December, 2017

Ingrid's coat fell off her arms as she barraged into the house and stumbled up the stairs. She shook her shoes off one at a time on separate landings. Barefoot, she stormed into her room as she was pulling her jumper over her head and barged half-naked into the bathroom, where she crumbled to her knees by the toilet.

She barely had time to roll her hair up into a makeshift bun before all the junk she'd ingested throughout the day came up from her stomach and she bucked forward, half-hugging the toilet bowl as she retched. Steps bounded into the bedroom. Shuffled closer. A hand covered hers and took over hair-holding duties.

Ingrid made a move to get up and Edgar offered her his forearm for support. He helped her across to the sink and held onto her shivering body while she rinsed her mouth and washed her face.

"I need a minute," she told his reflection.

"You sure you're okay on your own?"

Their gazes met in the mirror. He was plaiting her hair. Ingrid closed her eyes and nodded.

"Alright. Almost done. I'll be right outside."

Bent over the sink, Ingrid splashed more cold water on her face, rubbing it down her chest and around her nape. Brushed her teeth with more aggression than necessary. Stripped and showered with mechanical movements, just going through the motions.

It didn't make her feel any cleaner or any safer. Or more in control. She felt it slipping, like blood draining from a slit vein. Just as lightheaded, too. Her fingers instinctively touched the cut on her neck. Leon had disinfected it and patched it up. She ripped off the band-aid and watched the thin, red line in the mirror. Wondered if it'd scar.

As promised, Edgar was in her bedroom, pacing around. He must have tidied up in her wake – a cursory glance round revealed her belongings neatly piled up on a chair in the corner. He stopped when he heard her. Eyed her with... pity? Guilt?

Compassion.

Ingrid balled her fists.

Control.

Re-assert it.

"I need you to do something," she croaked and cleared her throat.

"Anything..."

"Take your clothes off."

Edgar frowned. "What?"

She fetched a vacant chair, placing it in the middle of the room. "Take your clothes off and sit down. Hands behind your back."

He looked bewildered, but complied. Ingrid stood over his naked body.

"Now, whatever you do," she whispered, "whatever I do, you don't touch me, understood?"

"I – Yes," he gulped. "I understand. I won't touch you."

"Good." Ingrid licked her lips. "I'm sorry. I won't – hurt you, per se, but, um... it might get a bit... hard for you to withstand."

He grinned. "Bring it on."

She cupped his face and kissed him. Grateful. Traced her fingers along his shoulders, caressed his collarbones, knelt to graze her teeth against the protruding bones. Edgar hissed, sighing in defeat when her lips found his nipples.

Her palms rubbed his thighs inside and out as she continued to pepper kisses on his pectorals. His muscles grew tenser by the second but to his credit, through gritted teeth and involuntary twitches, his hands never came round from the back of the chair.

Sat on her shins, with her elbows propped on his knees, Ingrid watched the result of her tormenting ministrations, breathed in the smell of his arousal, let the tip of her tongue dart out for a brief taste. Edgar moaned, but articulated no words. Her eyes glinted in the room dimly lit by the moon and streetlamps outside.

When, at long last, she took him fully in her mouth, a drawn-out exhale escaped from his lungs, relief mingled with pleasure in the echoes of it. He couldn't endure much. Her cruel teasing left him gasping for breath, but she allowed him little time to recuperate.

"Your turn," Ingrid murmured.

Untying her bathrobe, she climbed into bed and lay spread-eagled on the blanket. Edgar made his way towards her, keeping his eyes trained on hers as he approached. His head dived between her legs and his mouth closed in on her heated core. She raked her fingers through his hair, pushed his face into her, arched her back for more – not enough.

"Stop," she mumbled. "Stop, come here."

He pulled away at once. She directed him to lie flat on his back and straddled him, pumping him hard again. His hands stayed well away as she lowered herself onto him, clawing at the blanket instead of at her flesh.

Except as she felt him fill her, the tears she hadn't been able to shed in Leon's presence now suddenly overwhelmed her and she burst into wails and sobs, hugging herself, letting go of the weight making her ache. Edgar sat up, unsure what to do. It was clearly killing him to see her like this.

"Please tell me I can hold you," he implored her, "please, I – "

Ingrid nodded, still crying, and his strong arms wrapped her in a protective embrace.

"I'm sorry," he hummed, "I'm so sorry... It's okay now, you're okay, you're safe, I've got you, I love you, I'm sorry..."

His smell comforted her most. Remnants of that cologne he always wore at the office, mixed with his own specific odour. The crisp and fresh scent of his menthol shampoo. The linen on the bed, damp with their sweat, but just changed the other day. The breeze wafting through from the window cracked open, bringing a chill to the air.

