Page 66 of Love Her

“Okay.” I pressed the water bottle into her hand. “Drink some of this,” I said, and when she hesitated, I doubled down. “NOW.”

She swallowed, and then did as she was told, robotically—and after she’d taken three sips of it, I switched it out for alcohol.

“Just a sip of this,” I said. “It’ll calm your nerves.”

She did as she was told again and made a face at the taste.

“And now—at least half that Snickers bar. I’m pretty sure you have low blood sugar.”

She heaved a sigh of resignation and then peeled it like it was a banana, before eating it in rough bites.

“Don’t forget to chew,” I reminded her—and for a second I thought she might spit it into my face, which would’ve been a good thing.

It’d have been a sign thatmyLia was back.

I waited, and then made her repeat everything, until most of the bottle was gone, she’d finished the whiskey, and the Snicker’s wrapper was empty.

“You okay?” I asked her.

She gave me a look, the kind of thousand-yard-stare usually reserved for survivors of brutal shark attacks and infantrymen,then stood up to take the janitor’s outfit into the bathroom, without answering.

It killed me to give her some privacy, but I felt that it was called for. I moved to the couch and put my elbows on my knees, everything in me urged to action—but I didn’t have a fucking clue as to what kind. When she returned in the one-piece gray uniform, I stood up, and noticed she didn’t bring back her clothes.

She saw me looking her over. “I threw them away.”

“Why?”

“Because,” she said ruefully—like that was an answer.

I took her shoulders and guided her back to the couch again. “Why?” I probed.

“Because they were dirty,” she confessed. “But don’t worry—I cleaned myself up—” she said, and then her pupils unfocused, like she was trying to see through me.

“I’m not worried about your clothes. I’m worried about you, Lia,” I said, threading my hand through hers and squeezing it. “Something happened, and I want to know what.”

She swiveled her head like a horse trying to get more slack in the reins before answering. “The same shit that always happens—because no one can fix me. Not my father, not therapy, not pills—and not you,” she said cruelly.

I caught her face between my hands. “I don’t think you need fixing.”

Her eyebrows crawled impossibly high. “You’d be wrong.”

“Why?”

“No—”

“Why?” I demanded, more slowly.

“Just stop asking!” she shrieked. “Please!” And then she hovered there, vibrating, I could feel it in my hands. “I would tell you if I could!” she shouted at the top of her lungs, and thenmelted toward me. “I really would, Rhaim—I just can’t—” she sobbed, and I took her into my arms and held her.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I whispered, as she shook her head into my shoulder.

“It’s not,” she said tearfully. “I just want to be normal,” she went on, breaking my heart.

“And why would you want that?” I said, carefully holding her. “If you were normal, you wouldn’t be here, now, with me. And you can call me selfish, but you are exactly what I need, Lia Ferreo.”

She pulled her head back to give me a sad look. “This mess? Me?”

“Yeah,” I said, pulling her close again and kissing her temple. “Normal’s boring. I need a woman with a little spice.”

---