This isn't weird.

Helplessly, Hopelessly

 The fighting had begun the very moment Molly arrived home. Passing by the pile of boxes on the patio that Millie had relegated as trash, she flew into a rage. "Where the hell do you get off comin' in here and decidin' what is and ain't trash?" she hissed.

"Molly, it's junk," Millie insisted. "You've never used any of it and you're never going to."

"This stuff belonged to our parents, Camilla! Will you show a little fuckin' respect?"

"I absolutely will not."

From there, they fought almost constantly. The word 'cunt' was at serious risk of surpassing all other words in Millie's vocabulary. There was no peace, but the vicious arguments at least kept her mind busy. Every moment she wasn't actively squabbling with her sister was spent mourning Ben's absence in her life. There was nobody to talk to about it. Molly was far from being a confidante. Tess didn't even like to say his name, and it certainly wasn't something she could talk about with Arthur. Sometimes when her sister was asleep, Millie would stand alone next to the kitchen sink, dropping crumbs for the ants and telling them all about Ben.

How cartoonishly animated he could be. The way he talked with his hands, and used more facial expressions over the course of a single sentence than most people used over the course of a lifetime. How impossibly high his eyebrows would shoot up when he was surprised.

The way he became so intensely engrossed while watching TV that he would subconsciously mirror the facial expressions of the actors on screen, but she would never, ever point it out to him because if he became aware he was doing it, he might stop.

How excited he got when he saw a dog, any dog, but never touched them without asking the owner's permission.

How passionately he hated people who left their shopping carts in the middle of parking lots. The way he exclaimed "Don't even get me started—!" when things he had strong opinions about came up in conversation.

How whenever he was sad, he wanted a cheeseburger and a ginger ale. And whenever he had something to celebrate, he wanted a cheeseburger and a ginger ale. And how frustrated he was by how few cheeseburger joints in town served ginger ale. That was one of those things to not get him started on. She loved bringing it up.

How he owned twice as many shoes as she did, and she had no idea how he kept them so clean. And no matter how formally he was dressed, he always wore ridiculous, brightly colored novelty socks with them.

The way he would call her 'sweetheart,' trying to sound teasing, ironic, but she knew better, and it made her stomach flutter every time.

The way he smelled at the end of a particularly long day, and how that was her favorite time to hug him. The beautiful contrast between his black curls and his pale face. The color of his eyes—the warmest, richest, most wonderful shade of brown that anyone could ever imagine. The way everyone else in the room seemed to disappear when she was looking at him. How much bigger his hands were than hers, and how easily he could hold both of her wrists with just one hand.

How good he was at Battleship.

How badly she had messed it all up.

How terrified she was that she would never see him again.

Millie knew she looked and sounded insane talking to ants, but she didn't know what else to do with her grief. Being trapped in this place, lonely, bored, and unable to cry, was steadily eating away at whatever crumbs of sanity she had left.

When Arthur called to tell her that the grant had been approved, Millie could have cried with relief, if this house hadn't robbed her of that ability. When he offered to fly down to help her with the hiring process, she didn't resist. He was there the next day.

It felt so good to be hugged, to have someone on her side. He did all the work finding and interviewing candidates for the position, and a few days later, paid the new caregiver extra to work overnight so he could take Millie to a little bed and breakfast an hour's drive away.

That night she slept with him. She had to. His unending kindness felt like an unpayable, exponentially growing debt, and it was the only thing she had to offer him in return. Arthur would never expect it of her, of course; his selflessness was entirely sincere. Somehow, that only intensified her feeling of obligation.

She initiated. It had been years since the last time she'd feigned insatiable sexuality for a man's appeasement, but the muscle memory was still there. Never once was her enthusiasm in question. Arthur was, as she expected, ecstatic.

It was pleasant.

He wore a condom without being asked. He was gentle and attentive, more concerned with her pleasure than his, and exceptionally receptive to instruction. He was utterly worshipful of her body, and he made her feel wanted and beautiful.

It was comforting. It felt good. It did.

Nevertheless, she found herself dissociating through most of the experience. It was all she could do to stave off the guilt she felt for her inability to want this wonderful man the way that he deserved. When he finished, he stared into her eyes and whispered those three terrible words whose inevitable arrival she had been dreading since the first time she had let him kiss her.

Millie said them back. She had to.

Here, outside of that miserable house, she discovered that she could still cry. Arthur mistook her quiet tears for ones of joy, and pulled her close to kiss her face. She fell asleep in his arms, and dreamed.

She dreamed about Ben, about the first night they met. She relived the memory in perfect detail, an exact re-creation of the event, right up until the moment Genevieve arrived. This time, Millie sent her away.

She dreamed about her mother, placid, smiling, and silent as she watched her daughters being torn apart by a pack of wolves. The wolves were filthy and emaciated, and their teeth were made of jagged glass.

She dreamed about being trapped beneath the wreckage of a collapsed building, the weight of it slowly crushing her lungs, immobilizing her limbs, robbing her of all free will. Helplessly, hopelessly trapped, and no one could hear her scream.