Briony - May Nights

← Previous Chapter: Chapter 8 /|\ Next Chapter → Chapter 10Bang! I slam the empty kettle back on the stove, moving the refreshed teapot to the tray. Shaking out a fistful of oyster crackers into a small bowl, I squeeze it on the tray next to the bowl of chicken noodle soup. I’m running down the list of items on the tray when my phone starts buzzing for the 30th time this morning. Answering from my earbuds, I pick up the tray and hustle out of the kitchen. “If you’re calling me again about the thickness or color of your snot, I’m going to come up there, drag it out of your face, wrap it around your throat and choke you with it,” I growl, nodding at the wide eyed cook, Jaime, as I pass him in the small kitchen. A heavy silence on the line, then the last voice I was expecting to hear. “I never thought you’d be into choking, Bri. Congratulations. Whose the intended recipient of such unbridled passion?” I blow out a breath with a frustrated laugh as I pause at the bottom of the back stairs. “The only man in our lives who pays to drive me crazy.” Evie chuckles. “Oh? What’s he done now?” I close my eyes against the headache raging in my temple. “This time it’s what he hasn’t done. I knew he was coming down with something last week. I begged him Evie..begged him to take his echinacea and vitamin C. He refused the vitamins, refused to hydrate, and decided he wasn’t hungry in the middle of the week. Did I mention, he refused to call in sick?” I’m practically shouting, and as a couple of crew members walk past looking at me with raised brows, I take a calming breath and furiously whisper instead. Evie chuckles, but I’m not through. “I actually had to call Alfie on him when he still insisted on going for flight training yesterday.” “You didn’t!” She exclaims, “Ohh, Nick must have been so cross with you!” I raise a brow. “Oh, he tried it. Then, after threatening to put me over his knee, he cried in gratitude when Alfie called to tell him he’d cancelled his flight training yesterday.” A pause. “I’m sorry…what?” I shake my head in annoyance as I stare at the pistachio green wall paper that ascends the back stairway. “That’s right. Cried in gratitude, after threatening me. The one who made sure he wouldn’t end up in the papers due to a very early forced retirement from the land of the living! Did I get a word of thanks? Not one. And you know I wasn’t looking for it. I just want my advice to be heeded. Is that too, much to ask?” Evie clears her throat delicately. “Could we just back up to the ‘threatening to put you over his knee’ bit? Because that seems like a pertinent—” “Do you know he’s made me change his sheets three times between 11pm last night, and 5am this morning? I told him the staff here could do that, and he said, ‘but you’re my person, love. Let’s not wake the staff.’ Like I’m chopped liver! And now, he’s eating bowls and bowls of soup like he’s dying. I’m at the bottom of my second stock pot in 12 hours, Evie. 12. Hours. When Dr. Napier arrived twenty minutes ago, I ran downstairs to check my third pot, and refresh his tray. He may only get sick twice a year, but boy is it a doozy. Alfie can keep his job. I’m unsubscribing.” I swipe the sleeve of my chef jacket across my sweaty forehead with a grimace. “It’s Mum,” Evie says sympathetically. “She spoiled him terribly whenever he was ill. I told her it was going to ruin him for marriage. Looks like that prophecy paid off.” I quirk a brow. “Yeah, except, we aren’t married. All the dirty work, and none of the authority…go figure.” I’m more than a little offended at the deep laughter that comes over the phone. “Not married! Riiight. Sure!” I wrinkle my nose. “Was there paperwork I signed at some point that I wasn’t aware of?” “Oh, come on, Bri. You’ve been work spouses for years now.” I open my mouth to protest when my phone starts beeping for an incoming call. I don’t bother checking. “The Crown Prince is calling. Listen Evie, do me a favor. If he doesn’t make it through the night, I need you to cover for me with Mum and Dad while I escape to the Northern Territories.” Evie snorts. “You’ve been caught up in Chinese dramas again?” I scowl. “What else is there to do between waiting to change