Her arms came up around his neck and whatever sweet nothings he whispered in her ear tranquilised her. His touch was feather-light on her skin, there but capable of going away at a moment's notice. She still had him inside her and clamped her muscles around him. He breathed in sharply, his eyelids fluttering shut. He clenched and unclenched his jaw, looking at her, searching her gaze for permission. She kissed him. Reluctant, at first, then losing herself in it.

Their hips began to move in tandem, back and forth, building pressure at their crux. Without ever breaking eye-contact, he reached down between them and teased her sensitised flesh, to bring her closer to the edge. She threw her head back, moaning. Edgar took a breast in his mouth, sucking on her nipple, but kept his teeth at bay. His tender tactics soon launched her into overdrive and her breaths shortened as she chased her release.

He held back, forcing himself not to let go. Ingrid's cries came out in quick, high-pitched spurts until, at last, her body tensed with exploding ecstasy. Edgar grunted when her heat hit him and one final, deep thrust tipped him over the edge, too. They sat tangled together for a minute, panting and holding onto each other for dear life.

*

Ingrid woke up in her bed, to Edgar stroking her hair.

"Hey," he smiled. "How are you?"

"Bloody knackered," she yawned, "or knackered bloody. Can't tell."

A chuckle. He kissed her forehead, brushing his thumb over her eyebrow.

"You had us all worried sick," Edgar whispered. "I nearly reported you missing."

Ingrid cuddled at his chest. The warmth of safety tasted like a soft slice of luscious cake, as opposed to the hardened, rancid chill of death that lingered in the hazy recesses of her mind.

"I'm hungry," she whined. "And so fucking thirsty. Can't even remember the last time I drank some water."

"I'll go bring you some food." He pecked her forehead again and sat up. "Any preferences?"

Ingrid rubbed at her sticky, swollen eyes. "Yeah. Lots of bacon. And doughnuts. Or pancakes. The American kind, you know. Fluffy. With maple syrup."

The culinary picture she painted made her grin through the drowsiness.

"Sure. I'll see what I can manage."

Left to her own devices, Ingrid's first instinct was to check her phone, but she remembered it'd probably be too cluttered for her to be able to handle in this state. Her second instinct was to use the toilet but her skull throbbed and the room whirled when she tried to get up. It took a few tries to brave the hangover and she even made it to the bathroom in an upright position, rather than on all fours. After brushing her teeth, she also hopped into the tub for a shower.

She scrubbed herself with utter diligence, as if that could erase the inner filth, as well. At the very least, it relaxed her into a pleasant numbness and she leaned back in the murky lukewarm water, brain blank.

Her eyes scanned the tiles on the wall, but didn't see them. Beads of condensed steam slithered down the shiny surface, encountered each other along the way and merged into a single stream. This web of wet threads spread across the wall and for a moment, Ingrid watched it flow upside down, towards the ceiling rather than the floor.

It came with a shortness of breath and a quickened heartbeat, and she gripped the cold, ceramic edges of the tub for support. She could have dropped down into the ceiling at any second and she braced herself for the fall, eyes squeezed shut.

And just like that, it was over. Some dizziness persisted, and she felt faint. Her skin still crawled with the unsettling sensation that she was about to plunge into an abyss, but her breathing evened out, and soon, soothing calmness eased back into her.

"Your, uh... breakfast is ready," Edgar's amused voice interrupted her trance. "Waiting for you in your room."

"Coming!" she called back and scrambled to rinse the shampoo out of her hair.

He'd made her pancakes and a plate full of nearly-burnt bacon, paired with a couple of parmesan-topped sunny-side-up eggs. A crystalline jug of water stood in the middle of the table and she reached for it first.

"Let me," Edgar interceded.

He picked up the jug and filled her glass. Ingrid drank it all down.

"Water is so fucking good!" she exclaimed, breathless.

"I bet it is."

She had another glass before she tucked into her food, gobbling it up as if there'd be no tomorrow. Edgar scavenged a slice of bacon every now and again, or a bite of pancakes. Between the two of them, they managed to scrape the dishes clean in under twenty minutes. Ingrid emptied the jug of water, too.

"Better?" Edgar asked.

"Much." She belched and apologised. He waved it off. "So what day is it?"

"Sunday," Edgar checked his watch, "afternoon."

"Oh, goody. Back up and running just in time to make it to the office all prim and proper on Monday morning."

"No, you're not going to the office."

The colour drained from her cheeks. "What do you mean?"

"You're taking the week off. Then next week, we're all off over the holidays, but if you need to, you can take one more week in the New Year. At any rate, you're not going back to the office until January."

