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sirianasims · 4 months ago

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Chapter 43.7

The scent of spices still lingers in the air, mingling with the warm, dry breeze drifting in through the open terrace doors. The table in front of me is a landscape of wine glasses and the plates that once held Dave’s mouth-watering lemongrass chicken.

I fold my napkin and leave it by my bowl, which has been scraped so thoroughly clean that it looks like I licked it. Had I been alone, I probably would have.

“That was delicious, Dave. Best I’ve had outside Tomarang.”

Dave beams with pride. “The secret is in the red curry paste, I think I finally found the perfect mix. I hope you left room for dessert though, I’ve got more coming.”

“Now you’re just spoiling me. What’s the occasion?”

“It’s the end of an era. I think dessert is justified.”

I nod solemnly. I recorded my last lines as Llama Man two days ago. Lee dropped by the studio with champagne to commemorate the occasion and I ended up with a hangover that still haunts me.

The fact that the show is over feels weird to think about. I’ve had many roles, but most of them were pretty minor and, most of all, temporary. They were just something I did for a little while, but I’ve been Llama Man for fifteen years and now, jarringly, I’m not.

Sierra interrupts my wallowing. “So, have you thought about what you’re going to do now?”

I shrug. “I don’t know yet. I still get a few gigs here and there for other voiceovers, but nothing steady.”

“What about finally going back to acting? On camera, I mean? It’s the perfect time, the show finale is going to get you some buzz, and my agent would love a chance to work with you, you know that.”

“Sierra, honey, it’s only been a couple of days, maybe it’s a bit soon to worry about what’s coming next?”

Sierra chews on her lip, clearly eager to keep going, but she doesn’t. She always says that Dave is her rock, the calm counterbalance to her temper. Some of my previous girlfriends didn’t like my closeness with Sierra, assumed that we used to date or at the very least slept together, but we never did. We would probably have strangled each other.

Julia was refreshing like that too, she never interrogated me about Sierra or seemed to feel threatened, she just took our friendship at face value.

Or maybe she simply didn’t care enough about you to get jealous.

Sierra gives me a sideways glance. “Fine, we can discuss it later, but how are you doing, really? I mean, the show ending is a big change on its own, but after everything with Julia…”

“I told you, Sierra, I’m fine. I knew the show was ending, it was announced last year. And Julia and I have been done for months, it was sad but I’m over it.”

“Are you, though? It’s just, you haven’t really been yourself since you broke up with her and-”

Dave rubs his forehead. “Honey, please, we talked about this. Let the man breathe.”

It has no effect. Even Dave isn’t enough to stop Sierra after three glasses of Soft Shadow Avornalino.

“I’m just trying to understand, though. You were happy, she seemed happy too, and the next thing I hear is that you dumped her? I don’t get it.”

“Sierra, can we not talk about this, please? I don’t want to go over it again, it’s complicated.”

“Again? You never went over it the first time! And you seemed to be doing so well, this is the longest I’ve seen any of your relationships last, so what went wrong?”

“Ten months isn’t that long, and since when do you care so much about Julia anyway? You were the one who was sceptical about her from the start!”

“I care about you, Paul! I was only sceptical because I was worried about whether she was, you know, right for you. I love you, you know I do, but you can be kind of a lot to deal with sometimes!”

A weary sigh from Dave finally makes Sierra pause.

“Sorry, Paul, that was uncalled for. I just wish you’d get a bit more, well, serious about your life, your career, everything.”

I don’t respond.

Dave clears his throat. “Honey, why don’t you and Paul go for some fresh air while I clean up in here and get dessert ready? The garden is really coming along.”

She looks at him gratefully. There’s a unspoken understanding between them that makes me feel strangely sad. I wonder if it’s something you develop when you’ve been together for as long as they have, or if the trick is to marry someone exactly because they can tell what you need without speaking. Maybe it’s a bit of both. I certainly wouldn’t know. Like Sierra just reminded me, I’ve never been with someone long enough to find out.

I catch myself staring at them and quickly look away. I’m not really superstitious, but all Tartosans grow up learning about malocchio, the evil eye, it’s habitual. My grandmother always said that you’re not supposed to look at someone with envy in your heart, or you might curse them, even if you don’t mean to.

