Even Lovers Drown

Blankets housed Saylor's shivering body. The tight cocoon failed to provide her with protection against the cold she felt. The air conditioner was off, a humid heat had settled over the house courtesy of the obnoxious heat outside, and she was freezing. Her throat felt raw and a consistent throb attacked her head. She sniffled, an attempt to keep her nose from running onto her pillow.

The nap she had hoped for wasn't happening. Her body hurt too much to let her sleep. But the gross sick feeling that shrouded her was keeping her from being productive. She needed to get up and finish cleaning before Katie returned home. She wouldn't get far without collapsing if she couldn't manage a little sleep.

She took a small breath. Her lungs constricted instantly and a violent cough shook her body. Tear perked in her eyes, a reaction to the force of the cough and the pain it left in its wake. Everything hurt. She brought her knees to her chest, curling in a ball. Nothing would get finished around the house. Not as long as she was sick.

Downstairs, the front door opened and shut loudly, sending a sharp pain through Saylor's throbbing head. Fear washed over her, stifling the groan that desired release, freezing her in the curled up position.

Katie was home.

Mumbled curses floated up the stairs. Seconds later, the air conditioner kicked on. Cool air beat down on the blanket cocoon, slipping through the cracks and chilling Saylor's body. Katie rustled around the kitchen, surely looking for the food that Saylor was supposed to have cooked. Saylor couldn't bring herself to move, to rush downstairs, to assure Katie food would be ready in thirty minutes. Brief silence settled over the house, only to be broken by the clank of dishes

"Saylor," Katie yelled.

Whimpering, she pulled the blankets closer to her body. Katie was angry. She could hear it in the harsh burst of Katie's voice. Sickness wasn't an excuse to leave household chores incomplete. The verbal beat down she was sure to receive would be a reminder of her laziness.

Merciless feet stomped up the stairs, and the bedroom door swung open with a resounding slam. Saylor flinched under her blanket cocoon, the loud noise sending another sharp pain through her head. As quickly as she could, she struggled to push herself to a seated position. She was on the receiving end of Katie's fury and staying in bed would anger her further.

Katie's fierce blue eyes hit Saylor. Vicious anger swam through them, chilling Saylor's veins. Guilty regret rested on her shoulders. She should have finished cleaning the house. That's all Katie asked her to do while she was working. Instead of doing that, Saylor laid in a useless heap under a bunch of blankets. Katie deserved better.

"What is this?" Katie snapped.

Saylor tore her eyes away from Katie's, letting them trail over the gorgeous tense facial features and shoulders till they landed on the plate in Katie's hand. Remnants of syrup moved in a sluggish stream down the plate and cheese gripped the bottom edge.

"A dirty dish," Saylor mumbled, her vocal cords straining under the quiet words. She met Katie's angry gaze again. "Baby, why did you take it out of the sink?"

"Why is the sink filled with dirty dishes from breakfast?" Katie returned.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't feeling well."

Saylor wouldn't demand an answer. Katie pulled a random plate from a stack of dirty dishes and marched upstairs to show her. Challenging her reasoning would get them no where. Saylor had been with Katie long enough to know that. Even explaining that most of the house had been cleaned would do nothing to assuage Katie's anger. Katie didn't want to hear it

Anger melted into a blank stare. Saylor fidgeted, uncomfortable with the change in emotion. Katie was prolonging this. Couldn't she get it over with? She was supposed to explode, call Saylor names, tell her how useless she was. Waiting made Saylor's stomach lurch with nervous energy more than Katie's obvious anger did.

"You weren't feeling well?" Katie asked, her voice deadpan.

Saylor could hear the insinuation in Katie's voice. She was being lazy, ungrateful. Her skin was an unhealthy white, and dark bags stained the skin under her eyes, and Katie still found reason not to believe her. Any attempt to explain would be written off as an excuse, but that was the only thing Saylor could to do to attempt to lessen the upcoming blowup

"I think I have—"

Katie cut her off, "Do you think I can skip work if I feel a little sick?"

Of course she could, but she wouldn't. The male mechanics would find reason to call her weak, deem her incapable of handling larger jobs, if she skipped out one day due to minor sickness. Though a temporary job till she finished her schooling, Katie took her work seriously. It was how bills were paid, how they could afford to rent the house, how they kept up with the car payments, how they had money to buy groceries. When Katie finished school and her residency, things would be better. She would be less stressed, less prone to angry bursts.

Saylor understood she was stressed with the number of responsibilities she had. She offered to help, to take on some responsibility for earning money since she wouldn't be able to finish the nursing program. But Katie wouldn't let her work, just like she wouldn't let her attend classes. Makeshift housewife was Saylor's role in their relationship.

"I guess not, but, baby, I—"

"I don't care," Katie snapped, "Who do you think is going to do the dishes?"

"I will," Saylor insisted.

"They should have been done already."

"I know. I'm sorry."

Anger burst in Katie's treacherous blue eyes. Her lip curled in a snarl. White dusted the knuckles of the hand clutching the dirty plate, the other hand curled into a fist at her side. Saylor fidgeted. She said the wrong thing. There was no right thing to say in these situations, though. Try as she did, Katie would remain angry with her. The only thing Saylor did right was take the verbal attacks. She didn't complain afterward, didn't tell anyone. She let Katie unleash her fury.

