He neededme.
His stream of consciousness flows from his cracked lips like vomit. It's disjointed and sporadic. Nothing he says makes sense. He's having some kind of episode, like the night I called him a demon, but so much worse.
One thing is clear: he’s scared.
Absolutely fucking terrified.
Even though we’re out of the shower, he’s still twitchy and skittish. I’ve wrapped a towel around his hips while I use another to dry his hair. It took every ounce of self-control not to give in with him naked and whispering, “Please touch me. I’m yours.”He almost broke me. I had my hands all over him, but couldn’t touch him the way both of us wanted. Not when he’s like this…
He stands in the center of the bathroom, vacantly staring at the mirror. He’s done that a few times now for minutes on endbefore blurting something out like he’s mid-conversation. I hand him a pair of clean boxers and one of my hoodies. He takes them without blinking.
“Cade?”
He’s unresponsive. I wipe the corner of my eye on the back of my hand and bend to help him dress. He looks even thinner in my clothes. I’m not sure he’s aware I’m still here; it’s ripping me to shreds. I know I should text Declan— he’s out of town with Mom for an exhibition— but I don’t even know what to say. Should I call 911?
“She’s gonna be mad.”
I freeze. He’s referred to this ominous person over and over, but won't answer when I ask her name. I rise and brush the damp strands from his forehead.
“About what?”
His unfocused eyes shift back and forth. “You stopped me.”
I take one of his hands in both of mine and gently knead his palm.
“Stopped you?”
He licks his lips, glancing at the tub again.
“You’ll be upset.”
He’s all over the place. It’s making me nervous. I squeeze his hand. “Why?”
“She wants me to join her.”
All the heat sucks out of the room. I’m suffocating and frozen to the bone. “Where?”
He’s trembling again.
“Belleview Cemetery."
An avalanche of rage and sorrow descends over me. I pull him in, cradling the back of his head and burying my nose in his hair. It smells like citrus. Like me. It does something to the muscles in my chest.
“I’m not upset with you,” I whisper. My fingers rhythmically massage his scalp as I fight the agony cracking my ribs. “You have to promise me something, though.”
A muffled whimper.
“If you ever—” I can't say it. I swallow a sob that scrapes all the way down. “You find me first.”
His wet cheek rubs against my cross pendant as he nods. I grip the hair at the base of his skull and tug his head back. Bloodshot, ice and honey eyes leak tears. The urge to kiss them away surges. It doesn’t feel wrong… but I hold back.
“I want to hear you say it.”
His bottom lip quivers. “I’ll find you first.”
My forehead drops to his. “Good.”
He sniffles. Then his stomach grumbles.