Maybe I’m cursed. If anything invites envy and jealousy, it’s fame. Maybe that’s why I keep fucking things up, why I’m never satisfied. It would almost be a relief to be cursed. At least then it wouldn’t be my own damn fault.

Dave starts clearing the table, and both Sierra and I get up as well. She looks at me apologetically, but I walk outside without waiting for her, into the neatly kept garden.

It’s the height of summer, and the chorus of cicadas fills the air, a rhythmic, comforting hum that blends seamlessly with the faint sounds of water trickling from a small fountain. It’s hard to believe we’re in the desert, the entire neighbourhood is like a carefully crafted oasis, each house more exquisite than the last, all lush gardens and towering palm trees.

I sigh, looking up at the dusky sky. Behind me, the sound of gravel crunching under Sierra’s feet mixes with the soft clinking of dishes coming from inside the kitchen.

“I’m sorry, Paul. Dave did tell me not to bring it up.”

“I was planning to propose to her, you know. How’s that for getting serious?”

“What?”

“Yes! Bought the ring and everything. But luckily I came to my senses before I utterly embarrassed myself.”

For the first time in all the years I’ve known her, Sierra is speechless. She simply stares at me, wide-eyed, and I realise that I must look deranged, my face contorted by grief and fury and shame, my chest heaving.

I feel a burning sensation in my nose and her face softens. She pulls me into a hug and I let her do it, like so many times before.

“For fuck’s sake, Paul.”

I hold back, not wanting to crush her under my weight, but she pulls me closer, insistently, until I relax and lean on her.

“I’m such an idiot.”

Sierra says nothing, she just rubs my back in gentle circles and I feel my anger slowly dissipate. She finally lets me go and cups my face with her hand.

“Paul, look at me. Do you regret leaving her?”

Desperately.

“No.”

The word leaves my mouth automatically. I’ve thought about Julia every single day, but each time my finger hovers over her name in my phone, I get overwhelmed by a feeling of dread I can’t quite put into words.

Admit it, you’re just afraid that she’d reject you the way you rejected her.

“Sierra, am I just meant to be alone? Is there something wrong with me?”

She snorts. “Nope, you’re perfect, that’s your whole problem. You could have anyone, you just can’t make up your mind.”

“She’s the only one I ever wanted like this.”

She shrugs. “You have a strange way of showing it, then. But if you really don’t regret it, I guess it must have been the right call.”

There’s doubt in her voice, like she knows I’m lying.

“It’s for the better, Sierra. She doesn’t know what she wants to do with her life yet, she needs time to figure it out.”

“Maybe she could have figured it out with you.”

I hadn’t even thought of that, but I reject the idea immediately, it’s too painful. “No. It was never going to last.”

“So you keep saying. You make it sound like you expected it to fail from the start.”

“So did you.”

“True. Sorry about that.” She leans against my shoulder.

“Careful the paps don’t see you like this, we wouldn’t want the rumours to start again.”

She chuckles. “I think they gave up on us when I married Dave.”

“They could try a new angle. I’m single again, what will I do next? I might try to add some drama to the most boring, sorry, I mean stable marriage in Del Sol Valley.”

She laughs and punches me in the shoulder, surprisingly hard.

“Watch it, Romeo. I may only be a cop on screen, but I’ve learned a lot about hiding evidence.”

I put my arm around her and for a moment we just exist, listening to the cicadas until Dave calls us back in for dessert.

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#duchellilegacy #duchellichapters #duchelligen5 #paul romeo #sierra moss #dave richardson

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holfelderwrites124 · 23 days ago

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Severed Threads

Chapter 4: Hospital

(Chapter 3: Fights and Fainting)

Aisha locks the apartment door behind them as John helps Ian down the hallway towards the exit. The two of them move at Ian’s pace, which is a slow, halting one so foreign to Ian’s usual purposeful stride. Aisha can tell Ian is trying his hardest to keep it together, but one look at his pale, pinched face tells her all she needs to know: he is not feeling well. John keeps one arm wrapped around Ian’s waist as he guides Ian through the doors and to Aisha’s car.

Aisha snags the keys from John as soon as he unlocks the car. “I’m driving.”

John glances at her, surprise on his face. “You two are closer. Ian probably wants you back here.”

