“I’m going to miss you when I’m in London.” Her drunken voice floats around me like a gentle breeze.
And then she closes her eyes, and her chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm.
I remain frozen in place for what seems like an hour.
Fuck me.
How can a mere chaste kiss and those words affect me this much?
Looks like I won’t let her do this, after all.
35
CECILY
My attempts to stop the dull ache in my chest have been an utter failure.
I still try to enjoy my visit home in peace, though. Or as much peace as there can be, considering the circumstances.
Mum and I are preparing dinner together, something we’ve done since I was a child. Uncle Kirian—my mother’s younger brother—would usually join us, but he’s traveling. Hopefully, I’ll be able to see him before I go back to school.
I’m sitting at the prep table while Mum is behind me, stirring ingredients on the stove.
“Pass me the salt, sweet pea,” she says, distracted.
Her hair is pulled up in a messy chignon with green highlights peeking out from everywhere. For as long as I’ve known her, she’s always had some green in her hair. Sometimes, it’s fully green. Other times, like now, it’s brown with green streaks.
She’s wearing a knee-length floral dress, and, you guessed it, a green apron.
Papa remodeled the kitchen into a chef’s dream when I was a toddler. It’s full of stainless-steel equipment, a large food-prep area, and it’s green-themed like Mum.
This is where I’ve often dabbled in internet recipes with Mum while Papa joins in just to annoy us, makes a mess out of the kitchen, and then stays to watch with a massive grin on his face.
The only reason he’s not doing that right now is because Mum sent him to get us a few things we’re missing.
I place the salt cellar in her hand, and she starts to put some in, then stops. “Cecy, hon, this is pepper.”
“Bollocks. Sorry.” I snap out of it and give her the appropriate cellar.
She shakes her head with a smile and adds the salt as I sit down again and get busy chopping the vegetables. I’m thankful she’s busy and can’t see my expression that I’m sure would give me away.
Mum always makes sure we do mother-daughter activities together. We cook, do yoga, watch movies, and shop. Though I’m not a big fan of the latter. She also plays the perfect role of my solicitor whenever Papa kicks up the overprotectiveness a notch and forbids me from doing things because they’re ‘dangerous’ for me.
It means a lot to me that we’ve always been so close, but not when she can read me. I really hate that part.
“Is everything okay back there?” she asks, glancing at me over her shoulder.
“Grand, yeah.”
“Is there anything you want to tell me, hon?”
“What? No, of course not.” I certainly don’t want to tell her about a certain guy who’s flipping my world upside down while I’m along for the ride.
I last saw Jeremy yesterday after I got embarrassingly drunk, kissed him, and told him I’d miss him, then crashed in his bed. I snuck out of his room like a thief, then mistakenly walked in on Killian and Glyn making out in the game room and on Nikolai floating in the pool wearing nothing but boxers. I thought he was dead, so I frantically called Ilya, but it turns out, the incident was normal for the guy.
All in all, my sneaking-out session ended up with me seeing almost everyone in the Heathens’ compound before leaving. But hey, at least Jeremy didn’t catch me.
Now, I’m not sure if that was such a great idea. Because what I said is true. I do miss him. And I only got here yesterday.
“Cecy!”
“W-what?” I jump up and wince when I realize I’ve cut myself, and blood is dripping on the cutting board and some of the vegetables.
Mum snatches a tissue and presses it on my bleeding finger, her hand shaking. She’s always had this overboard reaction whenever I’m bleeding, even if it’s a minor cut. Papa, too. I think it has to do with the scars on her wrists, which is why I’ve never blamed them for being too overprotective.
“I’m fine, Mum.” I remove the tissue, showing her that the bleeding has stopped. “See? It’s nothing.”
She flips my hand back and forth and only releases a breath when she ensures the cut is minor. “You need to be careful with the knife, hon.”
She’d faint if she found out what Jeremy does to me with the knife, and that I actually enjoy it.
Mum gets me a plaster from the cupboard and puts it on my finger. After she’s done, I throw away the dirtied vegetables and get new ones, then I climb on the chair to start anew. Mum puts the stove on the lowest temperature, gets her own knife, and settles across from me.