bed sheets, and making vats of soup? I can’t even make bread since he won’t eat it.” Evie chortles, “Alright, love. Well take care of you. Don’t let him run you ragged.” I sigh, “Alright. Oh, and Evie? About Braxton and Parker?” “Yeah?” “The world doesn’t need any more man-children. Do better. ” Her roar of laughter is the last thing I hear before hanging up. Quickly climbing the stairs, I make my way to Nick’s room, and tap on the door three times before putting in the key and unlocking the door. “Nick,” I call out, noticing it’s dark in the room. It’s 11am, so the sunlight should be streaming in. When I don’t get an answer, I push into the room as the smell of sweat hangs in the air. Oy vey, did he pass out somewhere? “Nick?” No answer. I shuffle to the desk to set the tray down, turning on my phone’s flashlight. He’s not in either of the arm chairs. The bathroom door is wide open. I spin, flashing the light across the bed, and nearly leap out of my skin when I see him sitting ram rod straight on the settee at the foot of his bed, his only covering being a bed sheet bunched around his hips. “Nick didn’t you hear me calling you? Why are all the curtains drawn? Did Dr. Napier do that before he left?” When I get no response, I walk over to stand in front of him. His eyes are closed, and I can feel the heat rolling off of him before my hand lands on his forehead. “Oh gosh, you’re burning up. Nicky babe? What did Dr. Napier say?” He slowly lifts his phone to me, his unfocused eyes staring straight ahead. I take his phone as I grumble, “You’d better not be playing with me, Nick. This isn’t funny. I’m not falling for this like the time you disappeared for three days and showed up with a fake amputated leg. Or the time you pretended you contracted double pneumonia to get out of that fraudulent fundraiser for Sea Barnacles.” “Water,” his voice comes out crackly as if it’s disused, which I know isn’t the case, because he was wailing less than 24 hours ago. “Sure,” I walk over to the tray, pour him a glass, and return to hand it to him. He then proceeds to take the glass and dump the contents over his head. As water rivulets run from the blond hair now plastered to his head, I stand there in shock, the moment only broken by him extending the glass again. “More.” A tremor of fear races up my spine as I stare into the dark pools of his eyes. They’re nearly completely dilated. “Oh, absolutely not!” I cry out, picking up his phone and holding it up to his face. “I don’t know what quack doctor the production company sent over, but if he broke you, I’m going to find him, and rip his ankle hairs out with tweezers—why is this..not…it’s not unlocking? Really?” I turn the phone around to make sure it’s on the unlock screen, and when it unlocks, I blink at it. I’d forgotten Nick added me a long time ago, and I certainly didn’t expect to see a picture of me sticking out my tongue as his background picture, but when it flips to a picture of a bird, I realize it’s his photo album. “Water,” Nick rasps. “Hold your horses, buddy. Before you and the rest of your alien cohort take over the world, I’m gonna need you to take a five.” I impatiently scroll through his email, but I don’t see anything in his inbox. “Nick? What am I looking for sweetheart? I don’t see anything from Dr. Napier in your emails. There’s no text messages. What is it, babe?” Nick, starts breathing heavier, and I back up to the table to pick up the spoon from the tray as I speed dial Alfie. He picks up on the first ring. “Sir.” “Alfie, it’s me. Listen—” “How bad is it?” His Brooklyn accent automatically soothes me, but then his question sinks in. I open my mouth in shock as I keep an eye on Nick. “How bad is what, Alfie? What do you know? Cause I’ve only got a spoon in here, and I can try pressure points first, but if he gets too violent, I might have to do a bit of damage.” “How bad is the cold?” I stare at the phone in disbelief as Nick whispers, “Water.” I pour another glass of water, “There’s no way this is a cold, Alfie. The doctor disappeared without leaving any instructions or notes. I have no idea what’s going on. I came upstairs after getting Nick some more soup and tea, to find him sitting in the dark