Episode 7
1140 Words
Sebastian's pov
She dropped the towel on my car seat instantly and slid out, walking briskly to her apartment door.
I didn’t call after her.
Because even without words, I could feel the war brewing inside her. Elizabeth Walters didn’t slam doors or throw tantrums. No, she hid behind sharp remarks and tighter ponytails. But tonight, she was quiet.
She paused at the door, fumbling with her keys, her shoulders rigid beneath that soaked blouse. Her bag looked like it had absorbed half the rain in the city.
The keys dropped from her hand and hit the pavement. I saw it, the brief shake of her head, the quiet curse. She picked them up quickly and disappeared inside before I could get out of the car.
I didn’t move. I stayed parked out front for another full minute, watching the faint silhouette of her light switch on behind the sheer curtain. Her figure moved past the window.
Then vanished.
I ran a hand down my face, letting my head fall back against the seat. What the hell was I doing?
She wasn’t just another student. She was May’s daughter. Complicated. Off-limits. But somehow, that night, our night, had ruined the logic I built my world around. And now, here I was, like a man begging to be burned all over again.
My phone buzzed.
May
“Are you home yet? I’ve made ginger tea. It’s storming out. Drive safe.”
I didn’t reply. I didn't know what to type, I had told her that I was out getting a drink, she didn't know that I was right in front of her daughter's apartment.
When my parents brought up May’s name in one of those ‘family obligation’ meetings, I didn’t even recognize it at first. Not until they mentioned her debt.
Back then, I had barely even known her daughter existed.
They said I needed a stable front. That May needed protection. It was mutually beneficial. Legal. Clean.
No one said anything about the daughter. No one said she’d walk into my summer seminar last year, late on the first day, with messy hair and red ink on her fingers. That her eyes would make my entire world tilt and never quite settle back.
No one said she'd wreck my focus with one smile.
My phone buzzed again, May.
"Heavens, what does she-"
Elizabeth came out of her apartment, running, her eyes wide in fright.
"Did you see the text?"
I scrolled up and that was when I realized that the message I had read from May was sent hours earlier and another one sent thirty minutes from my house cleaner had been delivered.
May had fallen unconscious.
____
I had to drive there at the speed of light, Elizabeth sat in the front of the car seat, her left leg vibrating with anxiety, I kept glancing from my steering wheel to it.
I gripped the wheel tighter, the traffic inching forward at an agonizing pace. The wipers squeaked rhythmically, pushing the rain aside, but all I could hear was her breathing.
Elizabeth hadn’t said much since she read the message, but her knee was bouncing relentlessly, her hand wringing her damp shirt like it owed her something.
“Elizabeth,” I said gently, “breathe.”
She didn’t.
I glanced at her, then spoke more clearly. “If it were something serious....really serious...the cleaner would have said more than just ‘May fell unconscious.’ That message was vague. Which probably means she is stable now. She’s been taken care of. Don’t let your mind spiral.”
She didn’t respond at first, then finally muttered, “I got the same message. Word for word.”
That surprised me. I thought she wasn’t close to May. But now? She looked shattered.
“You’re really worried about her?” I asked.
Her lips parted. “Yes. She’s my mom. I have to be.”
It wasn’t said with warmth or affection. It was said to be like duty. Like a box she was taught to tick.
Without thinking, my hand left the steering wheel and moved to her thigh. I tapped it lightly. “You’re shaking. Try to relax.”
She flinched slightly at first, but didn’t push me away. Just stared ahead, breathing harder.
“I don’t know much about you,” I admitted. “But my family did a background check before the.....match. Some details came up.”
Her jaw tensed. I continued anyway.
“Your father left when you were what, fifteen?”
“thirteen,” she corrected.
“Right. The report said he became an alcoholic.”
I saw her hand curl into a fist on her lap.
“After he left,” I continued carefully, “he was caught in a crossfire. A stray bullet. It wasn’t targeted.”
“Wasn’t it?” she whispered bitterly.
I waited.
She turned toward me, slowly, like every word was sand in her mouth. “He wasn’t always like that. He was warm. He laughed a lot. He made me pancakes every Saturday. And then.....she happened.”
“Your mom?”
She nodded.
“She did something. I don’t know what, exactly. But I heard them fighting. I heard him crying. The man who never cried. He started drinking after that. Got reckless. The night he died, he was drunk out of his mind. And she didn’t even cry. Didn’t even flinch.”
I said nothing. I didn’t want to interrupt the storm.
“Barely two months later, she had men coming over. Loud ones. Creepy ones. One of them, Joshua......” her voice broke, “He was fifty-two.”
I froze. My fingers tightened against the leather steering wheel. I didn’t want to ask, but I did.
“Did he...?”
She didn’t answer. But the way her hands trembled was enough.
“I was fourteen,” she whispered. “He didn’t touch me. But he looked. Made disgusting comments. Stayed too long in the hallway when I walked to the bathroom. My mom.......she ignored it, told me I was being dramatic.”
“She only cared about her beauty lines, her spa routines, and the men who bought her perfumes. So I studied. Hard. Earned my way out. Got scholarships. Paid my way. I stopped asking for hugs the day Dad died.”
There was no tear in her eyes now.
“That’s why I don’t forgive her,” she added quietly. “Because she never once asked me to.”
We were quiet again. Traffic began to break up ahead.
I kept my hand on her thigh, firmer now. For support.
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” I said finally. “But thank you for doing it anyway.”
She said nothing.
But for the first time all night, her knee stopped shaking.
- Writer
