Page 52 of In The Weeds
“Sit the fuck down.”
“B-b-ut the couch. I’m all wet.”
“Evie, I swear to god. I don’t give a shit about the couch.” I rip one of the blankets off the other and throw it on the hardwood at her feet, the fire beginning to snap behind me. My gaze drags up her huddled body on the very edge of the armchair, from her waterlogged boots to her dripping sweater.
“Take off your clothes,” I bark, before stomping my way through the cabin to my bedroom.
I wish I could be softer, more comforting, but my body feels pulled tight, everything a second away from collapse. I can’t stop replaying the moment she appeared over the hill, the way her body swayed and then fell out of view. Like a flower wilting on the vine. I can’t stop seeing the way she pulled into herself as I turned her over, hands grasping at nothing.
I ball up the comforter from my bed and stalk towards the living room. Evelyn is standing again, her back to me as she fumbles with her clothes in front of the fireplace. All she’s managed to do is kick off her shoes, her shaking hands attempting to loosen the button on her soaking wet jeans.
She looks at me over her shoulder, a faintly pleading look that evaporates all of my anger and replaces it with a tender ache. “Beck, I c-c-can’t - “
“It’s alright.” I toss the comforter with the other blanket and curl myself around her back, gently moving her hands to her sides. Her wet sweater soaks my shirt as I slip the button of her jeans free, the backs of my knuckles brushing against the soft skin of her stomach as I work at the zipper. I jerk the heavy material over her hips and she makes a small noise, a thin exhale from her nose. Goosebumps appear on her skin as I work the wet jeans down and off her legs.
“Sorry,” I mutter, my hand around the back of her knee as I try to help her step out of them. My thumb traces absently over delicate skin. She’s still so cold.
Something that sounds like a laugh garbles out of her, her hands cupping her elbows and her chin pressed to her chest. “Nothing you h-haven’t seen be-f-fore.”
I clench my jaw. “Doesn’t mean it’s an open invitation,” I tell her, my voice gruff with frustration. I’m too focused on the circles beneath her eyes and the pale blue tint of her lips to notice anything else—the sticky cold that her skin is coated with, her clothes stiff and unyielding. I get back to my feet and lift the hem of her shirt, guiding it over her head. I’m careful not to tangle her hair when her whole body gives a tremendous shake, the shirt thrown to the floor with a heavy plop. I smooth my palms down her sides in a vigorous rub and her whole body shivers.
She’s nothing but thin cotton and bare skin in front of me, her shoulder blades curved like folded wings as she hunches forward. I reach for the comforter and wrap it around her front, hesitating for half a second before grabbing my sweatshirt and pulling it off. I tug at my t-shirt too, leaving my chest and torso bare. Evelyn looks back at me, dark eyes heavy and exhausted.
“That’s n-n-nice,” she murmurs around another ferocious tremble, her chin and the curve of her lips barely visible above her blanket cocoon. It would be cute if I wasn’t so damn worried, her dark hair still a wet clump against her forehead.
I duck into the comforter with her, my arms slipping around her stomach and guiding her against me until her bare back rests snug against my chest. I suck in a sharp breath when every frozen inch of her presses against me, her hands moving from the blanket to clutch at my arms instead.
I need seventeen more blankets. One of those hot water bottle things my mom used to put in our beds when we were kids.
“W-warm.” Her exhale is a sigh of relief. It’s three shuffling steps to the couch that isn’t covered in soaking wet clothes. When I collapse back into it, I make sure to keep Evelyn against me, guiding her body above mine until she’s sitting sideways, her legs tucked over my lap. I wrap my hand around her ankle and squeeze, my thumb rubbing at the jut of her bone.
We sit in silence, the fire growing in the hearth until the room is glowing with it—the crackle of the flames urging me to settle. I can feel the heat licking at my shins and I angle her body until she’s as close as she can be, tucked right against me.
“You called m-me Evie,” she says somewhere into my neck, her palm sliding from my wrist to my elbow. She nuzzles closer, greedy for warmth.
“That’s your name, isn’t it?” I give in to the urge to brush my lips against the shell of her ear, using my fingers at her back to gently comb through the ends of her hair. It’s still dripping and I wrap the edge of the comforter around it, trying to squeeze out some of the extra water. I should have brought her a towel. Made her tea in the kitchen.
“You hav - haven’t called me that in a while, is all,” she replies, lazy and slow. Her shaking has slowed, her jaw finally relaxing from the tight clench of her teeth. I stare down at what I can see of her face, her dark eyelashes fanned against the rise of her cheek.
“I li - like it,” she tells me—a statement. She pauses and breathes out a heavy, watery sigh. “I missed it,” she adds—a secret.
I move my hand to her back, slowing my touch until my palm rests along the center of her spine. I spread my fingers wide and listen to the sound of her breathing. I match mine to hers.
“I missed it, too,” I confess.
The chill starts to leave her skin as I continue to hold her, a soft light from the fireplace filling the room. One of the kittens appears at the edge of the couch, her tiny face turned up in concern. Evelyn’s body relaxes against mine and I adjust my grip, nudging at her once with my nose. “Hey. I don’t think you should sleep. Talk to me for a few minutes.”
She grumbles something under her breath, shifting around in my lap until her arm is low around my back and her knee is hugging my side. She’s using me as a human pillow and the thought makes me smile, some of the tension finally slipping from my shoulders.
“About what?” she asks.
“I don’t know. What do we usually talk about?”
“I usually ask you a bunch of questions and you g-grunt at me.” She laughs into the bouquet of daisies on my shoulder, the delicate petals fanning out over my chest. She traces over it gently—the long stems, the thin ribbon inked between them. Her thumb trails to the hollow of my throat and she leaves it there, nose at my collarbone. I adjust her in my lap.
I can’t think when all her skin is pressed to mine. I can hardly breathe.
When I don’t offer anything in the way of conversation, she sighs. “Tell me something about the sky.”