wrapped in nothing but a bed sheet, staring into space and whispering for water.” Alfie, lord love him, starts howling in laughter. I try to put the glass up to Nick’s lips so that he can take a sip, but he has other ideas. His hand is hot when he grabs my wrist, forcing my hand up. “No, Nick. Stop!” I cry out, but he doesn’t stop, and I’m helpless to do anything until he’s poured the full glass over his head. He’s shivering now, but he just pulls the wet sheet tighter around him, and whispers, “More.” “Alfie!” I shout into the phone. “This man is doing a really unimpressive Flash Dance reenactment. You’d better get a hold of yourself and start talking now! What in the name of Krispy Kreme have they done to my—to Nick?” Alfie clears his throat. “I’m sorry, kid. It’s just, maybe now you can cut me some slack when I slip him fruit juice sometimes. He’s only got a cold, but the production companies always send the same doctors that tell him to up his vitamin C, before they give him a B12 shot.” I quirk a brow as Nick releases another dry request for water. “He’s not allergic to B12. It’s not listed in any of his information.” Alfie groans. “No, he isn’t allergic, per se. He just reacts very poorly to getting shots. Especially in the er—backside. He goes into a type of shock. Oh, and another side effect is that he runs a fever for a few hours, and likes to pour water on himself.” I shake my head in disbelief. “I was missing some pertinent, need to know information here. We’ll discuss this later, Alfie. What do I need to do for him right now?” “Just keep him hydrated with soup, and tea. Force feed him if you have to. Oh, and keep him away from the water for the next 4-6 hours. If he’s constantly wetting his head, it’s not helping his cold.” My brows shoot up. “And how would you suggest I do that? Pig wrestle him?” I exclaim in exasperation. Alfie clears his throat. “I’ll be there in 10 hours. Just hold down the fort.” I’m silently staring at Nick, who’s still doing his best impression of a pod person, when Alfie’s voice lowers. “Listen, kid. Between me and you, that man will do anything you ask him to do. Just call him Nicky babe, real nice like, and he’ll be eating out of your hand. If you tell him I told you that, I’ll simultaneously disown and disavow you.” I put a hand to my chest. The betrayal runs deep. “Et tu, Brutus?” Brutus laughs his black heart out as he hangs up the phone. I sigh deeply as I turn towards Nick and begin unbuttoning my chef jacket. “Come on, big guy. Let’s get this over with.” An hour later, I’ve managed to wrestle Nick into the clean sheets I’d changed, for the fourth time, via several cleverly placed, Nicky babes, sweethearts, honeys, and darling pleases. I’m not a fan of coercion, but by now, I’ve got a point system in place. ‘Darling please’ is a one. It barely moves the needle, but Nick will make eye contact. ‘Honey’ is just a half step above, because he’ll actually nod or shake his head depending on the question. Sweetheart hovers at a three or four, especially if used in combination with the previous two. Here we start getting a bit of movement, standing positions, shuffling of feet. ‘Nicky babes’ are the mack daddies at a five. Compliance is the swiftest at this level, even for activities that are clearly not favored. When combined with praise, ie ‘You’re doing so well, Nicky babe. Take another sip of tea for me,’ the level up is ridiculous, and there are miracle level results when he cooperates and thanks me. By hour two, he’s eaten, and gone to sleep. But, at hour three, there’s a bit of a problem when he’s determined to take a shower while using the toilet. When I remind him that he still has three hours to go before he can take a shower, or at least, until I plan to stop monitoring his water situation, he turns on the shower. I’m at wit’s end, when several repeated uses of Nicky babe combined with praise does nothing. I am barely able to keep my eyes open, but have to do something. Am I going to have to go nuclear on him? I put my hand on the door and close my eyes, my voice hoarse as I desperately plead, “Hey Nicky babe? Lover? Don’t do this to me, ok? Please open the door.” The door opens so fast, I tumble into the steamy