Chapter Sixteen

 

Aven

 

It was a quiet Thursday, and I was plugging away on a new design for a company out of Boston that was looking for ideas to modernize a fifty-year-old art museum. My eyes were sore from staring at the computer screen all morning, and I was about to break for lunch when Finn’s text came through.

The past five days had been hell. My heart ached, and I was consumed with thoughts of Finnley. The way he’d wormed something extremely special from me, stomped on it, and used it as nothing more than ammunition in his fight to get me out of his apartment had hurt like hell.

When he texted me a simple “I’m sorry” I wanted to scream and nearly tossed my phone across the room in frustration. Something in his second text raised red flags, and I got an underlying sense he wasn’t okay.

When I broke down and called him, my heart shattered all over again hearing the despair in his voice and the tears he couldn’t contain. Every time I didn’t think Finn could get worse, he proved me wrong. When I suggested he go home, and he didn’t put up a fight, I worried even more.

My lunch break ended, and I sent a text to check in on him, then, I stared at his reply to my simple question when I’d asked if he was lying down.

Not yet. I will, I promise.

I could almost hear the agony behind those simple words. If he was in front of me, there would have been terror in his hazel eyes. I knew it without looking.

“Please, Finn. You need to rest.”

I dropped my phone beside me and logged back into my design program, pulling up my work in progress. Sometimes restructuring old buildings was fun. Finding ways to bring them back to life and give them flair again was part of what I enjoyed. However, that day, I didn’t possess enough energy to care.

Finn had me worried.

Instead of messing around with what I should have been doing, I pulled up a search engine and explored options for local therapists who might deal with anxiety disorders. Specifically, ones who might handle severe phobias like Finn’s. I didn’t know if I’d manage to convince him to talk to someone, but if he conceded, I wanted to be prepared.

Two doctors in the area caught my attention, so I jotted down their information to keep on hand. Dr. Williams and Dr. Kelby. Both dealt directly with anxiety, PTSD, and various other mental health disorders. If Finn showed interest, a few quick phone calls might be in order.

I decided to end my day early and packed up my office at four. I hadn’t heard any more from Finn, so I raced home to shower and change before heading his way. I hoped he’d listened and was asleep. Over the past couple of months, I’d done what I could to encourage sleep from him. Baths, massages, sex, it worked to a point, but what he needed was therapy and anxiety medication. My repertoire of tools was pitiful at best, and I was out of ideas.

I parked around back of the home when I arrived but went to the front to enter. If Finn was asleep, I didn’t want to wake him by knocking on his door. I knew he kept the door that led down to the home unlocked, so I planned to go in that way.

When I walked in, the chimes sounded, and the scent of faded incense hit my nose. Margret was vacuuming the front hall and startled at my sudden appearance. She turned off the machine and smiled.

“Aven, hello.”

“Hi, Maggie. Just heading up to see Finn. I didn’t want to wake him if he’s asleep.”

“I sure hope he is. I don’t think I’ve seen him so rough in my life. If I didn’t know he was always going without sleep, I’d have thought maybe he wasn’t feeling well.”

I furrowed my brow and nodded. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’d run his immune system into the ground and caught himself a cold.

“I’ll make sure he’s okay.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

I edged past her and headed down the hall. The vacuum started again and faded into the background as I climbed the stairs to Finn’s apartment. I creaked the door open as cautiously as I could and slipped inside as I glanced around.

The TV was at a still-screen, asking the viewer if they were still watching the program. However, the viewer was passed out on the couch, snoring softly, so the answer was no.

The tightly wound knot in my chest eased somewhat when I saw Finn asleep. It told me that my assumptions when we’d talked were accurate. He’d been at the end of his rope and fighting a downward slide. Those were the worse days for him.

I tiptoed over and knelt in front of the couch. His cheeks were flushed, and when I kissed his forehead, it was burning hot under my lips. Margret hadn’t been seeing things. He wasn’t well. I used the remote to turn off the TV and thought about what I was going to do. As much as I didn’t want to wake him, I thought he could use a few Tylenol and a better place to sleep than a couch.

When I loosened the blankets, I noted he was still dressed for work, too. That wouldn’t do at all.

He moaned in his sleep when I re-tucked the blanket under his chin, and his face scrunched in what looked like pain. Drawing himself into a ball, he whimpered and turned his face into the throw pillow before settling again.

Leaving Finn on the couch for the time being, I headed to his bathroom to see if he had anything resembling Tylenol. If I had to make a trip to the store, I didn’t want to disturb him until I was back. Luckily, I found a half-empty bottle and shook two pills into my hand.

Before returning to him, I turned down the bedding in his room and made sure the blinds were pulled closed.

I found him a glass of water in the kitchen and noted his box of Pepcid sitting on the counter. When I’d done a quick bit of research on ulcers, I’d read that it was possible for them to heal, but at the fantastic rate Finn consumed coffee and takeout, it wasn’t about to happen anytime soon.

With the few pills I’d found and a small glass of water, I went back to the living room and sat on the coffee table in front of him. Waking him could be a huge mistake. Convincing him to move to his bedroom could be disastrous. The last thing I wanted to do was induce a panic attack.

I left the pills and water beside me on the table and ran my knuckles softly along his unshaven cheek. The less sleep he got, the less he took care of himself. I’d learned I could almost guess how many hours he’d rested based solely on his appearance.

