by Carian Cole
“This,” she says simply. “Sitting in comfy clothes, not dealing with any fake BS, curling up with my cat later in a nice, clean bed, and sleeping as late as I want tomorrow.” She pauses and tilts her head playfully. “And hanging out with you isn’t so bad.”
Her answer surprises me. Most girls her age wouldn’t be caught dead spending a Saturday night at home, especially with—
With who? What does she even think of me as? The older-dude roommate? The fake husband? I chew my popcorn as I flick through the movies on the screen. I probably don’t want to know how she refers to me in her head and with her friends.
“Ooh, let’s watch that!” she suddenly says, pointing excitedly to the screen. “Almost Famous.”
“That movie’s been out for years.”
“Yeah… but it’s one of my faves. I can watch it over and over and never get tired of it.”
Grinning, I select the movie. “It’s one of my favorites, too. It’s got a kick-ass soundtrack.”
“It so does!” she agrees.
As the movie starts, I put my feet up on the coffee table and stretch out. My back and neck ache from being bent over in the damp basement all day.
That’s what she said, the voice of Erin says in my head.
“You can sit over here, ya know,” I say a few minutes into the movie. “You’ll be able to see better.” The recliner sits at an awkward angle from the television, making her crane her head to see the screen. When I lived here with my mother, I hated sitting there. I bought new furniture a few years ago, but I ended up putting it all in the exact same place. No idea why, since my goal was to make the house look and feel different.
“You sure?” She asks it like sitting on the couch with me has been off-limits, and I’ve granted her VIP access.
“Yeah.” I nod my chin toward the other end of the couch. “That spot is yours.”
She crosses the room and plops down, wiggling her butt into the cushion with a big smile on her face.
I hold the bowl out to her. “Want to try some popcorn? It’s still warm.”
Her nose lifts up a bit. “I can’t. I got a piece stuck in my throat when I was little.”
Most of her food fears are confusing as hell to me, but I don’t push her about it. All that matters is that she’s doing better.
I don’t remember the last time I’ve hung out and watched movies with someone. Especially a woman. But since Skylar moved in, we’ve done it a lot. I didn’t realize how much I missed having another person around. Or having someone to talk to other than my dog.
I’m struggling with the fact that I like having Skylar around. Way more than I should. When she’s laughing like she is now, my mind drifts back to the kiss.
Yeah—the kiss that never should’ve happened.
And the second kiss that never should’ve happened.
And, if I’m not careful, the third kiss that should never happen.
I can’t, though. She’s only eighteen. Not on the menu for me. She’s wearing footie pants, for fuck’s sake. Too young, too innocent to get involved with someone like me. Women love me, until they hate me. I’m a dating wanderer. I stay for a while, then I move on. I’ve always been a “fun for the moment” type of guy. The problem is, I’m nice to them. I treat women well—I’m not a dick. I’m upfront with where we stand. I just don’t want to stay. Somehow, that makes it worse. It’s like they’d rather I was a total douche than be honest and nice.
Leaning back, I stretch my arms up over my head, and pain shoots from my neck down to the base of my spine. I groan and twist, grimacing from the discomfort
“Oh no… did you hurt your back?”
“I’ve got some messed-up discs in my back and neck. Sometimes they act up.”
“Sucks getting old, huh?” she jabs playfully, but there’s a flash of worry in her eyes.
“You have no idea.”
I scavenge through the popcorn, trying to find an extra-buttery piece and one catches my eye that doesn’t have any butter on it.
“Look at this.” I hold it up. “It looks just like Cassie.”
“Are you nuts?” She laughs. “It’s a piece of popcorn.”
“No really, look. These look like little floppy ears, and those are eyes, and a nose.”
I hand it to her and she examines it until a big smile spreads across her lips. “Oh my God. It does. How funny is that?”
“You should eat it. Make it your first new popcorn trial.”
“Hmm…”
“That piece doesn’t even have any butter on it, so it’s not soggy or weird.”
