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“By putting a bullet in your head?” I drag my hand over my beard, then drop down to sit beside him, my posture mirroring his, knees bent, forearms resting on them. An admission sitting on the tip of my tongue, an admission I’m not sure I’ve even made to myself. In those weeks after we got back, those days spent by Banks’ side in rehab, talking about it,relivingit, not being able to escape for even a single second of the day, not even when I slept. The cancer diagnosis and everything that followed it. “I’ve thought about it too.”
I don’t look at him. I can’t. That doesn’t mean I don’t feel him watching me.
“What did you do?”
“I left.” I release the air in my lungs and bow my head.
“You ran away.” He corrects me.
I snort out a humorless laugh and shake my head. “If I hadn’t I would’ve…” I scrub my face, shame coursing through my veins.
“Ended up like me,” he finishes for me.
I turn my head to look at him, my hand still on my forehead, scanning his face before I nod. “I don’t have the answers you’re looking for. I still have nightmares. I still have moments when I think the memories might swallow me whole.”
“Does she know?”
I shake my head. “I can’t… won’t put that on her. But Banks this isn’t about me. It’s not me that’s trashed a restaurant and pulled a gun on a civilian. I’m handling my shit the only way I know how.”
It’s nearing sunup by the time I finally make it back to my apartment, my nerves strung so tightly I can barely fucking see straight.
Banks is out cold on my sofa, but I can’t—I won’t—sleep until I’ve fixed things with Kenzi, until she knows that I will never let my past touch her again.
She opens the door barely seconds after I knock. Her eyes are red-ringed, her face pale, lips pressed together as she grips the door with one hand and the jam with the other. Blocking me from coming in.
My throat works hard to swallow past the resignation and sadness written in every tear track over her cheeks.
It takes a second for me to find the words, the thoughts, I’ve never seen her this defeated, not after her mom refused to help her. Not when she found out her grant wouldn’t stretch to cover her costs. Not even when she found out about the cancer.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Kenzi.” I take a step to—to fuck knows what—to hold her? Kiss her?
She holds her slim hand up between us before my foot even leaves the ground. “Don’t.” Wide blue eyes, glistening with emotion stare at me, unblinking. “I can’t—won’t do this anymore.”
“Kenzi, it’s over. I’m going to get him help. I’m going to take him back myself, right back to—”
“And you?” She cuts me off, the jut of her chin not enough to disguise its trembling. “Are you gonna get yourself help too?”
My heartbeat thuds in my ear drums. “What? I don’t need help, Kenzi.”
“Then tell me. Explain to me why this happened. What it is that neither of you can get out of your heads.” The challenge in her gaze is undeniable. She needs me to tell her. It’s the only way I’m going to get her back, get her to trust anything I say again.
“Kenzi, I…” The sticky blackness that plagues my nightmares, starts to creep in, fuck, not just creep, it rushes in on a thick wave of claustrophobia. “I…” I try to pull in enough air to get the words out. To tell her what she thinks she wants to hear. Try to keep a lid on the adrenaline rushing down my spine. My hands shake, my breaths come shallower, but my fingers refuse to tap,to pull me back, to keep the memories separate from the now. I shake my head and start to back up. She doesn’t need to see this.
Cool fingers wrap my wrists. Warm breath brushes my face. A smooth forehead presses against mine. “Mylo. Breathe.”
I try, I really fucking try, but every inhale gets jammed in my throat, every exhale refuses to release the death grip it has on my chest. Memories fritter in, fragmented, but vivid. The past meddling with the present, my mind refusing to fight back. To shut it down.
Her lips find mine seconds before the spinning of my head drags me down. Warm, soft, pressing hard, teeth grazing, tongue tickling. The effect isn’t instant, but it is there. The oxygen jammed in my throat eventually releases in a rush to my lungs, my body expanding, lips tearing from the only place they want to be to gulp more air in. The fog recedes and my eyes refocus onto the wide-eyed woman standing before me, gripping my wrists so hard her nails bite into my skin.
“Kenzi, I’m—”
“I can’t watch you let whatever it is that’s eating at you do to you what it did to that boy, Mylo.” She blows out a steadying breath before she meets my stare, nothing but concern tightening her jaw. “I won’t.”
I scan her face. She scans mine. “I don’t care if it’s not me you talk to, but you need to talk to someone.”
I jab my tongue between my top lip and my teeth and suck in a breath through my nose, nodding, because right now, I don’t have the strength to fight it, or the energy to deny it.
She’s right. I need help.