room and hit the floor. Nick stands there looking down at me with wide eyes, clutching the sheet around his hips. The man looks like he was cut from Greek marble, and my eyes take him in as if he’s a newly installed sculpture at the MET. From the time I started working for him, I haven’t watched a single movie scene that involved him removing his shirt. For my own sanity, mind you. I even steer clear of the gym when I know he’s in it, and thankfully, he’s not one of those men who walks around shirtless for reasons only they know. So, now that I’m looking up at all the hard work that he’s been putting in for five years, it takes a Herculean effort to look away. I grimace, as I put a hand down to push myself off the floor. Except one hand is on a towel and…are those his box…no no no! I whip my head back to Nick, who still has that glassy eyed look like he’s in a dream state. I take a deep breath. “Thanks for opening the door, Nicky babe. Now please tell me you have on…” I frown..what does he call his underwear again..ugh. “Pants!” “I’m hot, Bri,” he grumbles quietly. “I know you’re hot, sweetheart—ahhh—” I promptly interrupt myself as words I never imagined coming out of my mouth hang in the air. I purse my lips as I take a deep breath. “You are…but honey..darling? How about this. If you put on your pants, then I will sit on the bed with you and help you eat soup.” “I’m not hungry,” he sighs, resting his head on the wall. I lick my lips as I try to think. “I made a whole new pot of soup for you though. Don’t you want to try some? For me, Nicky babe?” He sighs again like an exasperated three year old, promptly turning towards his room. At least he’s got coverage while he continues to trail miles of bed sheet behind him. It’s a small comfort though, considering his back is also a work of art. Seriously, what has he been doing in that gym? “Um, you left your pants,” I call out behind him. “Don’t need them,” he sits on the settee again, which has dried to some degree, but he will, for sure, be paying damages later. I’m past exhausted at this point, but Nick needs me. At least until Alfie gets here in about—I check my watch—6.5 more hours. Even if I called Nick’s parents in London, they would probably get here about the same time as Alfie, and have nowhere to stay. I groan as I step out of the bathroom. Walking to the dresser, I open a drawer and pull out the first set of boxers I find. “Nicky, love,” I start as I cross to him. “You can’t sit around with no underwear on. Not with me here. So, I’ll just put these here, and hide in the bathroom so you can change into them. Then, we’ll have a bit of soup.” Nicky looks up at me from his perch, but he doesn’t move to pick up his underwear. His golden waves are limply plastered to his head as sweat runs down his face. He looks absolutely miserable, and I’m sure he’s hating every minute of this. I nod, exhausted after being up all night and running around all day. “Ok.” I put a hand on his forehead, pushing his damp hair off of his forehead. Although he’s still warm, he’s no longer burning up. “Ok, lover. If you don’t want to put on your pants, then I won’t make you. I’ll come back in an hour. If you go into the bath—” His hand wraps around mine as he looks at me, whispering, “Please, don’t go, Bri.” Then, taking the boxers, he goes back into the bathroom. I listen for the sound of the shower, but it never comes as he splashes in the sink. Sorry, Alfie, I tried. A minute later, he’s back out, his sheet firmly tucked around him. He obediently sits on the bed and looks up at me. “Alright, baby, that’s progress. Thank you so much,” I offer as I pour soup from a thermos into his bowl. If only I can corral these emotions the way I’m learning to corral him… By the fourth hour, we’ve fallen into a rhythm. Who knew there was a mack daddy of all mack daddies, and its name is ‘lover’? It’s boss level, neither requiring praise, nor other combinations. One gently spoken request coupled with ‘lover’ opens all the doors of the kingdom apparently. I’m the mayor, I’m the King. And because I’m benevolent, there are cooling washcloths, and scalp massages for everyone! I should probably feel guilty, manipulating Nick with all of these terms