“Okay. I’m going to try it,” she says triumphantly, popping it into her mouth.
A few seconds later she coughs, covering her mouth with her hand, and anxiously gripping the arm of the couch with the other.
“You okay?” I ask.
She shakes her head rapidly back and forth and turns to me with a look of terror in her eyes.
“It’s stuck in my throat.” She gags. “A piece of it.”
Fuck. I put the bowl down and move closer to her. “It’ll go down.”
Her chest heaves up and down as she gulps air. “I can’t breathe… I’m going to choke.”
She’s spiraling into a panic right in front of me, on the verge of hyperventilating.
“You’re talking, so you can breathe. You’re not choking. It’s just tickling your throat.” I grab my soda and hold it out to her. “Take a sip of this.”
Her eyes grow even wider as she coughs and clutches at her throat. “I can’t.”
I forgot—she won’t drink soda. It’s on her bad list.
Helplessly, I watch her throat bob up and down as she swallows, trembling with fear as she gasps for breath.
She’s not choking, I’m sure of it. The little piece stuck in her throat—probably one of those fucking kernel skin things—has launched her into a massive panic attack.
“Skylar, try to breathe slow,” I say evenly. “You’re not choking.”
“I can’t swallow it…” she cries, her cheeks reddening. “It’s stuck.”
“Lemme go get you some water.”
I run to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, but when I come back to the living room, she’s gone.
“Skylar?”
Gagging sounds from the bathroom down the hall turn me in that direction. The door is ajar, so I cautiously poke my head in. My heart sinks when I find her sitting on the floor, leaning against the bathtub. Tears are streaming down her cheeks, her body shaking uncontrollably as she wretches.
Kneeling in front of her, I twist the top off the water bottle.
She grabs on to my arm, her nails digging into my skin in desperation. “I’m dying… I can’t breathe…” she begs, gasping for air. The raw fear in her voice tears my heart to shreds and sends a chill down my spine.
“Skylar… baby, you’re fine. Look at me.” She raises her tear-filled, frantic eyes to meet mine. “You can breathe. You’re not dying, I promise. Drink this, okay? I promise it’ll go down.”
Gasping for breath, she says, “I can’t, I can’t…”
Mentally, she’s in another place—not here with me at all. It’s there in the terror in her eyes and the anguished trembling of her lips. She’s been sucked back into time, gripped by a childhood memory that hasn’t let go.
I had no idea how deep her fears ran, how strong of a hold they have on her. This isn’t just an eating disorder. It’s as if a monster is terrorizing her, threatening to kill her.
“You’re okay. I promise.” I hold the bottle to her lips. “Sip a tiny bit. The water’ll make it soft and it’ll go down.”
Pushing the bottle away, she gags and sucks in a breath. “I’m gonna pass out… I’m gonna die…”
I shake my head. “You’re fine. Trust me.” I hold the bottle to her lips again. “Just sip it. I’m right here. I’m not going to let you die.”
She’s not even close to dying. But she believes she is. Her demons are real. She didn’t leave the
m behind in that dump of a house. They’re right here, inhabiting her damn soul, convincing her she’s going to choke to death.
With shaking hands, she grasps the bottle and slowly swallows the water.
“It’s still there…” she sobs hopelessly as more tears spill from her eyes. My heart is wrecked seeing her like this. Maybe I should take her to a hospital. I’m not equipped to take care of someone having a serious emotional breakdown.
“Keep drinking,” I say, holding out hope that we can avoid a trip to the ER. “It’ll take a sec.”
I watch her take small sips of water, waiting for that fucker to dislodge out of her throat, and the moment it happens, I see it. Her eyes light up, her grip around the bottle loosens, and she gulps more water.
Finally, she lets out a deep, shuddering sigh. “I think it’s gone,” she whispers.
“See?” I rip off some toilet paper and hand it to her. “You’re okay.”
