Not Your Mary Sue by Rebecca Frost

Author:Rebecca Frost [Frost, Rebecca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aesthetic Press
Published: 2022-01-09T00:00:00+00:00

A Promise

Jay is still working on the raised garden beds when I get back, after taking the time to look around the forge just in case. I go up to the bedroom first thing and hide the razors, deciding at the last minute that one should go in the yarn and the other in my suitcase. It’s under my bed, and I don’t think Jay goes through my stuff anyway – at least, not since putting it away – but this way if he finds one, he might not immediately find the other.

Although he’d probably toss the room anyway, so …

Whatever. I don’t want to think about it anymore. I ache in a lot of places, including my heart and my head, so I pull back the covers to lie down. Then, before I climb into bed, I go to the bathroom and wet a washcloth to lay over my eyes, both to block out the light and to cool off.

Once I lie down, though, my mind can’t seem to shut off. My body aches, and really I should’ve taken some of my Tylenol when I was up, but it’s just too much effort now.

Feverish. Maybe I’m feverish. Low on sleep, with all this stress … the vitamin C in my multivitamin can’t hope to stand up to all that.

If vitamin C is a real thing and not just a myth. A placebo.

I should’ve brought NyQuil. Some sort of sleep aid. My father isn’t a big believer in pharmaceuticals, and I had limited suitcase space, so I hadn’t even thought of it. If I had any reason to believe there might be a bottle of something in the kitchen, whiskey or rum, that might be worth the trip for a shot, just to see if it would help, but I doubt there’ll be any. My father wouldn’t have put it on the list of requests, and it doesn’t seem like something Jay would stock out of habit if he doesn’t have any for himself.

Apparently the bedroom door didn’t latch behind me when I came in. I hear it creak open and ignore it, but Jay must just be peeking in on me. He only taps at the door a while later. I move the washcloth, now not so cold, off my face to see Jay coming in, and I sit up, running my fingers through my tousled hair and smoothing out my dress.

He doesn’t apologize for waking me – he seems too intent on something to notice what’s going on. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, one leg tucked up, so he can be on my level and face me. He looks hot and sweaty, and there are dirty lines above his wrists where his gloves stopped. “I’ve been thinking.”

I wait, but he seems like he needs a prompt. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, and the thing is …” Jay takes a deep breath and runs his hands through his sweaty hair. “Marcy, if you kill yourself, I’m doing the same.

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