Amber
I almost fall asleep in the car back home. My head has been hurting since before we got to Kate and Elliott's and now my throat is starting to feel sore too. I hope I'm not getting sick, being grounded is miserable enough as it is even with Phil coming back to visit on Monday. I'm so psyched about that; dad's plans with Ana couldn't have worked out better for me. I liked Ana too, I'm looking forward to meeting her again sometime.
"Amber, we're here." I feel dad's hand on my shoulder and open my eyes. The car has stopped. With a yawn I get out and walk with dad to the elevator.
"Are you ok?" Dad asks once we're upstairs.
I shrug.
"Amber." Dad's voice is stern now as we get out of the lift and into the foyer. "You don't look well. If you're not ok then you need to say so."
I glance over at him, his face is stony and he's doing the fire eye thingy.
"I'm tired. My head and throat kind of hurt." I tell him reluctantly.
He puts a hand on my forehead.
"You're a little warm." He mutters. "I hope you're not coming down with something."
He moves his hand to my shoulder and half pushes me into the living area.
"Go get ready for bed." He orders me. "I'll bring you some tea."
"Ok." I mumble, too tired to argue with him even if I don't like it when he orders me around like I'm five. I trudge to my room, shower and brush my teeth and put my PJs on before I sit cross-legged on the bed. Almost the instant I sit down there's a brief knock on the door and then dad comes in with a ridiculously over-sized (and probably ridiculously over-priced too) white mug in his hand. He puts it on my nightstand along with a glass of water and a chart of pills and sits down on the side of the bed.
"Thanks." I tell him and take a sip of the tea. "Did you make this?"
"Yes." He frowns at me. "Why, is there something wrong?"
"No, it's just how I like it." I say because it is. Strong English Breakfast with milk and honey. I drink greedily, it hurts a little to swallow but mostly it just feels soothing.
"I am perfectly able to make a cup of tea." Dad snorts. "It's cooking that I can't seem to manage and that is why I pay Mrs. Jones a very decent salary to do it for me."
I don't tell him that the surprise wasn't that he knew how to drop a teabag in hot water; it was that he knew how I liked my tea and made the effort to prepare it that way.
"You can cook though." I comment when I recall an event from when I was little. "You made me mac and cheese once."
"Oh yeah." He smirks. "I'm surprised you remember that, you can't have been more than four. Gail was on vacation and Sandrine was sick. Or rather, she claimed to be sick but I think it might have had something to do with her boyfriend being in the country at the time."
Sandrine was the French au Pair I had when I was little and it's courtesy to her that I speak fluent French today. Real French, which I'm kind of proud over. Not with the hideous and embarrassing American accent. I cringe when I hear my grandmother speak French; not that I'd ever tell her of course.
"What do you think of Elliott and Kate getting married?" Dad suddenly asks me and the question takes me by surprise. "You seemed a little off when they told us." He adds, surprising me again because he noticed.
"I don't know." I answer fleetingly but dad's gaze tells me I'm not going to get away with a vague answer. "I guess… I guess I think they could have waited a little, I mean, grandpa is hardly even in the ground yet. And now we're supposed to stop thinking about him because they want us to be happy about their stupid wedding?"
Something in my throat thickens and it's not just because it's sore. I don't really know where my little outburst comes from but it really is how I feel about it. Dad takes my hand and squeezes it.
"Hey." He says as some tears spill down over my cheeks. "If that's what you feel, that's what you feel. I'm glad you told me. And it's perfectly all right, I was a bit taken aback myself. But just because Elliott and Kate like to be the center of attention it doesn't mean that anybody will forget about your grandfather. I certainly won't, and whenever you want to talk about him; you can talk to me. Ok?"
"Ok" I mumble, doubting I ever will but feeling a little better while wiping my face with my hand after putting the tea mug back on the nightstand.
"Now, I think you're overtired and a little feverish and that makes you particularly emotional." Dad states, businesslike as ever. "Take the Advil I brought you and try to get some sleep."
I nod and do as he says, swallowing two pills with some of the water. Ouch, it hurts to swallow. I cough a little and dad slaps me lightly on my back and takes the bottle out of my hand.
"Better?" He asks when my coughing is less prominent and I nod once more.
"Good" He gives my hand another squeeze before he gets up to leave, bringing my empty teacup with him. "Try to get some sleep now, you know how to find me if you need to."
"Yeah" I mumble tiredly and get under the covers when dad walks towards the door. "Good night, love you."
My eyes shoot open when I realize what I just said. I don't think I've ever told dad that I love him, nor him me. But it just slipped out, like it would with either of my grandparents when we said good night. Dad looks about as shocked as I feel but suddenly he smiles at me, like really smiles. Big and warm and all that. Then he's back to serious, but it's a sort of warm serious.
"I love you too, Amber." He says and then clears his throat. "Sleep tight now."
"Yeah…" I say, blushing slightly. "You too."
He smiles again, briefly this time, and disappears through the door. "Huh", is my last thought before I'm asleep.