Aisha gives the two of them a wry grin. “Yeah, and you’re the EMT. If he goes down again, I think we’ll all feel a lot better if you’re back there with him.”

John nods, conceding her point. “Ian?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Ian mutters, his words slurring just a bit.

John makes an unhappy face at Aisha, then gently prods Ian into the car. Once everyone is settled, Aisha turns the car on, backs out of their parking spot, and they’re off to the hospital. They ride in silence for a few moments, and then John’s training kicks in. He doubts Ian would admit to being a victim of domestic abuse in this situation — he’d claim that he wasn’t hit so it doesn’t count. John has been on enough domestic violence calls that he knows the line between hitting and hurting is nothing but a mark in the sand.

“Ian? How are you feeling?” John keeps his voice soft, comforting, non-confrontational.

Ian rolls his head to look at John. “Okay, I guess. Dizzy.”

“With the dehydration, I’m not surprised.” John curls his fingers around Ian’s wrist. “Your pulse is still pretty fast, too.” He studies Ian for a moment. “Ian, you know I have to ask. What happened?”

Ian stiffens, a slight enough movement that most people would have missed it. John’s done enough of these interviews to clock the change in body language. Ian side-eyes John, then glances away. There’s guilt in his eyes, guilt that breaks John’s heart. From what he’s heard and seen about the McCartney’s, John is pretty sure that Ian has done nothing worthy of the heartbreak on his face.

“Ian, you can’t keep this inside all the time.” John lightly squeezes Ian’s wrist. “We’ve got your back, Aisha and I.”

Ian studies John. “I told you,” he murmurs. “I … I pissed Abby off.” He shrugs again, glancing out of the window. “She got mad and … told me not to come back … for a few days.” He gives John a wry smile. “It’s my own fault.”

John shakes his head. “If you’re living with Abby and Dennis, they shouldn’t be kicking you out of the house, no matter what you did or didn’t do.” John takes a slow breath. “What was it about coming to see us that made Abby mad?”

“She just … she doesn’t like it when I spend time with anyone other than them.” Ian sighs. “And I … phrased it wrong. I said I wanted a night off, and that … made her mad.” Ian scrubs a hand across his face. “I shouldn’t have said it like that.”

John has something to say about that — namely that Ian’s phraseology is the least of the problems with this situation — but he can tell Ian isn’t in a space to receive that right now. Instead, he opts for another question.

“Where have you been staying, then, for the last few days?”

Ian glances at John, with more fear in his eyes than John expected for such a simple question. He’s not sure why Ian looks so frightened — how hard is it to admit that he was staying in some random hotel in the city? Or even a rental apartment or something like that — no matter how much money Ian had to spend, it’s not like John’s going to judge him for that.

Ian sighs. “I didn’t have my wallet,” he whispers. “I didn’t … I didn’t have my credit card or … anything.” He blinks up at John, begging him to fill in the blanks.

John does. “You … Ian, have you been staying in your car?”

Ian nods, but says nothing. His gaze drops to his hands, and he refuses to glance up, even when John curls a gentle hand around Ian’s arm.

“Ian, what the fuck?!” Aisha half-shouts from the front seat. “What — you’ve been in your car? We totally could have put you up! No wonder you look like shit. Have you even eaten anything? What—”

“Aisha,” John says, a warning in his tone. “Not right now.”

Aisha glares at him in the rear-view mirror, but quiets with a huff.

John turns back to Ian, who has curled in on himself. It looks like he’s expecting to get chewed out even more. John’s heart breaks for Ian. He’s had a soft spot for Aisha’s friend ever since he met the brown-haired agent with eyes that pull you in and won’t let go. Frankly, John doesn’t like to look to closely at the way he feels about Ian — the man is in a relationship that’s closed at best and … not ethically non-monogamous at worst. John usually stuffs those questions down deep inside, and he does so right now. Ian needs a friend, nothing more — no matter how much John longs to pull him into a slightly-more-than-friends hug.

Instead, John squeezes Ian’s arm. “Hey, it’s okay, Ian. We’re just … we’re just worried about you. That … living in your car … you shouldn’t have had to do that.”

Ian peers over at John from under a shock of hair that has fallen over his eyes. “I didn’t want to be a bother,” he whispers.

