Chapter 8 The bitter aftertaste
The morning air at Clearwater Creek was crisp and indifferent to the wreckage inside our cabin. I woke up before the sun had fully crested the pines, my eyes swollen and my chest feeling like it had been hollowed out with a rusted spoon. The cabin was silent, save for the heavy, rhythmic breathing of Liam in the next room—a sound that usually brought me peace but now felt like a barrier I couldn't cross.
I moved through the small kitchenette like a ghost. My hands trembled as I gathered what I could find: a glass of water, a couple of aspirin, and a makeshift concoction of lemon and honey I’d brewed on the hot plate. I placed it on the small wooden table right where he’d see it when he woke up. My bags were already standing by the door, packed with the colorful clothes that felt far too bright for the grayness of my soul.
I looked toward the guest alcove where Liam lay deep in a whiskey-heavy sleep. I wanted to shake him, to beg him to take back the words from last night, but the memory of his bloodshot eyes and the sneer on his face stopped me. With a deep, jagged sigh that caught in my throat, I stepped out into the cool morning. My ride—a local transit shuttle I’d called in a panic—was already idling at the gravel path.
As the cabin disappeared in the rearview mirror, I pulled out my phone. My thumb hovered over the screen before I typed out a message to Liam.
Elena: I thought I should leave earlier than you to avoid another fight. I love you, Liam. I’m truly sorry if my care for my patient came across as anything else. Please, just breathe.
I tucked the phone away, the silence of the shuttle ride feeling like an interrogation.
When I reached our house, the neighborhood was just starting to stir. I let myself in with my spare key, the floorboards groaning under my feet. The house felt smaller than I remembered, or perhaps I had just spent too much time in the sprawling halls of the Blackwood estate. I walked into the bedroom Maya shared with Leo, finding them huddled together under a mountain of quilts.
Maya’s eyes fluttered open. She blinked at me, her voice a groggy, soft whisper so as not to wake the sleeping two-year-old beside her. "Elena? What’s up? You’re back way too early... and what’s up with that sour face?"
I sat on the edge of her bed, my shoulders sagging. "It’s over, Maya. Or it feels like it."
"What?" she hissed, sitting up and pulling her hair back. "What happened at the creek?"
"He got drunk," I whispered, the words tasting like ash. "He’s never like that. He started yelling about my 'obsession' with Victor. He said I was glowing when I saw him at the shopping center. Then... he said we’re done. He slept in the other room."
Maya reached out, squeezing my hand. "Oh, El. He’s just hurt. Seeing the man you’ve been 'complaining' about look like that? It probably blew his mind. He’s territorial."
"But I called out Victor's name in bed the night before, Maya. I can't un-ring that bell."
Maya’s eyes widened, and she let out a breathy whistle. "Okay, yeah. That’s a big bell. But look, give him space. He’s nursing a hangover and a bruised ego. Get some sleep, Elena. You look like you’ve been through a war."
I didn't argue. I kicked off my shoes and crawled into my own bed, falling into a heavy, dreamless nap that lasted three hours.
I woke up to the sound of domestic chaos. The clatter of pans, Leo’s high-pitched giggles, and the smell of sizzling bacon wafted through the door. I walked into the kitchen, rubbing my eyes. My father was seated at the table with his newspaper, and my mother was at the stove, her face bright with maternal warmth.
"Morning, everyone," I mumbled, leaning against the counter.
"There she is!" my mother chirped, turning to give me a quick, sauce-covered hug. "How was the vacation, sweetheart? You’re back so soon—I thought you’d stay until tomorrow evening! Was it perfect? Tell me the creek was as beautiful as the pictures."
I forced a smile, the muscles in my face aching from the effort. "It was... perfect, Mom. Really. The lake was so blue, and the air was so fresh. We just... we both had things to get back to. You know how Liam is about his shifts at the garage."
"Of course, of course," she said, satisfied with the lie. "Well, sit down. You need a proper breakfast."
As I reached for a plate, my phone buzzed in my pocket. My heart skipped a beat. I pulled it out, expecting a text from Liam—a "sorry," a "come back," anything. Instead, it was Mr. Grinch.
Victor: Tickets booked. Part 2 starts at 3:00 PM tomorrow. Don't be late; the opening scene is the most important.
A small, traitorous smile filled my face before I could stop it. He had actually gone through with it. He was waiting for me. But then, reality came crashing back. I checked my sent messages. Liam hadn't replied. I gathered my courage and dialed his number.
Ring. Ring. Ring—
He hung up. The line went dead with a cold, digital beep.
I stared at the screen, my lip trembling. Maya, who was cutting up a pancake for Leo, looked up and saw my face. She knew. She stepped closer, bumping her shoulder against mine.
"Let him be, Elena," she said softly, her eyes full of a rare, serious sympathy. "He’ll come around when the whiskey leaves his system. Don't chase someone who's running. Just eat your breakfast."
I nodded, but as I sat at the table with my family, the "perfect" vacation felt like a distant, fading dream. I was caught between a man who wouldn't pick up the phone and a man who was waiting for me with a cinema ticket and a smirk.
The light I usually carried felt dim, overshadowed by the realization that tomorrow, I would have to walk back into that basement. I would have to look at Victor and decide if the "spark" he saw in me was worth the fire that was currently burning my old life to the ground.