Page 15 of Repluse

Sam steps forward and pulls me into him.

“I’ve got you. Deep breaths, baby. Just take slow, deep breaths.”

He holds me against him until I can hold myself upright, then opens the passenger door, helps me into the car, and buckles me up. After kissing the top of my head, he closes the door before heading around to the driver’s side.

Teddy Swims’ “All That Really Matters” blasts from the sound system the instant Sam starts the car. Using the control on the steering wheel, he lowers the volume.

“No, leave it loud,” I request.

He stares at me in silence for a few moments before taking my hand. After resting it palm down on his thigh, he puts the car in drive, releases the handbrake, covers my hand in his, and drives us ‘home’ in silence.

Sam leavesthe engine running after parking in the underground garage. The rhythmic beat of James Arthur’s “Emergency” playsin the background. This time, I remain silent when Sam turns down the volume.

“Mils, are you sure…?”

“Ya know, I’ve never just been me,” I say out of nowhere, needing to release some of the chaotic thoughts rioting through my mind. “When I was a kid, people—adults—would nudge each other and say not so quietly, ‘That’s the Grace girl. The one the mother left as a baby.’ When my dad’s drinking got out of control as I got older, and he became known as the town’s drunk, I would hear,‘That’s Micky Grace’s girl. Her mum left them when she was just a bub. That’s why he turned to the grog.’Then I escaped all of that and became‘Logan’s wife,’or,‘Mrs Walsh.’I have a pretty name, right? Mila’s a pretty name. Mila Grace was beautiful, but even now it’s Mila Walsh, it’s not enough. It’s never been enough.”

“Mils, you’re scaring me. I don’t think…”

“Today… TodayIwas enough. Today was the first time I’ve ever heard my mum say my name.”

Sam’s head snaps back like I’ve slapped him.

“I thought she was non-verbal?”

“She is, mostly. But today, for the first time I can ever remember, she said my name and she told me I was beautiful. Today, Sam. Today, Mila was enough.”

I cry. Sam reaches across the centre console and wraps his arms around me, raining kisses down on my head. Then the engine is off, and he’s gone. Silently, he opens my door, unclips my seatbelt, and lifts me out of the car. With his arm around my shoulder, I lean into him for support as he leads us to the lifts and up to the apartment. When we enter, “Ms Hyde” by Halestorm is blasting through the sound system. In the family room, Frankie has his head in the fridge but turns to look our way as we move towards him.

His eyes slice from me to Sam as he straightens.

“What the fuck happened?” he asks with his brows in their usual pulled down low position.

“I just wanna shower,” I state. “Can I just go to my room and shower?” I look up at Sam.

“You want me to come with you?”

“No,” I say with a headshake. “I’m fine.” I’m not. I don’t exactly know what I am or why I’m falling apart like this. All I do know is that I want to get out of these clothes and wash the day away. I want to feel clean, or is it that I want to feel cleansed? Of the day, my thoughts, my actions? I don’t fucking know, but I step away from Sam’s warm body, and head for my bedroom.

“I’ll be in to check on you in a bit,” Sam calls out.

I raise an arm to let him know I’ve heard him but keep moving, taking off my hoodie as I walk away.

“What the fuck happened? There’s something we need to…” I hear Frankie say.

I pause on the stairs to listen.

“Not now. Not tonight. She’s had a rough day with her mum,” Sam interrupts him. I’m not sure what the rest of Frankie’s words were going to be, but the way Sam has my back ignites a spark of warmth in my chest somewhere very close to my recently rediscovered heart.

After kickingoff my UGGs when I reach the bathroom, I turn on the shower, pull off my trackies and undies, and step under the water.

I stand completely still for a long moment, enjoying the sensation of the spray from the body jets hitting me, the warmth sinking into my skin, my bones, my very soul. It’s as I’m standing with my head tilted to the ceiling that I realise the music Frankie has playing is also coming through the speakers in my bathroom. It’s The Kaiser Chiefs’ “I Predict A Riot” now, and I wonder if this playlist is titled Rage, or Fuck You. It’sprobably Frankie’s favourite—one he has on repeat because he always comes across as just a little bit angry, dangerous, or both. Frankie Says, ‘Fuck You!’ Yes! That would definitely be the title. I don’t know why, but that train of thought has not only calmed my racing my mind, but it’s also brought a smile to my lips.

Once my hair is washed and conditioned, I turn and face the stream of water, letting the spray hit my chest and bounce up to my face. With my eyes closed, I reach for the body wash stored in the tiled recess, but instead my hands hit warm skin.

I’m instantly surrounded.

They’re both here. One either side. Their hands slide over my breasts, my belly, my hips, and waist. Then from both the front and the back, between my legs.

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