Left Drowning(104)

Sneaking out of bed without waking Chris, I make coffee and take it out front, where I gaze out at the beautiful coastline and warm my hands on my steaming mug.

Despite the gorgeous weather and the scenery, though, I can’t shake the feeling of dread that weighs on me. Maybe it’s just that I’m tired. Chris will probably tell me later that he slept through the night, but in fact, his sleep was severely disturbed. I know that he had nightmares, and I barely slept because of his thrashing and because of my worry. Chris is asleep now, though.

James and Estelle are entwined in the hammock that hangs between two trees on the far side of the lawn. I smile. They must have slept out here last night. I like seeing my brother taking care of her. Well, as much as Estelle will allow anyone to take care of her. He’s doting and affectionate without being pathetic.

I read the news on my Kindle for half an hour before James appears. He looks like hell.

“You need a coffee, huh?” I ask.

“Yeah. Thanks.” He pulls a sweatshirt over his head and sits down in the wicker chair across from me. When he rests his elbows on his knees and puts his head in his hands, I realize that something is very wrong.

I go to the kitchen and take my time making him a double espresso. Everything has been going so well, so James’s obvious stress concerns me. I think I was right: I am going to have to brace myself for this day. When I return, he is sitting up again, but his expression concerns me.

“Blythe, I need your help.”

I sit. “Anything. What’s going on?”

He looks away. “I don’t even know how to say this … I don’t know what to do or why …”

“Is it Estelle?”

“This is really uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay, James. You can tell me anything.”

He starts talking, but he still can’t look at me. “I really care about her, you know? I do. I think she’s fantastic. Sure, she’s got this kind of tough exterior and all, but she’s super sweet, too. She’s smart, and funny, and wild.” He pauses. “It’s the wild part that … It’s not right, Blythe.”

“Honey, I don’t understand.” He’s getting visibly upset, so I move and kneel next to him. “What do you mean?”

“In … in bed.”

“Oh.” I can see why this is uncomfortable for him.

“I don’t want to talk about this, but I have to, Blythe.”

“I’m here. You can tell me.”

“Look, I know some people like … rough sex, or whatever, right?”

“Um, sure.” He’s right; this is not a talk I want to have with him, but I keep at it. “And she wants that. From you.”

He nods.

“And you don’t want that,” I say.

He shrugs. “See, I kind of did. I mean, a little rough. Like, there’s fun wild and then … there’s not fun.”

I shake my head. “What do you mean by ‘not fun’?”

“She wants me to … hurt her. It’s been building. It started with smaller stuff, stuff that was okay, and I guess some of that was fine with me, but she’s asking for more and more. And it’s freaking me out. We’ve been fighting because I can’t do what she’s asking.” He takes a deep breath. and his eyes fill with tears as he finally looks at me. “Blythe, last night, she asked me to hit her. Hard. Jesus, she wanted me to leave bruises, and she was crying and begging me to … She was freaking out on me. I’ve never seen her like that. Or anyone like that. I can’t do that to her. I won’t do that. I couldn’t hurt her. Ever.”

“Oh my God, James.” I am so taken aback that I don’t know what to say yet, but I throw my arms around him and hug him close.

“Why would she ask me to do that?” He puts a hand on my arm and squeezes. “Do I seem like some guy who would do that to a woman? Is that it? Is there something wrong with me? We were outside, in the yard, and she … God, she was trying to get me to shove her around and shit. She started yelling at me, saying that other guys have given her what she wants, and maybe she’ll have to go find someone else. She said that maybe I’m too … naive, or whatever. Too inexperienced for her. What she wants, though? That’s not right, is it? I can’t do it, and I don’t understand why she’d want me to. I really like her, Blythe, I do, but I don’t get this, and it’s scaring me. What am I supposed—”

Chris’s voice is shaking as he interrupts us. “James?”

I turn to him. His expression is pure disbelief, but I am less surprised. I remember the bruise that I saw on Estelle’s hip when were on video chat. And I remember her crying in our dorm room. Repenting.

James looks panicked. “Chris, I swear to God, I didn’t—”

“I know you didn’t. I know you wouldn’t.” He crosses the porch and drops onto the wicker sofa. “You didn’t do anything wrong. This is not your fault. At all.” He rubs his hand over his face. What a thing to wake up to. “Blythe? Do you mind if I talk to James for a few minutes?”

“Of course not. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

I walk into the house through the living room and notice Zach crashed out on the couch. Eric must have been snoring loudly, because the old couch is certainly not comfortable. I spend two hours in the kitchen, cleaning, planning dinners for the next few days, fussing around. I don’t want to talk to anybody right now, so I’m glad to be left alone in here. Later, Zach pops in for coffee, but he’s exceptionally sullen and quiet, and he lets me chop vegetables for the grill in peace.