Page 55 of Malaise

SEVENTEEN

Carver lies spreadout on the bed while I examine every inch of the motel room. His amusement at my simple joy is clear given the wide smile on his face.

“Do you know they have these cute little things?” I hold up the tiny plastic tubs of Marmite and peanut butter.

He nods, his grin growing wider. “Yeah, babe, I do.”

The one and only time I stayed in paid accommodation, I was too young to remember anything other than how enormous the twin bed seemed at four years old. Our family never did the annual holiday thing like so many kids at school.

“Do you have to pay for this stuff?” I ask, picking up a tiny price card from the back of the basket.

“Yeah, but if you want to use it, go ahead.”

He shifts across the bed as I approach, and rolls to his side. I climb on the mattress and sit beside him, legs folded, my knee brushing against his chest. “What are we going to do tomorrow night?”

“What do you mean?” He frowns, reaching out to run a finger down my shin.

“You don’t have a job anymore, so how can I expect you to cover the cost of this?” I lift my hands and indicate the room around us. “We’ll have to figure something else out.”

“Yeah.” His hand drops away with a resigned sigh, and I lament the loss of his touch.

“Maybe after I talk with your dad he’ll let me stay with you guys?”

Carver rolls to his back and crosses both arms above his head. I crawl closer, pulled to him by something I can’t yet put my finger on, and lie down at a right angle to him, my head on his chest. He drops a hand across my chest, curling his hand around and stroking his fingers through my hair as he talks.

“I guess I’d hoped that I could put off you two meeting. I mean, Dad’s never going to be a nice guy to get to know, but I didn’t want you to add that stress to what’s already the week from hell.”

Four days. Only four days have passed since we lost Den, and yet it feels like a lifetime with everything that’s been going on. “I miss him even when I’m not thinking about him,” I murmur, finding the edge of the sheet to fidget with.

Carver’s hold tightens, and I drag in a deep breath, relishing the ease his musky scent brings me.

“It’ll get easier.”

His mum. He’s been through this; he speaks from experience. “How long did it take for you to feel… whole again?”

“I don’t know.” He sighs. “I guess it was a few months before I stopped wondering how different the day would have been if Mum was still in it. But truthfully? I don’t think you ever get past it and feel the same as you did before, you just start believing that how you are now is normal.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“But?” Carver asks, sensing my hesitation.

“But… I wonder sometimes, do people look at me and think I don’t care? Because I don’t walk around with a veil over my face and a handkerchief permanently under my nose, do they think I’m over it?” I frown, fingers picking at the edge of the bedding. “But then I also wonder if openly grieving would be easier, you know? Like, all shoving it down does is make it hurt even more. It condenses the pain into a tiny space it can’t fit in, and when I stop to think about the fact I’m never going to have another day to talk with Den, to hug him, or whine at him for teasing me, it feels as though I’m going to burst into a thousand pieces.”

“Babe….”

“I know it’ll get easier, like you say, that eventually I’ll be able to think of him and only smile about the good times. But shit, Carver, it’s as though I’m half-dead. It’s as if my ability to feel anything has been smothered, like I’m only operating on 50 percent.”

He reaches his far hand across himself to grab my hips and drag me over the bed so we lie flush, side by side. I nestle back into his warmth and bring his legs up with mine. His chest heaves with a sigh, and he leans forward to place a gentle kiss on the shell of my ear as I fight the tears of confusion.

“You feel this?” he murmurs against my skin.

My words fall from my lips breathlessly. “Yeah, I do.”

Carver moves his mouth to the intersection of my jaw and neck, placing two more gentle kisses against my flesh. “What about that?”

“Mm-hmm.”

His nose tickles a gentle path along my neck, and he sighs. “As long as I’ve got hold of you, babe, I’ll make sure you never stop feeling a damn thing.”