Sniffling, she wipes her face and blows her nose.
“Jude… I’m so sorry—”
“Hey,” I interrupt. “Don’t apologize.”
“I’m so embarrassed.” She hides her face in her hands. “I couldn’t breathe… I choked when I was little… I was so scared.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not.” She shakes her head and moves her hands to clutch the back of her neck. “I’m a mess. I thought I was getting better.”
“You are getting better. It’s not an overnight thing. I’m sure the doctor told you that.”
She nods weakly. “Yeah…”
“So, it’s normal to still go through stuff. You’ve been in therapy less than a month. Go easy on yourself.”
Standing, I hold my hand out to her and help her up.
“Splash your face with some water, it’ll make you feel better. We’ll go finish the movie. No more popcorn.” I chew the inside of my cheek and study her blotchy face—such a change from how happy and cute she looked earlier. “I fucked up. I shouldn’t have asked you to eat it.”
Guilt weighs heavy in my gut. This was my fault.
I’m an asshole.
“It’s not your fault I choked on your popcorn dog.” A faint smile tips her lips.
“It is. I’ll own it. But hey,” I touch her chin and lift her face up, “If I thought you were choking, or dying, there’s no way in hell I’d just sit here. I’d have you at the hospital fast as fuckin’ lightning. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”
“I know,” she says softly. Her body is still shaking as if she’s freezing. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
Giving her space, I take the dog for a walk in the yard and smoke a quick cigarette while staring up at the moon. Seeing Skylar so scared and upset was unsettling. But witnessing it only solidifies that I did the right thing marrying her. She needs help to get better. No one should have to go through life being so terrified of food.
She’s waiting for me in the living room when I get back inside, and she looks incredibly young and vulnerable sitting in the middle of the couch.
I sit next to her. “Feel better?”
“A little. I still feel shaky and my heart is pounding.”
I hold my arm out to her. “Come here,” I say.
She eyes me hesitantly before slowly moving closer to me. When she leans against me and rests her head against my shoulder, I cover her with a light blanket from the back of the couch and gently put my arm around her.
“Does this make you feel better?” I ask softly.
She nods and snuggles up against me. “Yes,” she says quietly. “Thank you.”
Just because I avoid relationships doesn’t mean I don’t understand the power of a hug and feeling safe with someone. She’s scared, abandoned by her family, and living with a stranger. Showing her some human affection isn’t going to kill me.
As we watch the movie, I slowly rub my hand up and down her arm, hoping to soothe her and chase away her fears. At least for a little while. I lightly caress the side of her neck with the backs of my fingers, feeling her pulse beneath my touch. Her breathing slows and her body relaxes. At some point in the middle of the movie, she reaches for my other hand and holds it tightly.
I don’t understand why we feel so comfortable together. How we naturally just fit. Or how these little intimate touches feel totally normal and not wrong or awkward.
I’ve never felt like this.
I could close my eyes right here and fall asleep with her in my arms. And I think I’d actually like it. The usual impulse to run as far away as possible from any sort of intimacy doesn’t come when I’m with her. I’ve been waiting for it. Maybe even tempting it by letting myself have these random moments of closeness. But it doesn’t come. What does come is confusion about why my feelings are shifting out of the friend zone.
I’m about as good with confusion as I am with intimacy.
When the movie ends, she sits up and turns to look at me. Her blue eyes are red and puffy from crying, and her ponytail is more lopsided than it was earlier.
This look shouldn’t be attractive, but on her, it is. Adorably so.
“You’re a good guy, Jude,” she says softly.
She smiles when I wink at her. “Sometimes.”
“I know you didn’t sign up for this, but thank you for taking care of me.”
“I vaguely recall agreeing to something about sickness and health,” I say with a grin.
“Yeah, but they weren’t real vows.”
No, they weren’t.
But somehow, they’re turning out to be.