of endearment, but for one thing, it’s for his own benefit. And for another…I smirk as I stare at his sleeping form on the bed. He should have known that I would get him back for that Byron prank a couple of weeks ago. It doesn’t matter if my eyes still cross when I remember the way his eyes darkened as he stroked my cheek and spoke into my soul the inane words that have haunted my every waking moment since. Ok, I may agree that those words didn’t sound silly at all dripping from his lips, but never out loud, and certainly not within earshot of him. So, am I taking a twisted pleasure in calling Nick, lover, to get him to behave? Absolutely. He should be glad I’m not calling him lover boy after the stunt he pulled. I mean! A girl has a right to not be love bombed in broad daylight. After a while, Nick’s going to the bathroom without starting the shower at all. There’s no more struggles with his underwear, and in fact, he’s put on some sweatpants. He also blushed when I thanked him for being such a good boy. So the closer we get to hour five, the more I’m backing off the nicknames and the praise. Trying at least. It might be easier said than done at this point. It might also have something to do with the fact that I’m catching myself taking 10 second micro naps without my permission. At least Nick’s finally laying on the bed, but he’s just been staring into space. I’ve told stories until my throat is sore. I’m moving slowly, and my speech is slurred, but I’m still on my feet. Crossing over to him, I touch his head as he looks up at me. “Hmm, you’re cooler. That’s good. Are you hungry? Do you want more tea?” He shakes his head, lifting a hand to take mine. “I’m actually cold now. Could I please have a shirt?” My brows rise in surprise. “Sure, let me just grab that for you.” Crossing over to his dresser, I pull out an undershirt and a Henley in case he gets any colder. “How cold are you?” I ask. Silence. I turn around, and he’s under the blankets, looking a bit blue. “Babe, are you, ok?” I ask, without a single thought. Nick looks up at me in surprise, but shakes his head. “C-cold.” As I draw nearer I notice a rattling noise coming from him. “Your teeth are chattering! Here, let me help you put on the undershirt and the henley.” He doesn’t stop me from helping him slip the shirts over his head and tucking his arms in, though as my fingers skim his ticklish side, he stops me from pulling them down, and does it himself. After making sure he’s settled under the blankets, I whip up another batch of my special herbal blend of tea for colds, mixed with a bit of apple cider vinegar, honey, half a lemon, hot water and a peach and rose oolong tea bag. When I pour a cup and bring it over to Nick he takes a sip and grimaces. “Ugh. It’s revolting.” My aching eyes are crossing as I struggle to keep them open, and I’m swaying on my feet. I lift a shoulder as I plop down at the foot of the bed. “Everything tastes bad when you have a cold, but, it grows on you, sweetheart.” Nick shakes his head, trying to hand the saucer back to me. “I don’t want this. May I please have a different flavor?” I shake my head to clear it, resting a hand on his leg over the blanket. “Listen, Nicky babe,” I rest my chin in my hand. “I’ve been up for about 34 hours straight. Momma really needs a nap. Bad enough to crawl in this bed next to you, curl up and go to sleep. Then, what are you gonna do if Momma gets sick because of you? Who’s gonna take care of me? Now—” I shake myself and blink, not realizing my eyes had closed. I force myself to look up into Nick’s widened eyes, hoping he realizes the sacrifice someone has made in his behalf, and gives me the day off tomorrow. “—if you drink your tea, like a good boy, Momma will do something extra special for you. I’ll recite a poem, because I know how much you love poems. OK, lover? Can you do that for me?” I am out of my mind for lack of sleep, but my eyes have drifted shut, so I just listen for the response. “Alright.” I deliriously nod my head after it my chin slips off my hand. “You’re doing so good, baby. Just keep drinking your tea, until it’s gone.” “Briony.” “Yep!” My eyes pop open, to see Nick has sat his cup down on the table next to him, and