Ablaze

Chapter 26

Trigger warning: the characters talk about sexual assault

Agatha brushes by Harris, grabbing his sleeve on her way. She pulls him along past the doormat on the floorboards, barely giving him time to kick off his sneakers, for her own sandals come off easily. Her bare feet make no sound on the living room's carpet. She lets go of his sleeve, dances behind him, blindfolds him with her hands and drives him forward, step by step. The smell of jasmine from her is stronger when he only has his nose and tactile senses.

The palms of her hands slip from his eyes to his shoulders. "We thought... we thought you could use a bit of break with fixing stuff."

She brought him to the kitchen. The appliances gleam pristine, and stainless, and steel. "Wow."

The dreamlike sensation doesn't go away as he wanders around the apartment, holding Agatha's hand. The carpet and walls range from beige to salmon, but someone took a calculated risk to upholster the couch and armchairs in a rich royal blue hue. Every furniture leg and every edge that can be curved, curves. The paintings on the walls have moldings of heavy gold: sea towns with tile roofs, cypress trees and ultramarine surf. The crystals sparkle on the chandelier.

This is someone willing to reject the utilitarian elegance of modern design and pander to his barbaric tastes.

"I see you've met my mom already," Harris says. A surprising number of people have visited Milwaukee and left without saying 'hi' to him.

"No, no, not yet!" Agatha snuggles his waist. "I've talked to her a lot and yes, you've guessed it. She's ordered everything in here and she supervised. She'll fly in on Tuesday. I'm less terrified than I should be. Is it wrong?"

"It's perfect."

"Really?"

There is an apologetic chuckle in her voice, so the two women talked and struck an accord. They left him out of everything, and yet it was all about him. It's the weirdest sensation in the world to let it go. He does, shred by shred. It's okay. It's really okay to be coddled this time.

"Really." He nods to fortify the word. "I want to see mom, yes. I needed to see you. More than air. More than anything..."

"Me too."

"If you wanted to get me alone..."

"I didn't..."

What?

"I did." She huffs in frustration at so many things to catch up on, all at once. "Of course, I did. I wanted to talk to you first about everything. But also, I wanted a chance to make sure..."

Her fingers nearly claw at her own throat. Slim fingers. Beautiful nails, lacquered to create a subtle mother-of-Pearl effect.

She forces down whatever torments her. "Harris, I had to stay in Singapore till the last moment. Otherwise, I would have tipped Oliver off, and I... I don't even know what he would have done. "

Oliver. Never forget about Oliver. He's like a ghost coming to ruin a feast.

He sinks into the new couch and stretches his arm along the top of his cushion. "Come sit with me. Or... do you want some water? I can—"

His glance surveys the fridge, the counters, the cabinets. Surely, there's at least a glass in there somewhere.

She pushes on his shoulders, woman-handling him into relaxation, then cuddles to his side, the unburnt one. Her knees fold so neatly under her. Her hair tickles his neck and fills his nostrils with the same smell of jasmine as he's been drunk on since the hospital. Her eyes hood after a sigh so content, that it brings one out of him as well. Worries wash away. They click together like two bits of a puzzle.