Free The Masseuse by Violette Dubrinsky Page B

was still there, her assuredness faltered. And seeing her sister constantly sick was just a blow she didn’t know how to recover from.
    “You can’t leave me, Lilah,” she murmured, knowing her sister wouldn’t hear. She never entertained any of Delilah’s ideas about her death. When her sister tried to joke about funeral decorations, Jezebel usually glared and switched the subject. “You’re my rock, remember?”
    As little girls, they’d been each other’s support system. Ilyana, who had become less crazy with time, had been too wild for two young girls, so Jezebel grew up quickly. Delilah did too, but Jezebel made sure to allow her sister to have some form of a childhood.
    She grabbed her sister’s limp hand and caressed her shiny head, unafraid of waking her up because the pain pills usually knocked Delilah out. “It’s you and me against the world, remember.” Tears welled in her eyes. “You’re not going anywhere, Lilah. I won’t let you go anywhere!” She pressed her lips to Delilah’s forehead. “I promise.”
    As she exited the room, she found Ilyana sitting on the carpeted floor near Delilah’s door.
    “Why didn’t you come in?”
    Her mother smiled sadly. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”
    Jezebel helped her up and Ilyana burst into tears. “Oh, Mom.”
    “I’m so sorry, Jez,” Ilyana said in a harsh whisper, wiping at her tears and blinking rapidly. “You’ve had to be strong for us since you were so small, and I should be the strong one, and I am so sorry...”
    Pulling her mother against her body, Jezebel sighed. It was true, but what was the point of crying over spilt milk? Her mother could have been a better mother, but she was here now, and in spite of it all, she and Delilah had done well in life. “It’s okay, Mom—.”
    “It’s not.” Ilyana pulled away and shook her head. “You’re saying that because that’s how you are, Jez. You just...know what to say, but it’s not and will never be okay. I’m so sorry for not parenting as I should have, for being so strange and weird, for so many things.”
    They stared at each other for long moments, and Jezebel allowed herself to take in her mother’s features, features that were most reflective in Delilah. The two looked like twins most days, because Ilyana did not look a day over forty, when she was actually fifty-three.
    “Thanks, Mom.”
    “I might not have the best mother, but I’ve always loved my girls.” She shuddered. “I don’t know how I’ll deal with this, Jez. If Lilah dies, I think it’ll kill me.”
    “She won’t die.” Jezebel shook her head and firmed her voice. “She won’t die, Mom.”
    “What if she does?” Ilyana asked in a small voice.
    Jezebel sighed. That was a reality she didn’t want to face, but she answered quietly, “Then we’ll deal with it together.”
    ***
    “What’s wrong?”
    Jezebel didn’t know why she’d told Ramsey it was okay to come over tonight. It was Saturday and Saturday nights were usually a given for them, but she was raw, her emotions shot to hell, and it had affected her in the bedroom.
    She’d tried hard to let him distract her, but even as her mind gave her a brief reprieve for one orgasm, it had been so hollow, so cold, she’d told him to stop. That was why he was hovering above her now, his face a mask of concern.
    “I’m tired.” That was the partial truth. She was tired. Tired of her sister’s cancer, tired of watching Delilah struggle so hard against something Jezebel couldn’t help her with. She’d fought for her sister with everything else: bullies, teachers, men, but not this.
    “From work?”
    She shook her head. “Ramsey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have invited you over tonight. I’m...in a weird place.”
    The bed dipped when he rolled off her, and Jezebel expected him to say something nice and sweet, and leave. Ramsey was a good guy. She’d spent a month getting to know him in the most base of ways and she’d figured that out.