If that was what made Katie stay with her, then she would keep doing it. Because Saylor loved her. And Katie yelled at her because she loved her too. She just had a weird way of showing it.

Katie stormed across the hardwood floor to Saylor's side, thunderous footsteps striking fear in her body. She pushed herself against the head of the bed, too weak to leap off the bed and put distance between them. The anger that twisted Katie's gorgeous features was harsher than normal. She looked ready to kill Saylor, not just yell.

"Get up," Katie commanded, hand darting from her side and gripping Saylor's arm tightly. With a sharp tug, she pulled Saylor from the bed, sending her to the hard floor.

"Ow," Saylor mumbled, tears dribbling down her cheek.

Sickness left her too tender to handle the small fall. Pain encompassed her body, tingling her nerves. Nausea settled in her stomach, the throb in her head increased. Her lungs threatened to send her into a coughing fit that would leave her lungs begging for mercy. She was sure Katie's hold on her arm would leave a bruise.

"Get up," Katie repeated, accenting the command with another sharp tug.

"You're hurting me," Saylor whimpered.

Somehow, Saylor knew Katie didn't care.

"I told you to do the dishes," Katie yelled, "I work my ass off all day trying to make enough money support your lazy ass and what do I come home to? A sink full of dirty dishes."

She yanked Saylor's arm, dragging her a few inches. Saylor yelped. The floor rubbed against her bare legs. One more tug and she was sure her arm would be ripped from its socket. Hot tears cascaded down her cheeks. She closed her eyes tightly, willing the pain away.

"Please stop," Saylor begged.

"When I tell you to do something, you do it."

A crack, intense pain searing her cheek, shattered glass decorating the floor. Saylor raised a shaky hand to her face, her eyes sliding open. Sticky substance met her palm. Not tears. She pulled her hand away and dared to look at what coated her skin.

Blood. Red, fresh, blood. Her blood.

She didn't feel Katie's hand leave her arm and didn't hear her frustrated huff, consumed in staring at her bloodstained hand. Katie got angry. Katie hit her. She was bleeding.

"Do you see what you make me do?" Katie said, drawing Saylor's attention to her. Irritation sharpened her blue eyes. No remorse, no sadness, no worry. "Just do what I ask the first time, and this won't happen."

"I'm sorry," Saylor mumbled.

A call of "Saylor" in Davy's voice destroyed the painful dream world. Saylor's eyes shot open, a gasp caught in her throat. The escalated beat of her heart thrummed in her ears. Frantic, her eyes darted around the van. Darkness masked the outdoors, the gleam of headlights illuminating a short distance ahead. It was no brighter inside the van, the only light coming from the digital clock that read "4:00AM." Davy's face was close to hers. She could make out the worry creasing his brow in the darkness, could see his mouth twisted in a frown and his wide green eyes staring at her. She was still safely tucked away in the passenger seat.

"Are you okay?" Davy asked, voice low.

"Yeah," Saylor whispered. "Where are we?"

Not on the road anymore, she knew that for sure. The van wasn't moving and Davy's hands weren't glued to the wheel. It was a little early to be at the venue, though. Four in the morning? They should have been driving.

"You were sobbing so I pulled to the shoulder."

"Did the girls..." Saylor trailed off.

"They're asleep. You didn't wake them."

She breathed a sigh of relief. They didn't hear, didn't wake up, and wouldn't ask questions. They had no idea that she had a vivid nightmare stemming from a harsh memory. The first hit, that was something she didn't need to talk about with them.

The walkie-talkie on the dashboard buzzed to life. Andy's voice crackled through the speakers. "What happened?"

Davy grabbed the device, pressed the button on the side, and said, "Why are you up?"

"Because Hayden," he stopped himself, "That's not important. Did something happen?"

"We're switching drivers."

He was lying for her. Maybe they were switching drivers so Saylor wouldn't be lulled back to sleep, back to the nightmares. But that wasn't the reason they pulled over. Davy wouldn't even tell Andy, the manager and his boss, about the nightmare.

But this wasn't his to tell. It was Saylor's life, her past. If she wanted to tell them, it was up to her, not her brother. And she wasn't planning on telling them. They didn't need to know. There was nothing they could do to erase what happened, nothing they could do to repair Saylor's mental state. Making sure the tour was successful deserved more stress than Saylor's problems.

"You don't need us to stop?" Andy asked.

"No, it's cool. I'll see you at the venue," Davy said, "Get some sleep, alright? You're going to burn out."

"I'll try. Don't die in a car wreck."

"Damn, ruined my plans," Davy joked.

Andy laughed, forcing a broad, dimple-exposing smile to Davy's face. "Bye, Davy."

"Bye, Andy."

The walkie-talkie quieted, no longer crackling or buzzing. Sighing, Davy relaxed against his seat. He rubbed his hands over his eyes, then looked at Saylor. Exhaustion replaced the happiness that once decorated his eyes.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

"I had a nightmare. That's all," Saylor said, "Are we really switching drivers?"

He shook his head, flashing her a lazy smile. "I have it under control."