“Finn?” I leaned in and kissed his head, whispering again by his ear. “My sleepy owl isn’t feeling well. I need you to take some Tylenol for me.”

He mumbled and rolled his head free of the pillow as another whimper fell from his lips.

“You’re fevered, baby. Take some Tylenol, and you can rest some more.”

I avoided the word sleep, knowing it was triggering.

His eyes peeled open with difficulty, and he groaned as he brought a hand to his side. Blinking, he looked up with disorientation until the sleep haze cleared enough for him to make sense of my presence.

“Hey.” His voice was groggy and thick.

“Sit up some and take these,” I said, pressing the two pills into his hand.

He winced and moved upright, a sheen of sweat beading on his brow. He took the pills without argument, but when I encouraged him to stand, he struggled to bring his body upright without bending back down into a crouch and sucking air between his teeth.

“Are you in pain,” I asked, bracing an arm around his waist and taking his weight.

“Fucking ulcer is being a bitch. I took two Pepcid when I got home, but it hasn’t touched it.”

That was odd. I didn’t know what to suggest, and I didn’t think taking more meds was a good idea.

“Maybe they haven’t kicked in yet.”

If he’d delayed lying down and had only taken them an hour or so ago, it could still have been working its way through his system.

“Where are we going?” he asked when I guided him down the hall. His teeth chattered non-stop despite his sweat-soaked forehead.

I didn’t respond, knowing he’d resist. But it didn’t matter. The moment he understood, he dug his heels in and refused to budge.

“Aven, please.” The painful sob that came out with his statement cut into my heart. His face broke, and tears rolled down his cheeks. “I can’t.”

“I’ll be with you. Just lie down with me. We’ll just snuggle. You aren’t feeling well, and you need to rest.”

I tugged him along, and even though he stopped resisting, his body trembled. When I stripped him of his clothes, he shivered and curled against me, spilling tears onto my shoulder. His fevered skin was on fire and burned hot enough I felt the temperature difference even though I was fully dressed.

“I hate my life,” he whimpered. “Why can’t I be fucking normal.”

He vibrated in my arms as I helped him to bed. I shed my clothes and joined him, encasing him in my arms. His panic rose quickly to the surface, but before it could steal his breath and make him lose control, I encouraged him to breathe with me.

He rested his head on my chest and copied the best he was able as I kept each of my inhales and exhales even and deep, guiding him along the path of control.

“Sing to me?” he asked as he clung tighter.

I stroked his hair and started into an endless cycle of the Friends theme song. Over and over. When his breathing evened out, I tilted my head up and noticed he’d fallen asleep. If I had to lie there all night, I would. In the morning, I’d see how he was feeling. If he needed me longer, I had sick days accumulated and wouldn’t hesitate to call in and take a day off work.

At some point, Finnley would need to face his life-crippling fear and seek help. He couldn’t keep going at the rate he was going. Not only was he physically exhausted, but he was mentally exhausted as well.

 

* * *

 

The following morning, I awoke first. Dawn had barely crested the horizon, but since we’d crashed so early, I couldn’t sleep anymore. It surprised me to find Finnley still out cold and still in bed. He’d moved away during the night and was sprawled on his stomach, facing the far side of the room.

The heat radiating off his body told me he was still fevered. If he didn’t wake on his own soon, I would need to wake him up for a few more Tylenol. At least he was sleeping whatever he had off.

I slipped out of bed, gathered my clothes, and headed down the hall. A quick check of his kitchen cupboards told me he had nothing remotely close to food in the house. If he was under the weather, he’d need a few things to help his body get back on track.

I made a quick call to work to let them know I’d be taking a long weekend, then grabbed my keys and headed out into the morning. With Finnley’s aversion to vegetables, it was going to be difficult to get proper nutrition into his body to help him get better, but I was up for the challenge. He wasn’t as against fruit, so oranges and juice would at least supply him with Vitamin C to help his immune system battle his cold.

Spring had barely taken hold and the May morning was chilly. I cranked the heat in my Audi and was on my way.

The twenty-four-hour grocery store was quiet as I wandered the aisles and collected a few random items I hoped to use as a base for soup. Since it wasn’t for me, I begrudgingly grabbed chicken to add, knowing Finn would need to see something recognizable in whatever I fed him. Even the idea of cooking the poor bird brought a thick film to the inside of my mouth.

“See how much I love you, Finn,” I mumbled as I placed the bird in my basket.

At the checkout, as I was placing my items on the belt, my phone pinged. The cashier scanned my purchases as I pulled it out to check who was texting. Finnley. He was awake. I shoved it back in my pocket, intent on reading it once I was done paying and had my car loaded.

As the bagger packed my groceries, I handed the young girl working the register my credit card and waited as she put it through. I thanked her and hooked all my bags on my arms.

As I walked to my car, my phone began to ring in my pocket. With my hands full, I couldn’t answer it, but knew it was probably Finn. He’d just need to wait. I would call him back once I had my hands free.

I loaded the full bags into my trunk and slipped into the driver’s seat as my phone pinged again.

“All right already. Impatient much?”

I pulled my phone from my pocket and clicked the text to read what was so important he had to attack me three times in less than ten minutes. When I saw his words, my heart seized.

I think something is wrong with me. Did you go to work already?

Aven, I’m scared. Help me. Where are you?