I stare at the box. “I’m—I don’t know?”
“Hold on a sec,” she says, speaking to Salem off the phone. I can hear her mumble something, and then she squeals excitedly. “Salem says Benedict is sending them. He must know how much you love that white goo. No pun intended.”
I’m quiet for a second, trying to think back to when I started receiving the packages. It was a couple of years ago.Years. We hadn’t spoken in nearly three years, and yet he was sending me a large assortment of American goodies every couple of months?
I fell in love with you the instant I saw you, Evelyn.
We chat for a few more minutes, but then I tell her I have to shower, making an excuse to get off the phone. My stomach is in knots, and I am desperate to open the package before me. And that’s not unusual, because they’ve always seemed to come just when I need them. But why haven’t I asked Lily about them before tonight? How, when we speak so often, have I never uttered words of thanks?There is no excuse.And to find out that a man who has kept such distance from me has been caring for me all this time? It’s mind-blowing.
Despite the craziness of today, how tired and confused I am, I cannot get to the box fast enough to rip the tape off and grab the new jar of Marshmallow Fluff.He’s never stopped caring for me.
When I get to the kitchen, I make myself a piece of toast with peanut butter, and fluff—a childhood favorite. Chewing slowly, I close my eyes, Benedict’s words from the Brotherhood meeting reverberate through my mind.
Sometimes, people don’t need a knight in shining armor. They need a sword. Make sure you can give them the sword.
Burn Myself Alive
Evelyn Snow
Oxford,Present
The next Saturday, I board the Eurostar to Paris at St. Pancras, barely making it before the doors close. I’m carrying a small suitcase and I stagger haphazardly through the cabins attempting to find my private carriage, the edges of the armrests getting caught on my suitcase handle every few steps. Leave it to Lily to book me into first class. I stopped fighting her about things like this a long time ago. She always won, and it was exhausting trying to explain that there were certain things I liked to do myself. As helpful and wonderful as she was, she didn’t quite understand why I hated when people did things for me.
By the time I work my way forward to first class, I’m breathing heavily and kicking myself for running late. I stop to remove my sweater and jacket, not caring about the thin, see-through camisole. I have a private cabin, so no one will see me anyway. I stop and check the number, quickly pulling my hair up into a bun, and push the door open. I yelp as I see Benedict lounging on one of the beds in a full suit, a newspaper in his hands.
“I thought you’d missed the train,” he says, his voice low. He looks at me from behind the paper, his eyes scanning me slowly.
I really wish I’d worn a bra.
“I almost did,” I mutter angrily, kicking my suitcase through the thin door frame and huffing as I fall back onto the other bed. The cabin is nice—small, but nice. Two twin beds with turquoise bedding line opposite walls, which are wallpapered in an ornate, damask design. A small, blue velvet couch sits under the window with a fold-up table. Behind my bed is private bathroom. “Of course Lily booked us into the same cabin.”
“Well, we’re departing from the same place and we have the same destination,” he says, matter-of-factly. His European frankness is irritating on the best of days. Truth be told, I am still irritated about what happened last weekend. The knight in shining armor act—yet again. Wasn’t he sick of always saving me? And let’s not forget the other bomb he dropped on me.
I fell in love with you the instant I saw you, Evelyn.
And that it obviously no longer applied.
I turn my head and glare at him. “Doesn’t everyone on this train have the same destination?”
He sits up and braces his elbows on his knees. A piece of dark hair falls forward, creating a disheveled look on someone who is otherwise so put together. His deep, inky eyes twinkle with amusement as they glance at my shirt. I quickly wrap my arms around myself.
“I would be happy to find myself a new cabin if you don’t want to share,” he says, his voice sincere.
There it is again—the nice guy act.
I scoff. “No. It’s fine.” I sit up and pull my sweater on. “It’s only a couple of hours.” I take the elastic out of my hair and shake it out, and when I look over at Benedict, he’s watching me raptly.
“How was your week?” he asks, clearing his throat and glancing at his watch as the train moves slowly forward. His eyebrows raise as he awaits my response, his eyes never leaving mine. His attentiveness always unnerved me. Unlike most people, when he asks you a question, he genuinely wants to know the answer. And he will watch you as you attempt to answer, even if doing so makes you break out into a cold sweat from his intense gaze.
I shrug. “It was fine. Lots of research and two papers to write before next Wednesday.” I kick my boots off and lie down, looking over at him as he does the same. It’s strange to see him so casual, compared to the serious businessman-slash-cult-leader vibe that he’s been giving off recently. “Are we really going to pretend everything is normal? That you’re not the leader of some weird sex cult?”
He laughs, the sound low and gravelly. “It’s not a sex cult.”
“Well, it’s not normal, either,” I say, looking away.
“What’s not normal? Did you see someone having sex? There was no fucking, Evelyn,” he adds, and when I look over at him, his eyes are hooded. I swallow, holding my breath.
“Yes, but they were…” I trail off, my cheeks burning.
