Rhett stands there with me until I'm out of tears. Which is quite a long time. For a small person, I can cry enough tears for five. I tug back and he lets me go. His shirt is wet in patches and even has some snot on it. Lovely. I know I look like shit, but that's not my biggest problem right now, is it?
I sniff and wipe my nose, but there is just snot everywhere. He puts a hand on my arm and then goes to the bathroom, coming back with a box of tissues and some of my makeup wipes. I'm numb as he leads me to the couch and sits me down facing him. I flinch back when he comes at me with one of the makeup wipes, so he freezes and then tries again. I know I'm being a complete weirdo, but I'm out of fucks and out of words and out of everything. I have nothing left to give.
I sit there like a child as he wipes the tears and snot and makeup off my face. It takes more than a few wipes to get the job done and my eyes are starting to swell. Once he's done with my face, he goes to the kitchen and comes back with a huge glass of water and two aspirin. I take the pills and the water. He waits while I swallow them and drink the entire glass before he goes back and refills it. Rhett presses the second glass into my hand and I drink that one, even though I'm nearly full to bursting. I'm going to have to pee like hell later, but I'd rather that than have a migraine from crying so much. My throat is raw and my face is blowing up and I just want to sleep for a week and wake up living another life. Not the one I was handed.
"Do you feel any better?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. As if he's scared to startle me.
I shake my head once.
"No," I say, my voice sounding like I've been smoking a pack a day since I was an infant.
He lets out a breath. His hair is falling in his face and I want to fix it, but I don't have the energy to move my arms that much.
"Is there anything I can do to help? I'll do anything for you, Luna." My breath catches when he uses the nickname. I hate how much I like it. I hate how much it makes me want to kiss him and forget about what he said a little while ago.
But I can't. I can't forget, because you can't unsay something that's already been said.
"No," I say, shaking my head and sniffing again. He hands me another tissue and this time I wipe my own damn nose. Like a fucking adult.
"Are you going to be okay?" I open my mouth to respond. I definitely don't have an answer to that.
"I think so?" He nods and gets up.
"What are you doing?" I ask, my eyes following him.
"Cooking," he says, opening and closing my cabinets and pulling things down.
"What are you making?" I don't know what I've got. Since he's been coming over and cooking for me, I've been stocking up on things I don't normally buy. I actually have spices now. Like paprika and rosemary and thyme. And there are always at least three kinds of pasta and two kinds of sauces around. I'm eating better, but right now I don't want to eat anything. I don't want to do anything. I don't really even want to breathe. It's too much work. I close my eyes and lean against the couch as Rhett bangs around.
"I don't know yet," he finally responds. "I'm just . . . trying to make it better." He's muttering to himself, and I'm wondering if this is what Rhett is like under stress.
"I'm sorry. For running. And for not listening. And for what you've been through. I can't imagine." He looks up at me and gives me a smile.
"It's okay." No, it isn't. I've been treating him badly and he keeps coming back for more. I need to make some changes, but I don't know how. I turn on the TV, as if that's going to help.
I'm suddenly so tired that I can barely keep my eyes open. I pull my feet up and curl against a pillow, and the next thing I know, I'm out.
Rhett
I have no idea what the fuck is going on with her. I've been turning it over and over in my head since it happened, and I have not figured out much. Except for my current theory that the reason she was so freaked when I mentioned working with foster kids is that she was one herself. Why else would she have had that intense of a reaction? What other reason could there be?
So, going on that theory, that means that Freya has a sticky and probably difficult past. Like mine. That's something I understand. That's something I can understand so much more than she'll ever know. While she's in the living room, I crash around the kitchen, trying to figure out what I'm going to do. What I'm going to say. This is one of our defining moments. There are so many ways to blow this. To completely ruin everything.
Basically, I'm freaking the fuck out.