Page 62 of Time After Time
My breaths came in ragged gasps. I’d tried to take deep breaths, to hold them in, to calm down, but none of it worked. All I wanted was to scratch at my skin until it bled. I couldn’t find my usual rhythm, like I’d forgotten how to breathe ever since waking up in the hospital, and it had only got worse since I returned to the cottage.
My left hand tangled in my hair, tugging at the strands as if it could ease the frustration that had been gnawing at me for the past two days.
“Sebastian...” Her voice cut through the haze in my mind, drawing my gaze to her green eyes, shimmering with hints of yellow in the sunlight streaming through the window.
Gen. Lately, she’d been checking on me more often, trying to keep things normal. She even brought her laptop and wouldsit beside me for hours in silence while preparing for the festival, constantly asking for my opinion. I cursed myself for not thanking her, for not being myself. Instead, I remained quiet, tears streaming down my cheeks.
Since I left the hospital, I haven’t left my cottage. I ignored calls and texts, which prompted my mum and Robert to visit me at least twice a day. Most of the time, I would be asleep, and their knocks would wake me up unless they asked Gen for her copy of the keys that I had given her.
I felt like a horrible son. A horrible friend, too.
“It’s over,” I whispered, my voice cracking as I turned away from the pain in her tear-filled eyes. “It’s like it never even had a chance.”
I couldn’t pinpoint the moment she drew closer or when she knelt beside me, but I found myself giving in to her touch, my body sinking to the ground in surrender. Her embrace was reminding me how to properly breathe as she held me tight, but careful of my injured arm—the very one that had shattered my dreams. The thought of being stuck like this for weeks or even months, haunted by the possibility of permanent damage, swallowed me whole. Every time I glanced at it or every time my body was overly aware of its feeling, I would spiral.
“It’s not over,” she urged, her breath caressing my cheek as her chin found a spot on the top of my head, making me question when I had last washed my hair since the accident. “It can’t be.”
“Sebastian.” Her grip loosened on my shoulders, making me whimper aloud as she separated her body from mine, forcing me to meet her eyes. She swallowed, taking a second to roam my face. I knew I looked paler, and I knew my lips were chapped. “It’s not over. The Sebastian I know wouldn’t letanythingstop him.” Her voice smooth, but the slightest waver curled around the edges of her words. “Even if you feel like you’ve lost everything, it’s not over.”
I tried to hide my face in her neck, but she stopped me. “It’ll be different. It’ll be harder. But you’re still a soon-to-be official pastry chef, Sebastian. You still have that dream, and no one can take it away from you.”
“What if I can’t?” I blurted out. “What if I can’t keep up with Reth’s classes or handle the demands of the kitchen?” My worries spilt over, but before I could spiral deeper, she pressed her lips against mine, silencing my fears. I melted into the kiss, feeling her warmth wrap around me, and while I wanted her lips to move, to make me forget, it was just a simple press of lips.
“I know this feels like a setback,” she murmured against my chapped lips, glancing at my injured arm. “But you’re so talented and passionate. This injury won’t hold you back. We’ll get through this. Together. You’ve got this.”
I’d heard words like that before—from myself, her father, Rob, and even my mum—but coming from her, they felt different. Maybe she was right. Maybe I was going to be okay. Maybe my dream wasn’t over after all.
“Where’s your shirt?” She looked at me, then scanned the room, realising my state of undress and the torn fabric somewhere on my desk.
“I thought about taking a shower,” I admitted, feeling exposed as she gently wiped my tears away with her hands as her lips turning up slightly. My fears didn’t vanish, but having her there lightened the load a bit. “But I can’t seem to do anything on my own.”
“Let me help you.” She got up, and I immediately missed her, even with the sweltering summer heat around us. I stood with a grunt as her arms reached out to me. “I just need help getting my clothes off.”
“What about your hair?” Before I could answer, she dashed off for a few minutes, and I just stood there, not moving, maybe not even thinking for the first time in these last few days. Soon,Geneviève returned with a wobbly white wooden chair from the backyard that my mum had given me, saying it would look super pretty once she fixed it. “Here,” she said, a hint of pride in her smile, and I couldn’t help but smile back.
“What’s this for?”
“I’m washing your hair.”
Lately, keeping my body in check around Gen had become a real struggle. My eyes drifted over her, and the urge to touch her skin or breathe in her scent was hard to resist. The image of her hands tangled in my curls, her fingers tracing patterns on my scalp—it felt almost overwhelming. I wouldn’t survive it.
Gen, however, didn’t hesitate. She strode over to the bathroom door connecting my room and swung it open, balancing the chair in one hand while nudging it forward with her foot. I followed, trying to quiet the nerves twisting in my stomach.
“Take a seat.”
I nodded and stepped forward, using my left hand to brace against the glass shower wall. As I sank into the chair, I felt Gen’s firm grip on its back.
I closed my eyes, a breath slipping from my lungs as the darkness behind my lids offered a brief escape. I heard the faint rustle of movement as Gen stepped into the shower, the soft clink of bottles a signal she was searching for my shampoo.
“Where are the towels?” she asked, glancing back at me before stepping out of the shower. She made a beeline for the white cabinet on the opposite wall, where a neat row of fluffy, mostly black towels was stacked.
She chose one, lifting it just enough not to mess the others, then came back to me. Gen bunched it up to make a little pillow that she tucked behind my neck. “Lean back. Is it comfortable?” I nodded my head as I adjusted my position. The sound of the water filled the room.
At first, the water felt a bit cold, but Gen didn’t let it touch more of my scalp until it warmed up, wrapping around me just right—not too hot, not too chilly.
I closed my eyes, sighing, letting myself enjoy the moment while Gen tilted my head backwards, making sure no water splashed on my face. Her hands were tender as she brushed my curls away from my forehead, her nails scratching my forehead every time she did that.
“Is the water okay?” Gen’s voice cut through the soothing sound of the water.
