Page 63 of The Dramatic Life of Jonah Penrose
“Jonah, you can’t go on like this.”
“I’m fine.” He looked at the clock on his wall. “I’ve got twenty minutes.”
Bastien chewed his bottom lip as he wiped some of Jonah’s tears away. “Lennon’s already getting ready to go on, don’t push yourself.”
“No.” Jonah jerked his head away from him and rubbed his hands over his skin, removing the tears and the salty tracks they left behind. “I need this. I need my mind to be on something else.”
Bastien stood, his demeanor pensive, unsure, but he didn’t stop Jonah as he pulled off his clothes to get into his first costume.
“You’ve not been mic’d up,” he said. “Let me go get Sherrie.” He left the room quickly as Jonah focused on the costume, dressing himself as quickly as he could before Sherrie came into the room with Dexter following behind her.
“Okay, let’s do this,” she muttered, pulling a makeup brush out of her bum bag to fix Jonah’s face. Her hands were trembling slightly, cheeks flushed an angry red.
“Are you okay?” Jonah asked quietly, his own mind working overtime, but he couldn’t ignore her distressed expression.
“Hmm?” She shook her head slightly. “Just Romana, nothing for you to worry about, seriously. Let’s just get you ready, yeah?”
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Dexter commented from the doorway. “Jonah, go home.”
“No.”
“Jonah, I don’t think—”
“I’m going on,” Jonah snapped, making Sherrie flinch as she finished dusting his face with powder. They didn’t understand, no one could understand, because they could never know just how his mind worked. If he didn’t perform, then he would only go home and dwell on what his mumsaid to him and dream of her wading out into the water until her head disappeared beneath the waves. And if he didn’t perform, Colbie would have another reason to add to her list of reasons to not renew his contract.
Achilles may not be his for much longer, but there was no chance in hell he would let him go without a fight.
Twenty-Five
“Do you remember your mother, Achilles?”
—“What Do We Fight For?”The Wooden Horse, Act One
Dexter’s heart beat steadily beneath Jonah’s cheek. They lay together in bed, the sun kissing their skin as it gently woke the residents of Castle Road. Dexter ran his fingers up and down Jonah’s waist, his arm wrapped around him as Jonah rested his head on his chest. They didn’t know the time, but Jonah guessed it must have been late morning from the way the sunlight seemed to be positioned in the sky. Yet it was Sunday, and he expected Dexter to flee at first light, like he usually did, but he stayed, his body a comforting presence, one Jonah didn’t want to ever lose.
Jonah wished he could erase the week he had just endured. His mum’s call on Tuesday night had made him lose his footing, and he could still feel himself free-falling. He’d missed the signs blaring out at him, the ones telling him his mum needed him, that she wasn’t coping, that the book clubs and girls’ nights were excuses to have a few glasses of wine, then a few more and a few more until... until she couldn’t take it anymore.
The guilt possessed him. The show Tuesday was the absolute worst he’d ever performed onstage, and that was taking into account the nativity at school where he walked out dressed as a sheep then cried for five minutes before falling down the stairs in the wings. Only, this time he was in front of hundreds of people who paid a lot of money to see the show and he fumbled his lines, forgot his blocking, and accidentally hit Dexter in the face during their fight sequence, which resulted in a bloody nose and a lot of swearing offstage.
The rest of the week fared no better; his inability to brush himself off and get back on track resulted in him being taken off the Saturday evening show, and he spent the duration of it sobbing in his dressing room until Dexter finished and took him home. It was past midnight by the time Dexter ran a bath filled with decadent bubbles the scent of honey and lavender, and one part of Jonah just wanted to hide beneath his duvet, but the part of him completely smitten with Dexter appreciated his gesture and went along with it.
“Did you bring bubble bath with you?” Jonah asked as Dexter got into the tub with him.
“Yeah. I noticed you didn’t have any, and baths should not be taken without bubbles.”
Jonah relaxed against his chest as Dexter sat behind him, his legs on either side of Jonah as the hot water caressed their limbs and the lavender opened Jonah’s chest, allowing him to breathe freely for the first time in days. Dexter kissed the back of his neck, then the side of his cheek, the action not sexual, but caring, deeply caring, and Jonah could have stayed there with him forever if the water didn’t eventually get cold and force them to get out. Dexter took him to bed, where he held him, and they lay together in a beautiful, comfortable silence until they fell asleep.
Jonah dreamed of St. Ives and honeybees dancing through fields of flowers.
And now, as they lay together in the stark light of the morning, Jonah could finally sense the dark cloud obstructing his mind lifting. He pressed a chaste kiss to Dexter’s collarbone and closed his eyes, basking in the contentment he felt and the way Dexter made him feel completely and utterly safe.
“Are you leaving soon?” Jonah asked, hoping the answer would be no, but also not expecting any more from him than he’d already given.
“No.”
“But it’s Sunday.”
“And I want to be here with you.”
