The Souls of Drowned People

Chapter Nineteen

Waking up knowing that you’re going to die is the worst thing in the world. The panic hit me the moment I opened my eyes, what should have been my first deep breath before a strangled gasp. I was going to die, and there was so much I had to do. So much to say. And so little time to even begin to save myself.

            Cillian was still asleep. His mouth was hanging open, his tongue poking slightly out, and it was cute enough to make me forget that I was dying, for a moment.

            There was a note lying on the bedside table, and the panic faded to utter mortification.

            Moira & Cillian –

            I hope you’re both getting some good sleep. We took Bridget dress shopping, be back around noon.

            Rachael/Ma

            I nearly pushed Cillian out of the bed, like that was going to do any good now. “Good morning to you, too,” he mumbled.

            I waved the note in his face. “Your mom . . . we slept together and she saw us and this is so embarrassing!”

            Cillian closed his eyes again. “She doesn’t care.”     

            “She’s your mother.”

            “My mother is a very understanding woman. Can I go back to sleep now, or are you going to keep worrying about it?”

            “My mom would freak out.”

            “Your mother isn’t here,” he said tiredly. “You’re pretty much an adult now, anyway. So why does it matter?”

            Cillian put his arm around me, and went back to sleep, the momentary distraction over. I could have gone back to sleep— either it was still early, or the sun wasn’t coming up. The room was still dark for morning, and I could have pretended that it was still night and slept the rest of my life away.

            I had only been lying silent and still for a few minutes when Cillian rolled onto his back, throwing his arm off the side of the bed. “You’re not going back to sleep, are you?”

            “I can’t.”

            Cillian sighed, and slid to the floor. “I’ll get up with you, then. Let’s make some coffee.”

            “I thought you were strictly a tea kind of guy.”

            He yawned, and ran his hands over his face. “Sometimes, the moment just calls for something stronger.”

            Cillian made the coffee, and I spread butter across four pieces of toast, my hand shaking and stumbling.

            It was already ten o’clock.

            Three more days.

            Cillian grabbed the toast from my hand, stuffing the entire piece in his mouth. I chewed at the crust, afraid of throwing up if I took more than the smallest bite.

“What do you want to do today?” Cillian asked, and I tried to tell myself that he didn’t mean, “how should we spend our last few days together?’

            I shrugged, feeling terrible. I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I didn’t want to die, I knew that much.

            “You can come with me to town, then.”