Finn

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Eight

TW - violence/torture, blood (skip the flashback section)

"Are you sure?" I ask for the third time, already wincing at the noise coming from the kitchen. Rory rolls her eyes and nods her head, urging me to follow her.

"Yes, I'm sure. Lindsey isn't feeling well, so we need an extra hand to help make dinner." Rory explains to me again. I don't really believe they need that much help with dinner. I think she just wanted an excuse to drag me out of Turin's room where I'd holed myself up. After Cillian's ceremony and my breakdown, I've been getting better.

Well, I think I've been getting better.

Rory claims I'm being stubborn and intentionally isolating myself. Apparently hiding away in my room by myself for the entire month of January isn't "healthy". I consider any day I get out of bed a success, even if it's only to move to the beanbag and read or take a nap. And if I take a shower too? I definitely deserve a celebratory cupcake for that.

Rory wholeheartedly disagreed when I told her that.

"Hey Finley!" Sarah was standing over the stove stirring a large pot, and she greeted me with a wide smile. Her sister, Paula, was leaning against the island chopping something and sent me a small wave. I did my best to return the smile and the wave without it looking forced, but the look Rory sent me told me I failed.

"Finley offered to help with dinner prep today." Rory told them all, darting away from me before I could glare at her for lying to them. She pulled two aprons out of the pantry and tossed one to me while tying the other around her waist.

Rory instantly moved towards the large refrigerator and pulled something out to wash in the sink. Paula had joined Sarah at the stove, and they were bickering over seasoning. I had no idea what we were cooking, and no one had given me anything to do. After I tied on the apron, I was left standing in the middle of the kitchen uncomfortably.

Part of me knew I should speak up and ask how I can help, but most of me wanted to be anywhere but here. I knew these women were going to try and talk to me and get me to talk about Cillian, and although they had good intentions, I hated the idea. I didn't want to talk, I wanted to hide. The kitchen was too noisy, the heat was stifling, and there was a scent in the air that made me need to sneeze.

So, I didn't speak up. I glued my feet to the floor and hugged my arms to my chest like they were the only thing keeping me together. I contemplated trying to sneak out while Rory was distracted, but decided against it. She was always a worrier, but pregnancy had turned it into overdrive. Rory was well on her way into the second trimester and her stomach had just barely started showing. Her morning sickness seemed to be much better, but the pregnancy hormones were always present.

"Finley, don't just stand there! Grab a knife and get chopping." Rory laughed, snapping me out of any thoughts I had of escape. I flinched at the volume of her voice, but hurried over to grab the knife she was holding out to me.

"Here, you can chop of these potatoes," Sarah told me, plopping a large bowl full of freshly rinsed potatoes in front of me on the counter. She grinned at me, a twinkle in her eyes that seemed far too playful for a woman her age, "Paula's making homemade potato chips tonight!"

I managed a small smile in return, though my stomach twisted at the idea of the kitchen filling with the sound of popping grease and smelling of fried foods. Two months ago I would've been salivating at the idea. I would be first in line for some homemade potatoes, no matter what form. Now, most food made me feel physically ill. My diet consisted mainly of toast, bland chicken, and the occasional mug of hot chocolate. The few times that Rory or Turin convinced me to eat whatever the pack had for dinner, I'd promptly run to the bathroom and thrown it up.