Chapter 8 - Admissions and Submissions
The late afternoon light filtered through the narrow, dust-streaked windows of the study, casting a gentle glow across stacks of old ledgers and a well-worn desk. Tilly was dusting off an old bureau while Nick flipped through a stack of forgotten magazines. She glanced at him, debating whether she really needed to know about his sexuality, but she knew she did.
“You know, the other night,” she started, shifting a little. “Aphid made a comment… sort of a guess, really, about your… preferences.”
Nick raised his eyebrows, looking a bit lost. “My preferences?”
“Yeah, she kind of implied you might be… well, maybe asexual?” Tilly paused, not sure if she was overstepping. “I don’t mean to pry. It’s just, I’d never thought about it before, and I wondered if… if she was onto something.”
He let out a quiet breath, setting down the magazine and folding his hands. “Honestly? I’m still figuring it out myself,” he said, looking down at his hands. “I’ve been dealing with depression since… well, since even before my dad died. After he died, I ended up on medication. Three different ones, actually. They help, but they make it hard to feel anything… strongly.”
Tilly nodded, the pieces starting to come together. “That sounds… difficult,” she said softly. “Have you ever tried… getting off the meds?”
He gave her a sad smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “I have. I wanted to see if there was any difference. But it got bad, Tilly. I still need them.”
She reached out, her hand resting on his forearm for a moment. “Thank you for telling me,” she murmured, seeing the weight he carried. “That must make things… really complicated.”
He shrugged. “It does. Sometimes I wonder if I’d feel differently, have stronger connections or… attractions if things were different.”
Tilly glanced down, a small smile forming as she steeled herself to share something she hadn’t even admitted to herself fully. “Can I tell you something? I had the biggest crush on you for… years. I didn’t even know what to do with myself half the time around you. I used to drag my friend Lisa to your swim meets so that I could sit there and watch you.”
Nick looked up, a grin breaking through his usual reserved demeanor. “You’re kidding.”
“Not at all. I even used to daydream about what it’d be like to kiss you. I’d wonder what you’d do if you ever noticed or if I had just… told you.” Her cheeks flushed.
Nick laughed softly, shaking his head. “I guess I was more clueless than I thought.”
She laughed, too. “Yeah, I never really expected anything to come of it. I mean, I wanted it to, but you were kind of my dream boy. Don’t worry, I’m past it.”
After a moment’s pause, Nick’s face softened, and he tilted his head slightly, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “You know… it seems a shame to go through life with questions that are easy to answer. Do you want to see what it’s like?”
Tilly’s eyes widened a bit, surprised at his offer. “What do you mean?”
“A kiss. Just to satisfy your curiosity. No pressure, no expectations. Friends as before.”
She hesitated, feeling both silly and touched. “Well… alright, yeah. I’d like that.”
They leaned in slowly, sharing a brief, gentle kiss that felt warm and comfortable, a moment that held no surprises, just a quiet sweetness. As they pulled back, they exchanged a small smile.
“Thanks, Nick,” she said, her voice light. “I guess I can cross that off my teenage daydream list.”
His face relaxed, a little more open. “Anytime.”
“Let me know if you ever want to touch a boob,” she said, “I owe you one.”
Nick chuckled, “I’ve touched a couple, but thanks for thinking of me.”
“Aphid?” Tilly asked.
“I’m gonna keep quiet about that if you don’t mind.”
“That’s probably for the best,” Tilly answered.
As Tilly and Nick resumed their sorting, Tilly’s hand brushed against something solid and worn, buried under papers at the back of the drawer. She pulled out a small leather-bound notebook, the edges scuffed and softened by years of handling. Dust lingered on the cover, and she wiped it off with a careful hand.
“Look what I found,” she said, holding the notebook up.
Nick leaned closer, eyebrows raised. “Think it’s a journal?”
Tilly opened it gently, revealing pages filled with tight, meticulous handwriting. She scanned the first few lines, her gaze lingering.
“It says, ‘August House feels quieter tonight. I saw her again by the grove in the back, her figure blending into the shadows. She doesn’t ask for help, doesn’t speak to me, but I feel bound to watch her. I am hers."
Nick glanced at her, his interest piqued. “Who’s ‘her’?”
They turned more pages, each entry was precise yet increasingly fragmented. Tilly read another aloud.
"I went out tonight barefoot, the chill sharp. I placed salt in a circle around myself and left the candle burning beside me. She stood just beyond it, silent, her eyes fixed on mine. I don’t know what she wants, but each night I feel more drawn to her as if I belong to her. I am hers."
Tilly’s finger brushed over the edges of the pages, the ink faintly smudged in places as though the writer’s hand had lingered over the words. The scent of musty leather rose as she turned the page. She continued her voice barely above a whisper.
"Tonight, she was closer. I could feel her watching. I left the stone by the fountain, felt the weight of her presence. There was a moment—a hand, faint as a whisper, brushing my shoulder. I am hers. I know this. I whispered it to her myself… I am yours."
A chill settled over her as she turned the next page, the lines growing shorter, the thoughts more disjointed.
"I see her in the grove. I light the candles, but they burn too fast, and the shadows lengthen. I pour the salt into the shape she likes and place the offerings in perfect order. When I close my eyes, I see her watching me. Each night I return, and each night I feel her closer. I am hers. She holds me, commands me, and I obey."
Nick glanced at her, his expression shifting as he listened to each line, the entries unspooling into something neither of them had expected. Tilly turned another page, the ink darker now etched into the paper with an urgency that made her hands tremble slightly as she read.
"I went to the garden, the earth cold beneath my feet. I touched the ground and felt her there, heard her voice, distant but undeniable. She is waiting for me to understand, to see her as she was. She stands with me now, unseen but real, as if bound to my every step. I am bound to her. I am hers."
They exchanged a look, the words settling heavily around them. Each sentence conveyed a strange devotion, a need that seemed to grip the writer, pulling him deeper into this secret ritual.
Tilly turned to the final entry, and her breath caught as she read aloud. The words were slow and deliberate, each letter etched with care.
"I don’t know what this is, only that I can’t stop. The garden waits for me. The trees watch. I am hers in ways I don’t understand. She has taken my heart, my mind, my every breath. I have given her what she wants. I am forgiven, at least by her. I hope you forgive me, too."