John sighs. “Ian, you could never be a bother,” he says, letting a touch of emotion creep into his voice. He clears his throat. “I know Aisha agrees.”

“I do. We are having a conversation later.” She huffs. “But I’ll put that off. We’re here. Let’s go.” Aisha throws the car in park and then turns around to look at Ian. Her face softens upon seeing his expression. “Oh, Ian.” She reaches out and drops a hand onto his knee. “Hey, we’re going to get you feeling better, and then we’ll deal with … all the rest of this.”

Ian gives Aisha a small nod and an even smaller smile. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Aisha squeezes Ian’s knee. “Let’s go.”

John slides out of the back seat, then helps Ian climb out. Ian is decidedly more wobbly than he was getting into the car. He’s clearly dizzy, and clings to John as they inch towards the entrance to the ER.

They eventually make it into the hospital, but get stuck in triage. The emergency department is bustling, and the three of them are shoved into the waiting room. Ian is stable, so they are left with a promise that someone will call them back when a bed clears. Aisha is understandably frustrated, but used the time to sneak off and call Paul. She hopes that if she gets him to come, Ian might open up to Paul. Aisha and Ian are close, but Ian trusts Paul in a way that doesn’t quite match his trust in Aisha. John agrees to stick around to keep watch over Ian.

Ian slumps into a chair, drops his head into his hands, and seems to fall asleep. John keeps a careful eye on him. He is equally frustrated at the slow pace of the hospital but fully understands what goes on behind the scenes. As much as he wants Ian to be seen, he knows there are others who have more pressing needs.

At least, right up until Ian goes limp again, elbows sliding off of his knees and body slumping forward. John manages to catch him and lower him slowly to the floor, all while shouting for help. Aisha comes flying into the waiting room, only to be pushed out of the way as the triage team surrounds Ian. He takes a little longer to come back around this time, earning him an urgent bump up in order of importance. They transfer Ian to a stretcher and move him to a small private room in the emergency department.

Ian is decidedly out of it, reporting one hell of a headache and a lot of dizziness. He just lays back on the stretcher, one arm flung over his eyes, until a nurse finally gets an IV running with fluids and a “migraine cocktail”, as John knows it to be, for the headache. An aide brings Ian some apple juice, explaining that his blood sugar is low and that he needs to bring it up quickly. Ian is poked and prodded into get up and start drinking the juice. He squints irritably at Aisha when she helps him sit up, but dutifully starts sipping through the straw.

Aisha remains at Ian’s side when the doctor comes in to check on Ian.

“Ian is severely dehydrated,” Doctor Amara Patel reports. “His electrolytes are completely out of whack. We’ve got him on a saline drip, and I’ve ordered potassium and magnesium.” Amara glances at Ian’s half-finished apple juice and the packaging from his sandwich that John fetched for him. “His blood sugar is also very low. I see they’ve got you started on some juice and that you finished your sandwich. Good. I want them to bring you some more juice, based on your numbers, and then we’ll see how things are adjusting.” The doctor gives them all a smile. “I want to keep Ian here for a while, just to make sure he stabilizes and that there’s nothing else going on here.”

Amara talks to them for a few moments, answering Aisha’s questions and keeping a watchful eye on Ian. Once Aisha’s concerns are satisfied, the doctor leaves them with a promise to return.

Almost as soon as the doctor leaves, there’s another knock on the door. All three of them glance up and find Paul Moss standing there, concern written on his face.

Ian straightens up. “Paul?”

“Hey, kid.” Paul strides into the room, stopping next to Ian’s bed. “How you feeling?”

Ian gives Paul a wobbly smile. “Been better, honestly.”

Paul nods. “That sounds about right.”

“How … how did you get here?” Ian asks.

“Aisha called me.” Paul says, his tone careful. If Ian feels too pressured to talk, he’ll clam up.

Ian’s face shutters. He glowers at Aisha. “I don’t want to talk about it.” His words are harsh, but his tone wavers in a way that Paul — trained to pick up on these things — easily catches.

Paul turns to Aisha and John, ready to ask them to step out for a bit. Aisha manages to read his intentions.

“Hey, John and I are going to head down to find something to eat. We’ll bring some things back for you two.” Aisha smiles at Ian, gently patting his arm. “Talk to Paul. Please?”

Ian huffs. “I’m fine.”

