CAPITOLO VENTUNO
in between and out
***
THE PAIN NEVER hits her. No hangover, no cure. Sunday morning, Rose opens her eyes, and breathes in the air. There's someone sprawled out beside her, maybe even two someones.
Dust floats in spirals and patterns in the morning dusk of her room. With clear, opaque eyes, Rose studies it. They move in dedicated lines, almost as if there's a phenomenon occurring in the quietude of her house. She'll never find meaning in little pieces of forgotten memories. Sighing, she gets up and walks to the bathroom.
Shower. Rinse. Repeat.
Toothbrush. Toothpaste. Towel off.
There's nothing to do on Sundays, especially not mornings and she doesn't even know why she's up this early but there's a feeling that maybe, she'd let her guests let themselves out.
In the kitchen, it hits her.
Maybe it's a small corner of the house she's never been in twice but the smell. It smells just like Lucien.
It smells like the time she broke out in hives and it smells like the time they baked and she dropped a salt—or was it pepper?—shaker. It smells like the time she, dripping in chlorine and hazy pools, dropped a wine bottle against the marble.
It smells like the day it all started, Alex hanging by the fridge, ravenous and not for her body.
The first time she saw stars in the city and the first time she saw the ocean in the sky.
Rose finds it hard to breathe and move. The inside her thighs ache and she suddenly feels like taking another shower. Scrub. Rinse. Repeat.
But she sees the salt shaker abandoned on the counter, a chip on the side. Her hands start to tremble and her mind clouds over her eyes. The compass in her heart goes haywire and the taste of iron drowns her tongue.
I'm not okay. I'm not okay. I'm not okay.
It's always been evident that she was never herself. The first time her body acted out of her control and then the way her body exhausted itself crying as she realized that she's fated to carry out her mother's legacy. Which mother, though? They're both dead.
The sound of a car alarm rings in her ears, louder than the rushing sound of blood, so she throws on a dress and goes for a drive.
California weather has been unrelenting the past couple of days. Dry heat pouring down and unyielding sunshine manages to placate Rose but when it's night and the temperature cools, she's finding new pleasures to immerse herself in.
Ecstasy? Which one? The pill or the vice?
Cocaine? Done with Benjamin Franklins. It always leaves her sobbing afterwards though. She's been doing a lot of that lately, crying that is. There's also an abundance of shaking and the absolute loss of control.
Her last good time with Lucien? Probably the night before. It wasn't all just physical.
***
"What would you do if you were me?" Rose asks.
"What do you mean?"
"If someone offered you everything. What would you do the next day?"
Lucien stares at her.
They're both lying on the bed, the one they ruined the sheets on. He's lying on his back, head on his arm and pillow while Rose is on her stomach, just a few inches away. They search each other's eyes endlessly and wondering.
Lucien's always had the same eyes. They never change with the day. Steady green and an abyss for pupils, they're the defining feature of his face. Lashes thick and eyelids glittering when he moves in the low light.
"God, you're beautiful," she breathes out, not even caring for his answer back.
"And you," he murmurs, face still marked with content.
Taking the arm he's propped his head on, he reaches forward to brush her bottom lip with his thumb. Instinctively, Rose's tongue darts out to meet it and to kiss it.
"Do I like you because you're beautiful? Because it's beneficial for me? Because I just need someone? Or because it's you?" she wonders out loud.
It's three in the morning and they're both lost in the passions of drinking and each other.
Wine is truth, is what her dad always said.
"It's probably not that deep, Rose. You don't have to justify attraction." Lucien blinks lazily at her and he closes his eyes.
"You're not falling asleep on me, are you?"
"Not in your dreams."
"Then kiss me."
They do. Their tongues are practiced to this skill and Rose climbs on top of him. She vaguely remembers calling him a god and declaring her heart to him, in the middle of her drunken state. But that's the beauty in midnight. Nothing stays remembered or carved upon the mattress.
"Do you love me?" she asks. "Do you love me."
Lucien pauses his hands—how good they felt—and his eyes turn dark around the corners.
"You're not ready for my love. Not in a million years."
"So is that a no?" Rose cocks her head. "I'm disappointed."
"Are you disappointed with this?" he asks before his hips meets hers.
"Never. Oh god, right there," she cries. "Say you love me, Lucien. The way I love you."
"But you don't love me." Lucien's lips move against her shoulder. Rose catches his mouth with hers before he can speak up and all thought of romance is forgotten. All that matters right now is skin and salt.
***
Salt it is, running down her cheeks. The sunrise looks unholy on the streets of Los Angeles and she parks her car. Without even thinking, she's at her physician's office. Dr. Manning doesn't open this early but Rose knows she always comes before the clinic opens.
