need this. I didn’t do anything wrong. I tried to help. I tried to help. My gaze drifts back to Ella, prone and clutching at the toilet. My heart hurts at the sight of her in that position, but why am I aching for her? She hates me.
I look back at Jacob. “You can’t think I was trying something with her?” I question, realizing the scene might look bad but nothing was happening. His gaze still appraises me, assessing the situation, and I snap.
“Fuck this,” I repeat, louder.
“I’m just trying to understand what happened here,” Jacob states. “You’re not helping.” His voice drops. A warning in his tone.
“No,” I correct. “This…” I point between myself and Ella on her knees. “…isn’t working. This job, the money, and just fuck…” My hands dig into my hair and tug at the ends. I can’t bring myself to say anything else that I won’t immediately regret. I take a deep breath, but it doesn’t calm me. Instead, I step back, and then I’m turning, heading for the staircase.
“Ethan, just wait…” Jacob’s voice follows me, but I’m not listening. Screw him and this job and his sister. I don’t need this shit. Hopping the steps three at a time down to my room, I dress haphazardly in jeans and a T-shirt, ignoring the throb in my head and the galloping of my heart. I grab my bike keys, slip into my boots, and head for the front door.
“Fuck this,” I mutter again to myself without a second thought to Ella, her brother, or myself.
Card 11: Purifying Water
Boil first
[Ella]
He holds me down, my head underwater, and then he drags me up by my hair.
“You never listen,” he mutters in my ear, but I have no idea what he means. “You’re going to be mine.”
I shiver under him. His front presses against my back. My upper body rests against the concrete structure.
A fountain in a garden. It’s a party. We were celebrating.
“And I’ll make certain no one else will have you.”
I wake screaming. Suddenly, a firm body is before me, shaking my shoulders, and then I’m pressed into his chest. His heart races, matching mine. A firm hand strokes up and down my back. Warm skin begins to soothe me. My breathing follows that of his for only a second.
Then I inhale. The nauseating scent of stale beer, along with the possibility Ethan had sex with someone, mixes with the nightmare. The aftereffect is me on my knees, retching with nothing in my stomach. Ethan’s watching me, and I’m mortified. Mortified by all my weaknesses.
The nightmare. The panic. The vomiting.
I shouldn’t have said what I said.
I hear the censor in Jacob’s voice as well.
My stepbrother thinks I’ve done this on purpose, that I’ve done this to myself, but this isn’t my history of eating disorders. This is my history. My life turned upside down by a madman. I don’t recall knowing him, but he claimed to know me.
“He poisoned me.” That light-switch impulsiveness lashed out at Ethan when all he was doing was trying to calm me. Why do I reject him at every turn? As my body shivers and my skin pebbles, my eyes fill with tears. I’m scared. Scared of the past haunting me. Scared of the nightmare. Scared of Ethan Scott. Although I’m not frightened of him in the same manner as my other fears. I’m afraid of what I feel for him. Once again, I’ve found myself in his arms, following his breathing, drinking him in like oxygen to calm me. He feels like a safety net, and the thought scares the ever-loving insides out of me.
The slam of the front door brings me back to the present. A motorcycle roars to life, and then I hear a clap of thunder.
Panic sets in.
Despite the loopy sensation in my head, I turn to Jacob.
“Don’t let him leave.” My voice strains. My throat burns, but worse, is the ache in my chest. Don’t go.
Jacob leaves my bathroom, and I crawl to my bed, struggling to find clothing. A chair near it holds a pair of yoga pants, and I quickly slip them on after removing my shorts. I hate how rattled I feel, shaky and lethargic, but I need to get to Ethan.
Thunder claps again. It unsettles me.
It had been raining. I was in the garden. We were celebrating.
I shake my head, forcing away the disturbing memories. My hands tremble as I tug on a sweatshirt over my tee. My feet slide into my running shoes, but I don’t tie them. I clop down the stairs to find Jacob on the phone, pacing.
“He just drove off on his bike.” Jacob stresses into the phone, pausing only a beat. “I know he was drunk.”
Oh, my God. I stumble as I take steps to my brother.
“We need to go after him,” I hush-speak, and Jacob nods at me as he listens to someone on the line. It must be Pam. She’s the only one he would call.