…
I wake up with my heart pounding and a really bad feeling; I know I must have had a nightmare even if I can't for my life remember what it was. I swallow and almost cry out because it hurts like hell. So does my head, it's throbbing in spite of the Advil I took earlier. In fact, my whole body is aching and my pulse feels like it's five-hundred beats per minute. It's dark outside, still night. I'm so thirsty, I need to drink something like now. I reach for the water but my arm is not cooperating and I accidentally knock it over. It doesn't break but rolls under the bed, and there's water all over the floor. Shit. I tumble out of bed, almost getting whirled up in my sheets. I feel light-headed and kind of dizzy as I drag myself towards the kitchen and vaguely notice that Bach's Prelude No 1, in C Major, is being played from somewhere afar. Bach/Gounod's Ave Maria is a favorite of mine, I love to play Gounod's superimposed melody on the violin. I get myself to the fridge and reach for the carton of pineapple juice and start drinking straight from it. I don't realize that the music has stopped and when I feel a hand touch my shoulder I jump high and drop the juice carton. It spills all over the floor, splashing up on my bare feet.
"Jesus Amber" Dad mutters and then softens slightly. "I didn't mean to startle you. What are you doing up?"
"Nightmare." I mumble in a hoarse voice. Ow, it hurts to talk. I want to sit down.
"What about?" Dad demands.
"Don't remember." I murmur. "What are you doing up?"
I can't see his face in the dark but he stiffens as he removes his hand from my shoudler and then I hear his curt voice.
"Same. Couldn't sleep, so I played for a while."
"Oh" Dad has nightmares? I'm feeling light-headed again and this time my head doesn't stop pounding. I'm drowsing off where I stand until dad grasps my arms and shakes me lightly.
"Hey" He murmurs. "Are you ok?"
"Hurts." I say. I don't have the energy to speak properly anymore.
"Hurts where?" Dad guides me over to the breakfast bar and lifts me up on a stool like I'm a little kid. "Amber!" He snaps when I don't answer.
"Head, throat and everywhere." I croak and then suddenly I feel dad's hand on my forehead.
"Hotter than before." He says tightly. "Stay here" As if I'd be going anywhere.
He starts rummaging through the cupboard. I've almost fallen asleep over the table when dad puts a glass of water in front of me along with two pills.
"Take these." He tells me and I do. Then suddenly I feel him lifting me up and I lean my head against his shoulder, way too tired to argue that I'm not five years old.
"I have to clean up." I mumble however.
"Don't be ridiculous." Dad snorts and carries me back to my room where he puts me back down in the bed. The water on the floor seems to have dried off because dad doesn't say anything. He pulls the cover up over me, all the way to my chin, before he goes into my closet. A minute later he's back in the room with a sweatshirt and thick woolen socks. He folds the cover back from me again.
"Sit up." He says and holds the sweater for me to put my head and arms in. Though I feel like a baby I push my head and hands into it and let him pull it onto me. I remain sitting, leaning against my pillows, as dad puts the socks on my feet. I'm glad he's doing that because I don't have the energy to bend so far right now. I sink down back into lying position and pull the cover up myself this time; I'm so cold. Dad walks around the bed and lies down beside me. He reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. "Try to sleep." He murmurs and I am, to say the very least, quick to obey.
…
Christian
I had to fight the urge to call and wake my doctor mother when I felt Amber's forehead. Not because I worried that she'd be seriously ill, I have been around enough to recognize a normal case of flu. But more because it's what I always did when Amber was sick as a child, I called my mother and had her pick her up or I took her back myself. My parents would always complain that I wouldn't care for her when she was sick but they seemed quite happy to do it themselves. Only once have I been the one to nurse her back to health, when her grandparents were vacationing in France. She had the stomach flu and it was fucking horrible. The worst part was seeing her so weak, so unlike her normal lively self. But Amber has always been extreme, she doesn't get sick very often but when she does she really gets it. Like now. Thank god she fell asleep so easily; she needs it.
I reach out and brush my knuckles over her hot cheek. Her skin is so soft, like when she was a baby. Like her hair, I note when I stroke it away to feel her forehead again. Her hair is so unruly, like mine, but almost like liquid when you touch it, it's so soft. He fever seems to be going down somewhat after the meds I gave her. Good. Now maybe I can relax too.
…
I wake up with a flinch and the first thing I note is the surprising fact that I've gone to sleep at all. I never sleep with anyone else there. Then I turn my attention to what woke me up, a soft whimpering next to me, and turn my head to see that Amber is fighting a fucking war in her sleep. Is it always like this for her? If so she's worse off than I am, at least I'm used to my fucking nightmares at this point. I sit up and lean over her, grasping onto her shoulders.
"Amber." I mutter in her ear. "Amber, wake up."
Gasping, Amber opens her eyes wide and sits up so violently that she nearly knocks her head into mine. Breathing heavily she bites her lip as her eyes fill with tears, most likely in an attempt t prevent them from falling. It's a failed attempt and they run like waterfalls down her flustered cheeks. My hands are still on Amber's shoulders so I pull her to me and she buries her face in my chest for the second time this week.
"How about this time?" I ask her. "Do you remember what it was about?"
