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CHAPTER THIRTEEN: HEAVEN IS HERE
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"EXCUSE ME," THE WORDS sounded panicked even to her own ears. She didn't look back once she handed James over to Patrick, muttering something about 'powdering her nose' in a rush of words she prayed made some sort of sense strung together.
How could she be so pathetic? Powdering her nose? Helen hadn't done such a thing her whole life, and both Tommy and Patrick knew that. But Helen was suffocating. There was no air. No room for her. Nothing would've ever prepared her for this. No amount of time or resentment. In those early days, the days that haunted her now more than ever, she used to ruminate over seeing Tommy again. He and Patrick were the angel and devil on each shoulder. At one point, she knew word-for-word what she would say to him if she happened to stumble across him in London.
Now, her head was a hollowed-out carcass. Those words were forgotten. Like a fallen tree in a never-ending forest, the rupture of her mind happened quick and she was the only witness. Tommy's stare found her even in the quiet confines of his guest bathroom. She glowered at her reflection -- pale face, red lips -- and swore her skin prickled from the heat of it. Even then.
Time; the healer of wounds and the killer of Gods and mortals both.
Helen inhaled sharply. Let her eyes close. Slowly, she pushed the air out of her lungs in one steady exhale, only for the door to slam open like a gunshot tearing through the silence. Helen flinched, her sigh quickly becoming an incredulous scoff when she recognised Patrick. He took up most of the doorway, his shoulders broad and unforgiving as he grasped the wooden archway with iron fists.
"Where's James?" she blurted, her suspicions creeping up on her. "Fuck, Patrick. Tell me you didn't leave our son with them!"
Patrick's anger was something Helen rarely experienced. She was never on the receiving end, not like this. They argued and ignored each other, sure, but she never feared the extent he would go to get through to her. In an instant, he was bearing down on her, voice low and steely. Helen backed up until her hip bones jutted against the marble counter.
"Grace is family, Helen," Patrick snapped. He was frustrated, one hand gripping her jaw while the other steadied himself against the basin. His touch was light but firm, reminding her that she'd lost herself, and there he was waiting for her to come back to him. Helen feared that there was no return. In just one day, her life had come crumbling down again, both body and soul. Patrick would always be out of her reach. "You know, this is why I never told you. I knew you wouldn't understand, that you'd go back to that man if there was even the slightest chance you could both be happy together. Everyone else? Me, Grace, even James? We are just pawns in your game. Do you realise how that makes me feel?"
