Seventeen ◑ The Drink

Content Warning: The following scenes contain implications of sedation. While it is not graphic or described in detail, discretion is advised. This is for the purpose of the story only, and I am in no way promoting such behavior.

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"Fantastic." Cade turned to Agnes and beamed. "It's nice to see you again, Agnes. We’ll be heading out now. Sorry I can't indulge you with the tea."

Agnes beamed back. "No worries."

"Next time, maybe?"

"Sure," she replied after a beat, her eyes glazing over. "Maybe next—"

"Bye, Agnes," Lucille said so coldly that even Cade paused.

She didn't care. Or at least, she didn't want to. However, guilt was blocking her throat, making her eyes water. She didn’t want to fight, didn’t want to stay in this nonchalant loop with Agnes. But hell, she was messed up inside. She hated herself for not sorting it out. She hated everything and everyone irrationally because of it.

A mess. She was a goddamn mess.

Lucille was still fuming as she and Cade took the elevator down to the parking lot.

Cade gestured at her bag. "You need help with that?"

"No," she said dismissively.

"You sure?" He jogged to keep up with her. "You look a bit tired. I really don't mind carrying that for you."

Lucille didn't answer. She kept on walking, her heels making loud clapping sounds on the concrete floor. Tears and a loud scream were threatening to come out of her.

He jogged to keep up. "I look like a douche making you carry your own bag—"

"This is my bag, okay?" Lucille snapped and wheeled around on him. "If someone's going to carry it, it's me and no one else! Because if I let people carry my bag, then what use am I? What purpose do I have? If you think I can't carry this because I'm too weak, then why don't you just go all the way and carry me to your car too?"

Cade was gob-smacked. For a moment he couldn't speak. He just watched her with a mixture of what appeared like awe and fear.

"Sorry for asking," he murmured, leading her to his car, then opened the trunk to let her dump the bag. However, he didn't open the car door for her, probably because of the nature of her rant.

Without another word, they got inside the black Audi. Lucille strapped herself in the passenger seat, while Cade backed from the parking space and turned towards the exit. He didn't speak since, but as they got to the geometrical roads of New York, she caught him glancing at her through the rearview mirror, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

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Lucille wasn't expecting Saint Joseph College's accommodation to be grand, but the room they'd gotten at Mermaid Hotel still let her down.

Two single beds with sheets that reek of bleach. Scuffed dark blue carpets and pale green paint peeling off the walls. Mismatched lights with varying degrees of feeble power. The whole place smelled like cat piss too.

And on the rickety bed parallel to hers was Cade, tossing and turning and very much wide awake.

Memories of their earlier spat flooded Lucille's mind, bringing with it a wave of guilt. It was loud and persistent, so she decided to drown it by concentrating on sleep.

However, before she could really take a crack at it, Cade cleared his throat and said, "Um, Lucille?"

For a second, she debated whether or not to pretend she was asleep, but she ended up replying. "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry." His words came out in a rush. "I didn't mean to imply that you can't, er, carry your own stuff or anything. I was just—"

"No, it wasn't you," she interjected, sighing deeply.

She didn't know if it was because of the comfortable warmth in the room or the overall lack of jarring sounds, but she could feel herself unfolding. Bit by bit. The urge to speak was threatening to burst out of her, and she couldn't keep it inside anymore.

But no. Even if she omitted key details, the story still wasn't something worth sharing to Cade. She'd just have to swallow this back and forget it—

"Agnes and I are not in good terms," Lucille blurted out. Some of the weight pressing on her chest disappeared. "She thinks that I can't keep up with my job, that I just have to stop. She didn't say it directly, but I know she thinks I'm not capable anymore. But I am. I still am. This is my life now. This is the thing that defines me, and if it's gone, then who am I? She doesn't get it. . . ."

Fuck. She didn't mean to say all that.

But too late. Cade was already turning to face her, his eyes alight with interest. "Well, I did feel something off with you two earlier. She was kind of sad and you were . . . hissy."

"I'm always hissy," she said dismissively, getting up to walk around and shake off her emotions. "I'm not the subtle kind. I can be very blunt."