I feel her shaking her head and I sigh, stroking her hair and remembering what it was like when she was little and we found ourselves in this situation. It was not often that Amber actually came and got me when she had nightmares but on some occasions they were too scary for her to ignore and I'd wake up from a soft tapping on my bedroom door. The first time she was in tears and wanted to go home to her grandparents but I refused to call them in the middle of the night and eventually she accepted it when I came back with her and lay next to her like when she couldn't go to sleep. Minus the laptop of course. But Amber always claimed not to remember her nightmares then as well; I've never really known if that's true or if she simply doesn't want to tell me.
"Do you want a glass of water?" Again, she shakes her head and I reach out to plush up her pillows so she can lie back down. When she does I remain sitting, looking down at her. "Do you want me to stay?" I ask her, willing to give her the choice for once. This time she nods and I smirk inwardly and lie back down myself, putting my hands under my head. Pretty fucking grateful that I don't have to go to the office tomorrow. I think about the intriguing Miss Steele. In my office, Monday. What I'd like to do with her. I indulge in my imagination for a little while before I mentally punch myself and gaze over at my daughter. Why is she not sleeping? She's staring up at the ceiling with her fever-glossy eyes.
"Can't sleep?"
She shakes her head and I sigh.
"What are you thinking about?" I demand.
"Nothing." Her voice is hoarse and raspy and it sounds like it hurts for her to press out the words.
"Throat still hurting?"
At this she nods and I cannot say for sure in the dark but I'm pretty fucking sure she's rolling her eyes. For once I don't blame her; it was a stupid question. We stay silent for a few moments.
"Do you remember when you were little and had nightmares?" I ask her. "You used to come and get me and I'd stay with you until you went back to sleep."
"Mm."
"I never knew how to comfort you, Amber." Christ, late night confessions making appearance. "You never tell me what you really feel, what you're really thinking, I always have to drag it out of you."
"Wonder who I got that from." She caws and even with her unrecognizable voice she manages to make the sarcasm clear.
I snort, irritated that she's completely right. I just wish the inability to discuss her feelings comfortably was one thing she hadn't inherited from me. God knows her mother was quick to tell when something was up. Then again, the less Amber inherited from her mother the better. We lie quiet for another while.
"Can I read?" Amber asks me, her hoarse voice barely audible.
"It's five a.m. and you're sick Amber, don't be ridiculous." I snap and the collect my tone. "Try to rest, sleep will come."
I hear sigh and squirm around and then I get an idea.
"I'll read to you if you want." I tell her. "I'll go get something."
I switch on the lights to see her surprised look and smirk at her before getting out of the bed and walking over to her vast bookshelf. It looks empty; I have had Taylor clear it of all her other books to replace it with the so-called appropriate reading I got her for the time she's grounded. Classics with idiotic moral messages. Dull fucking shit most of it. I grab Jane Eyre, which I actually don't mind terribly. At least I didn't when I read it in school at fifteen. I get back into Amber's bed and she glances at the title, rolling her eyes which I ignore once more.
"Your grandmother read to me sometimes during the night when I had nightmares" I reminisce as I open the book.
"My biological grandmother or my real one?" Amber croaks and I smile at how she refers to Grace.
"Your real one."
"She does that for me too." Amber sighs and I can't tell if her eyes are watering or just feverish. I think it best not to push her.
"Close your eyes." I order and she obliges, curling up under her cover. I start reading aloud and thankfully, but not surprisingly, Amber is asleep before I've finished the first page.
…
Another talky one, hope you don't mind! I have to admit that I'm stalling Christian's and Ana's meeting a little bit because I don't have any good ideas about that bachelor/bachelorette party… If you do, please let me know so I get a little inspired! And as usual, do review to let me know what you think, bad or good but please be constructive in your criticism ;)
…
About my rant at the end of last chapter… THANK YOU to everyone who has been incredibly supportive! Some of your encouraging reviews nearly made me cry. However, I hope I didn't come across as someone who can't take criticism because I do know that there's always room for improvement (I have a fear of rereading because I know I'll cringe from lots of stuff..) and EVERYONE, anonymous or signed, is entitled to an opinion. Aöso, I'm not that naïve and I do know that people will disagree with some of my writing and have opinions that differ from mine. I REALLY do want to know those opinions too but I still think that there is a distinct line between "no-nonsense" constructiveness and being unpleasant. The fact that the "mean" reviewer had a tone that was irritating for me I found offensive because it's harder to address an anonymous reviewer and I'm sure that someone who posts snappy reviews anonymously must know that. I could be wrong though!
To Hrdwrker: I agree with you on most of your points (as I had hoped that I made clear in my post adressing "guest"), but as stated above I think don't think it was a matter of just being straightforward and that's why I reacted and decided to respond like I did. As I've said lots of times during the writing of this story; I appreciate opinions and I do want to improve and get nots on how best to do that. While this is my story and I like to pretend that I am the master of my own little universe, my readers thoughts have major influences on me. Which was why the tone of "guest"'s reviews made me sad and irritated; the tone and the way they were put forward made it so much harder for me to take in and reflect on what was indeed valid points. Even if I don't agree with all of it.
So again, hope I haven't scared anyone off… And once more: THANK YOU for following, favoriting and supporting this story by reviewing! It means the world. x