Chapter 21
Jude
I’m surprised to see Skylar in the kitchen the next morning at eight a.m., nibbling on a croissant while staring out the window. Looking over her shoulder, I see a chipmunk racing around on the old rock wall out back has captured her attention.
“What are you doing up so early?” I ask. “You said you wanted to sleep late today.”
She turns away from the window. “I wanted to, but I couldn’t sleep. I think last night shook me. I haven’t freaked out like that in a while. My therapist said it might happen as I start to eat new foods. I guess I was hoping it wouldn’t.”
“I don’t think it’s a setback.”
“I hope not. I don’t like that feeling at all.” She watches me as I sit in a chair and pull on my old work boots. “Are you working today? It’s Sunday.”
“No. I’m going to visit my aunt and uncle.”
“I didn’t know you had an aunt and uncle.”
“They’re older—in their seventies. Mostly out of their minds, but I check on them a few times a month to make sure they haven’t burned the house down or sent half their money to an overseas prince on the internet.”
She laughs. “They sound fun.”
“You can come with me,” I suggest casually. “If you want to.”
Her chewing pauses for a beat. “Really? You want me to meet your family?”
I shrug. “Why not? It’s no big deal. It’ll be fun. I told them about our arrangement a few weeks ago.”
Surprise flashes in her eyes. “I didn’t think you wanted anyone to know we got married.”
“I don’t want everyone to know, but they’re family. I don’t think my aunt was fully grasping the gist of the situation when I told her.”
“I guess I wouldn’t mind getting out for a while,” she says. “Will she try to feed me?”
“Probably. But she won’t get offended if you don’t eat. I wasn’t planning on staying for lunch. Just a quick visit. You should be fine. I got your back, don’t worry.”
“Okay.” She looks down at her jeans and white sweater. “Should I change?”
“No, you look great.”
“I’ll go get my shoes.”
Ten minutes later she comes back downstairs with the addition of silver chain earrings with little stars dangling from them, a purple scarf with glittery stars, and dark-purple vintage leather boots with big metal buckles on the side.
<
br /> “I’m ready now. I had to add some glitz.”
Laughing, I reach for my keys on the counter, but she touches my arm.
“Let’s take my car. You can drive.”
I shake my head. My back and neck were hurting so much this morning I could barely get out of bed, so I’m not about to crawl in and out of a car that’s a foot off the ground. “No can do. My back’s still hurting way too much to get in and out of that thing.”
She frowns. “That sucks.”
“Maybe next time.”
On the way to my aunt and uncle’s, I stop at a Dunkin Donut’s drive-through to get a much-needed coffee for myself. Skylar agrees to one glazed munchkin.
Don’t ask me how someone can eat one munchkin. It’s unnatural.
“Hey, Jude,” the young girl at the pay window sings in an overly friendly voice as she leans past the glass partition like she does every time I come here. As if I’ve never heard someone mimic the song of my name before. “You’re here early today,” she says.
I nod at her as I take my order and throw a tip in the jar.
“Oh, hey, Skylar,” she continues, peering past me. “I didn’t see you huddled way over there. Are you hitchhiking?”
“Yes,” Skylar replies. “But now we’ve teamed up to look for airheads to murder. When’s your shift over?”
“Shut up, bitch,” the girl tosses back.
Before pulling away, I reach into the tip jar and take my dollar back.
“You know her?” I ask, shoving the dollar into my front pocket.
“Yeah, we go to school together.”
Ah. Now I remember. She was one of the girls giving Skylar a hard time on the first day of school.
Nodding, I say, “She’s usually here on the weekends.”
“Seems like it. She knows your name. And the time you usually come,” she grumbles.
Is that a hint of jealousy coming from my little fake wife?
“She usually fucks up my coffee.”
“I’m not surprised.” She picks at her munchkin, pulling tiny pieces off before eating them. “Paige is an idiot.”
Not wanting to fuel the flame of high school drama, I flick on my Doors playlist, and we sing People Are Strange together.