Aisha raises her eyebrows at Ian. “Talk.” She grabs John’s hand the two of them slip out of the room, leaving Paul and Ian behind.

Ian stares up at Paul, his hazel eyes huge in his pale face. Paul studies Ian for a moment, noting how damn thin the kid is. He looks as if he hasn’t put on weight at all in the five years Paul has known him — he’s thin, pale, and sickly, in a way that Paul is certain he hasn’t always been. Ian used to be a healthy, vibrant young man. Paul had enjoyed watching him flourish in his position at the FBI, enjoyed getting to mentor Ian and later becoming his friend.

Then Ian — perpetually lonely Ian — had finally stopped the casual — failed — dating and started a serious relationship with Abby McCartney and her husband Dennis. Paul watched as Ian’s bright eyes dulled, his ever-present smile dimmed, and his joyful personality suffered. He had tried for a long time to talk to Ian about Abby and Dennis, but Ian always rebuffed him. Paul was determined not to be put off this time.

Paul grabs a chair and pulls it up to the side of Ian’s bed. He sits down and then looks up at Ian. Paul holds Ian’s gaze for a long moment, saying nothing, just letting Ian sit in the silence. Finally, Ian sighs and drops his eyes.

“It’s my fault, I swear,” Ian says quietly. “I pissed Abby off. I know better than to do that. I shouldn’t have argued with her. I should have just … I should have … I … oh, fuck.” Ian drops his face into his hands.

“If Shannon kicked me out of the house, because I wanted to go hang out with you for a night, what would you be telling me?” Paul’s voice is soft, non-confrontational.

Ian jerks his head out of his hands. “She wouldn’t!”

Paul smiles. “No, she wouldn’t. Why is that?”

Ian sighs. “She’s too nice.”

Paul snorts in amusement. “You’re correct, but that’s not what I’m going for here.” Paul leans back and rests his hands on his knees. “Ian, Shannon wouldn’t forbid me from seeing you because it is healthy to have friends and relationships outside of your primary romantic relationship, regardless of if it’s polyamorous or monogamous. You need friends, they support you.”

“I know,” Ian whispers.

“Then why are you acting like Abby throwing you out of the house is a perfectly normal response?” Paul’s tone remains gentle.

“It’s the way I said it. That I needed a break. I shouldn’t have said it like that. It … made it sound like I didn’t want to be around them.” Ian wraps his arms around himself in a way that Paul is familiar with. Ian is not just uncomfortable, he’s holding something back.

“Did you? Want to be around them?”

Ian shakes his head, eyes filling up with tears. “No,” he breathes. He dashes his hands against his eyes angrily. “Shit, I don’t want to cry.”

“It’s okay to need a break from your partners,” Paul says softly. He hesitates before asking the next question. “Why didn’t you want to be around them, Ian?”

Ian takes a shaky breath. He stares down at his knees. “I … I … I’m …” Ian huffs. “All they want from me is sex,” he finally manages, so quiet that Paul has to strain to hear it. Ian glances up at Paul, waiting for judgment.

It’s the answer Paul was expecting, but it hurts to hear it in Ian’s deathly quiet whisper. Paul knows Ian is on what Aisha calls the asexual spectrum — that Ian struggles with engaging in sexual experiences sometimes, prefers to be left out of them, even is repulsed by them sometimes. Why Ian ended up with two people who are fully invested in his sexual performances is beyond Paul — but he suspects it’s in part because Ian is just so hungry for love and affection.

Paul gives Ian a comforting smile. “And sometimes you don’t want to give that to them,” he fills in.

Ian nods. “A lot of the time, lately.” His voice is still near a whisper, as if he’s afraid Abby and Dennis will hear him all the way from their home, miles away.

“Why lately?” Paul asks.

“I’m just so tired. I’ve been working overtime to pay for the mortgage on the house, and that leaves—”

“You mean your rent?” Paul cuts in.

Ian shakes his head. “Nah, I’m covering the mortgage.” He opens his mouth to consider, but must catch the look on Paul’s face. “What?”

“You’re covering the mortgage on their house? The whole mortgage?”

“Yeah.”

“Ian, that’s … that’s ridiculous. What the hell?” Paul leans forward. “Ian, you should not be covering the mortgage on that house. You didn’t buy it. At most you should split it in thirds. At most. You didn’t purchase the house, you’re there renting, basically.”