She gives her a ring and she's into the office.
"Rose, what's wrong?" Dr. Manning's voice, although she tries hard to conceal it, shows the hints of urgency.
Do I look that bad? Is it the eyes? Or the shaking?
"I'm getting worse. I feel it. I really feel it," Rose cries.
Dr. Manning runs her hands down Rose's arms and sits her down before shutting the office door. "Tell me why you think so."
"My hands. My mind. My mind, my mind, my mind. It's going crazy."
"We're going to do some breathing exercises, if that's okay with you. And then I'm going to do a diagnosis like always and we'll find out whether or not you're really getting as bad as you think you are. Everything will be okay." Dr. Manning starts getting out her files and she tells the receptionist to delay her next appointment.
Exactly as she said, they do it.
Rose's heart still flops dully and aimlessly in her chest but her eyes have dried up.
"You're...have you been taking your medication? And not mixing it with anything? That's the most important part," Dr. Manning says. "If you have and you're like this maybe we need a new plan. Don't worry, Rose, it's nothing serious. It could just be that fact that you worked yourself up. It's hard to tell without consistencies."
Rose says nothing. Of course she hasn't been taking her medication but with a furious shade of shame creeping along her back, she won't admit it.
"There's nothing wrong with me?" she asks instead.
"I wouldn't say nothing. Your fine motor skills are deteriorating and your heart rate isn't normal. Perhaps we need another checkup at the hospital. I can do the end of the month if you're still worried but I can't say anything serious is happening right now. Time will tell."
"Thank you."
She walked in here thinking it'd help but it's done nothing. By now, it's Sunday noon and her stomach still feels full from the past few nights.
***
"What would you do if you were you?" Lucien asks.
"What?"
"What would you do first after my dad fills his end of the deal?"
"What do you think I should do? I can do anything and everything. I'd conquer the world." Rose ties her hair into a bun and she sits up.
It's getting close to five in the morning now. Although they're both worn out and breathless, they can't seem to fall asleep in each other's company. A warm shade of pink blushes against the curtains of her room and she wants to drown in the light, delirious and insane.
"Would you stay here? LA?"
"No. I'd move. I'd move every month and I'll find somewhere."
"You'll find home." Lucien seems to understand her need to travel far from where all her bad memories are harbored, lined up against the shore. He understands the way her wild eyes travel from his eyes to his lips.
"And then I'll buy property there. I'd get a dog and I'll still work."
"Why not get a dog now?" Lucien asks.
Rose glances at him in confusion. There's no way he doesn't get it by now. "Because now, I'm still dying."
"Are you not breathing right now?"
"I am. And you still smell good," she says and leans in closer, until they're wrapped in each other. "I just don't want my dog to suddenly wonder where I am. It's probably more confusing for an animal."
She sighs into him and the world fits into its place for a second. Never one for romantic gestures, she freezes briefly before landing a kiss on his forehead. They lie like this, drifting in and out of consciousness until the sun shines at its peak.
***
Los Angeles is always supposed to have bright days. It rains the rare time and traffic stops for a drizzle. Everyone talks about rain. But it's objectively pretty and Rose will always mark down what the skies and clouds look like, even though her brain never keeps track of it.
As she's stuck on the highway, she breathes out.
It's still too early to go back but she doesn't want to go anywhere. Not the beach, not downtown, not the cafés. But that's fine. California has stretches of lands full of nothing in between nothing and for people feeling nothing.
But she thinks she'll return home anyways and see if her two guests have taken their leave. And at night, maybe she'll find another place with gray mist and moving bodies. Whatever she may stumble upon, it'll never be what—or who—she really wants it to be.
***
"So you like me?" Rose asks, almost capricious—she would never, though.
"I've made that clear. Do you like me?" Alex asks.
They've forgotten their ages and faces as they stand between bookshelves. This is only the second time they've seen each other but they've been texting late at night.
"I thought I made it clear," she replies.
"Yeah? Guess I didn't pick it up," he says and moves closer.
Rose has never played this kind of game before. No 'likes' and definitely no teasing. She's always gone for what she's wanted and people have always, to her favor, given it to her. But with Alex, he's put a medium between them and Rose hasn't made up her mind on whether she likes it or not.
***
The slow jam of the road eats up the majority of her day and it's way past lunch. Rose isn't hungry though and even if she is, she doesn't know what will satisfy her anymore.
Her mind's grown indecisive over the years. It's simply gotten harder and harder to determine what will really fulfill her. When she was still in college, she used to think it was another person. Now, they're just means to get by.
Tired out by this morning, Rose makes a turn to go back home. Not until she gets a call.
"Hello?"