"I know." His features were half-hidden in shadow because of the small lamp on the nightstand, but his smile stood out in the diffused light. "I noticed that. You don't trim your edges. I appreciate that about you."

Lucille had been prepared to snap at him again since she'd overshared, but what he'd just told her felt like soothing balm. Her frantic steps began to slow down, her shoulders relaxing. She didn't realize she'd been stuck in mid-shrug for a long time.

Right now, it just seemed that she was known. Accepted. And it was an amazing thing to experience, even though it was with someone she barely knew.

"Would you mind if I give you some advice?" Cade sat up and rested against the headboard. "Like, just from a perspective of a friend. Or a brother."

For some reason, she didn't like how platonic he presented himself, but she still managed to say, "Sure."

"Obviously, you and Agnes care about each other a lot." He gestured with his hands. "After all, you're cousins. From what I observed so far from both of you, I think she's assuming the role of your caretaker. Kind of like the mother figure in your relationship."

"You're right." She nodded fervently. "Agnes is the motherly type."

"See?" Cade smiled wider and swung his legs off the bed. "So it only makes sense that she's protective over you. She doesn't think you can't do it. She's just—"

"Worried that I might fail," Lucille finished for him, "that I'll be hurt or something."

"Exactly. So you don't need to get worked up over it."

To her surprise, Cade rose and stood before her, his hands on her shoulders. All the tension that had left her body went crashing back. It wasn't the sizzling, sexy kind, but it wasn't the fight or flight trigger either. She was certain that he was too concerned for his reputation to attempt to do anything to her, but she still didn't like how casual he was getting, how natural this gesture seemed.

Most importantly, she didn't like that she was subconsciously taking comfort from his proximity. He was just . . . nice.

But nice didn't mean loyal. Nice didn't mean faithful. Nice could never be equated to good. One could be the nicest person in the world and still be rotten to the core.
He was the enemy, she reminded herself. His comforting persona was probably a part of his act, his charm.

To be frank, Lucille still couldn't read Cade. He seemed to be swinging on different spectra of the personality meter, from absolute angel to womanizing asshole, depending on who talked about him. She personally hadn't seen the negative extreme yet, but that didn't mean that it didn't exist. It was a shame, because she was actually beginning to think that he wasn't such a waste of space.

She supposed that the best she could do for him now was to make his suffering quick.

Cade stared at her, patting her on the back like he was expecting her to suddenly tear up. For a second she considered doing that too, but she only managed to slip halfway into character.

A smiled plastered itself onto her face. "Cade, thank you. Seriously."

"No problem." His eyes twinkled as he released her. "My mom and I used to have so many misunderstandings like that too. She's actually the reason why I volunteered to carry your bag. She's all about raising a gentleman."

"That's cute," Lucille remarked. "You know what, as an apology for my stupid behavior, I'm getting us hot chocolate. Right now."

He let out a short laugh. "I'm not saying no to hot chocolate."

"Well, then," she said cheerfully, "excuse me while I get us some. I'll just take a quick nip to the bathroom to look decent when room service pops up."

"You look way more decent than I do, but go ahead," he called out as she made her way towards the bathroom at the end of the tiny hallway.

She flashed him one last smile and traipsed inside. The bag of toiletries she'd brought were still sitting behind the cabinet under the sink. After locking the door, she quietly rummaged through it, searching for the tiny corked bottle that she always carried with her during trips and travels.

Her very own dose of belladonna extract, perfectly diluted to become a potent sleeping draught.

One drop was perfect for a perfect nap. Three drops for a full night's sleep. Never had Lucille gone beyond that, although she'd been given too many opportunities, although she'd always wanted to.

Good thing she had a perfectly good guinea pig with her tonight, and he was waiting for his hot chocolate.

Her throat closed up with an inexplicable withering emotion, but she inhaled deeply and braced herself. This had to be done. She'd done worse before, right? This was nothing new. . . .

But why was she hesitating? Why was she on the verge of tears?

Why, for once, did she feel like she was deserving of a punishment instead?