Ian stares at Paul, wheels clearly turning in his head.

“Ian, is this why you’ve been working overtime lately?” Paul prods.

Ian nods. “Yeah. I … they … wanted … more? For groceries and everything? So I needed to make more hours.”

Paul sighs. “Ian …”

“This isn’t normal, is it?” Ian cuts him off, his voice quiet but tinged with an understanding that gives Paul hope.”

“No, Ian.” Paul shakes his head. “I can’t speak for polyamorous habits, Aisha would be better suited to tell you about those, but I can tell you that no one should be charging you the entire mortgage plus groceries and whatever else they’re making you pay.” Paul leans forward and rests a hand on Ian’s knee. “They’re taking advantage of you Ian.”

Ian stares back at Paul, tears pooling in his eyes again. He shakes his head. “No. No, I … but I … Paul—”

“Ian, a healthy relationship doesn’t kick one partner out because they needed a break from their routine.” Paul squeezes Ian’s knee. “A healthy relationship doesn’t make one partner pay for everything, especially at the expense of that partner’s health. A—”

“My health is fine,” Ian interjects.

Paul raises his eyebrows. “You’re saying that from the ER on a Friday night while an IV replenishes your electrolytes and fluid.” Paul huffs. “Ian, have you gained any weight since you were twenty-three?”

Ian blinks at him. “Abby hates when I start to get fat,” he says matter-of-factly.

“You’re too thin by far, Ian. You should not be at the weight you were when you started at the Academy.” Paul tilts his head. “That’s not healthy.”

“I need to stay thin for work, Paul, you know that.”

Paul raises an eyebrow. “Thin does not equal healthy. You haven’t looked healthy in ages, Ian.” Paul pokes his own midsection. “I’ve got quite a few pounds on you, and I’m pretty sure I could still outrun you, stamina-wise. My body has what it needs to work. I’m not sure yours does.”

Ian shakes his head. “I’m fine, Ian. Abby just prefers that I—”

“Look fucking anorexic?” Paul growls, a bit harsher than he intended.

Ian reels back like he’s been slapped. “I … I do not?” He tries for offended, but misses, ending up sounding uncertain.

“Kid, I could dead-lift you. That’s a problem.”

Silence falls around them as Ian contemplates everything that Paul has said in the past several minutes. After a bit, Paul sighs softly.

“Think about it, Ian. Just … think about what I’ve said.” Paul glances around the room. “Are … are Abby and Dennis coming to get you to take you home?”

Ian shakes his head so quickly that Paul is afraid he’ll get whiplash. “No! No, I don’t … no.”

Paul blinks at Ian. “Oh?”

Ian swallows, glancing away. “I, uh … I’m just …” He sighs. “I feel like shit, Paul. Abby’s just going to march in here yelling at me, and Dennis …” Ian shudders. “I don’t feel like dealing with how clingy Dennis is right now.”

Paul thinks that says enough about Ian’s relationship with the McCartney’s, but he chooses not to push Ian too hard right now. “Alright. Where are you going tonight, then?”

Ian looks utterly confused. “I don’t … know?”

“What was your plan before you fainted on Aisha and John?”

Ian shrugs. “My car, I guess.”

“Ian! You … you could have called me, you know. Before. When Abby kicked you out. Me, or Aisha. We … either of us would have put you up, no fuss.” Paul sighs. “Alright, fine. You get to pick, who do you want to put up with, me and Shannon and the kids, or Aisha and John?” Ian opens his mouth, and Paul interrupts him. “Neither is not an option.”

Ian considers. “I love your kids but … I don’t want them to see me like this.”

Paul nods. “Alright, Aisha and John it is.”

“What — I can’t impose. They might not — want me?”

Paul shakes his head. “Aisha and I talked when she called me. She’s more than willing to take you in for a night at least.” Paul purses his lips. “Listen, Ian. Think about what we talked about, please? Stay with Aisha and John as long as you need. Just … think about it.”

“I will,” Ian says softly. “I promise.”

Chapter 5: Respite or Run

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#severed threads #ian maynard #aisha harrison #john lemmore #paul moss #crisis in connection #original writing #original fiction #asexual character #ian is ace

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