he’s peering down at me. “I asked where Alfie is?” I blink up at him, my eyes burning. “Alfie? He’s on a plane. Do you need soup? Do you need some crackers? Or more tea?” I yawn. Nick straightens and shakes his head. “I just finished my tea.” “Ok,” I nod, my eyes drifting closed. “Let me just…” I toe off my shoes and climb over him to the empty side of the bed and pull myself up against the head board. Putting my hand on his head, I start to massage his scalp. His little groans must mean he’s still awake. “I don’t know what poem to recite—” I don’t even have the energy to open my eyes. My voice feels like it’s being run through a machine at slow motion, but I promised him this poem. “Ok, Nicky lover,” I not so gently pat myself on the face a couple of times, but it does nothing to get my eyes open. That’s unfortunate…but, we can do this with eyes shut. “You there, lover?” A pause, then, “Yeah.” It sounds gritty, like he’s grinding rocks in his throat. Maybe he’s almost asleep. Good. I’ll recite this poem, and then go to my room for a one hour nap. “Lover?” “Mmhm.” He’s voice is faint as a whisper..he’s for sure half asleep. “Ok, here goes your poem.” I clear my throat in an attempt to banish this slow motion fog I’m in. “Wait, do you know, The Night Has A Thousand Eyes? By Bourdillon?” No point in feeding you what you’ve already eaten, lover. “I’ve eaten—I know it. But I don’t mind hearing it again.” “No!” I throw up a finger in the air, and decide to keep it up there, to remember I’m reciting a poem. Oh, I’m supposed to be massaging his scalp. I manage to find his head again, and start massaging his scalp.“Right, ok. I don’t think I could do Pablo Neruda justice at the moment..” Nick makes a strangled sound as he haltingly asks, “Um, aren’t..aren’t you too young for Neruda?” That makes me double over in delirious laughter. “If I’m too young to recite Neruda, then you’re too old to hear it. Now! Do you know, Lang Leav?” A pause, then, “Hmmm. I don’t think I’ve heard of him.” “Of course you haven’t. Because she’s brilliant, and you’ve been stuck with that stale man, Byron, who is basically Hamlet in a different kind of pants—” “What’s the name of the poem? By Lang Leav?” His voice sounds strained. Maybe I should double the honey in the next dose of tea. He definitely needs that gorgeous voice for work. We just have to get him better until Alfie gets here. “Oh, she has a book.” “Who?” I lurch awake with vast effort, although my eyes are glued shut. I sink back further against the pillows, scooching closer to Nick’s side. That should keep him warm. “Lang Leav,” Nick’s voice cuts through the cocoon that’s enveloping me. I frown as I run a hand through my hair. “That’s right. The poem is called, A Stranger. I love it so much. It reminds me of you. In the good ways. Ok, lover? Herrre we go.” I recite the poem, and then realize, that poem was quite cheeky.There’s a cough. I start giggling despite myself, and when the snorts start, I can’t hold back from laughing. I hear a deep rumble from somewhere under my cheek. “Yes, it’s warm, lover,” I smile, floating on a cloud. “You’re finally warm. Let’s keep you that way…” It’s so quiet. It’s a deep, dark kind of stillness that only comes with the dead of night. I still can’t open my eyes, but I know it’s cold. I feel for the blanket, and realize I fell asleep on top of it. My legs shake with the effort to lift my hips and scoot under the blanket. Cradling my pillow, I turn over, marveling that it’s much plusher than before. The maids must have changed it. Nick! My eyes strain with the effort to open them, but they burn so much, and it’s pitch black. They slam shut. It’s so cold. I draw my knees up to my chest. Oh no, I’m still in my clothes! I must have crawled into bed and passed out without changing. It’s dark. Alfie will come. Alfie will take care of Nick. “Shhhh…” comes a gentle whisper. “Go back to sleep, my love.” I smile as a furnace begins to warm my back. I begin sinking back into a world of dreams, and I’m so warm. It’s finally warm.…← Previous Chapter: Chapter 8 /|\ Next Chapter → Chapter 10Subscribe for new posts every week! Get full access to I'm Just Here For BOOKS at everblueauthor.substack.com/subscribe