"But – "

"Ingrid, please. I deliberated long and hard about this, I..." He gulped, shaking his head. "I almost bought you a one-way ticket back to London. I should have never brought you out here. Never."

Tears stung her eyes. "Don't say that. Don't do this to me, please. This job is the only thing keeping me sane."

He heaved a pained sigh. "You're not fit for work, Ingrid. You need help. Medical, professional help. But if you won't see a doctor, at least take the time away to heal and recover. Letting you work would put everybody at risk, yourself included, and I can't afford such a gamble."

Ingrid wiped at her cheeks with the hem of her bathrobe sleeve. "I guess I should be grateful you haven't fired me," she quipped.

"Actually, yeah. Your performance has been deteriorating for quite some time, but I turned a blind eye to it because I knew you were getting through a rough patch. But if you keep this up... The board will make me let you go. Which is why you need to recharge and regain your Midas touch."

"My... Midas touch?" An arched eyebrow.

He grinned. "Yeah, you've been turning shit into gold all summer. Pulled some proper miracles straight out of your hat. That's the Ingrid I – "

His voice caught in his throat and he averted his nostalgic gaze.

"Cillian's coming over next week," he announced, more upbeat. "You can hang out with him, he'll stay for a couple of weeks. I swear, I don't know how you did it, but both my kids seem to... love you, somehow. I don't get it. I mean, sure, yeah, you bonded with Caitlin over... over your shared experiences, but Cillian? How on earth did you pull that off?"

Ingrid adjusted to the change of topic, relishing the fond reminiscences from that wild weekend in Spain.

"I might have taken him clubbing in Barcelona."

Edgar cackled. "That explains it! His mother won't even let him have a beer, poor lad. I had to sneak him out of the house once to get him his first taste of alcohol. Before his peers had a chance to take advantage of his naivety and pressure him into getting drunk. Shannon thinks she's protecting him, but really, she's just building him an impermeable bubble, which is bound to pop sooner or later, and when it does, he won't be prepared to navigate the real world outside."

His insightfulness into his children's well-being gave Ingrid a jolt of renewed faith in humanity.

"He did seem pretty shy and reserved," she said.

"Yeah. I feel so sorry for him. So guilty I let Shannon have her way with him. She flipped out at me when I told her that I thought he might be gay and we should make sure he understands he's got our unconditional love and support. Nearly bit my fucking head right off."

"So, you know, then?" Ingrid managed to mask her surprise.

"Pretty hard to miss, innit?"

She agreed. "I've told Caitlin, too. I was sure she'd know, but she didn't."

"Yes, she said. I think it'll do him good to spend some time out here where nobody knows him and he's free to be himself – while also having his sister and me around, in case he needs to fall back on someone. Then there's you."

Ingrid frowned at his good-natured smile. "Me? What about me?"

He stood up, piling the plates on top of each other. "Well, apparently you're his greatest source of inspiration of late."

That confounded her further. "How?"

"Oh, he didn't tell you? He's really into comics. Like... so passionate, he dreams of pursuing a career in the field."

"Bet his mum's not very happy about that." Ingrid rolled her eyes, imagining Shannon stuck up in her sourness.

"She is not," Edgar confirmed. "But I haven't let her stop him. I think he's pretty good, but I might be biased."

"Comics is a complex business." Ingrid got up and went to look for some clothes to put on. "What does he do exactly?"

"He writes the scripts. He's got an artist friend who does the rest. I think Shannon still believes he's dating that girl, but they're just best buddies."

"It's really sweet how you're so genuinely interested in your children." Ingrid thought he blushed beneath his stubble. "But you didn't tell me. What's that about me inspiring him?"

"Ah, yes." A gleeful smirk. "I'm pretty sure he's basing his latest protagonist on you. He's been asking me a ton of questions about the work we do. Some of them specifically about you and your responsibilities."

Ingrid blinked, unsure how to react. "Well, that's... flattering?"

"I would imagine it is. I'm really curious how it's coming along, but he's still at the stage where he doesn't really let me read his stuff. I've been looking into trying to get it published for him, except I don't want him to get by on privilege alone. Whatever he achieves, he needs to earn it."

She glanced over at him from behind her wardrobe door. "They're really lucky to have you. When you're not being a dick, of course."

He hovered by the bedroom entrance with the dish-covered tray in his hands. "I'll never not be sorry for that."

"Good."

Nodding, he pushed the door open and disappeared into the hall.

She waited until the door fell closed and dropped her bathrobe to dress up.

*

song of the chapter: dance in the dark by lady gaga

https://youtu.be/_Ry3wbHai08