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“You think I give a fuck?” I asked, using the last bit of strength I had to raise my arm and press the gun into the back of his head. “Drive me to the fucking clinic, or I’ll shoot you and do it my goddamn self.”
“Relax, man, relax,” Carver said, but his voice shook a bit before he turned and pressed the gas. “It’s cool. It’s all cool.”
He didn’t have to know that I was fighting every fucking second of the drive not to pass out from the pain and the blood loss.
What he had to know was I was stubborn enough and pissed enough to stay conscious and splatter his brain all over the goddamned windshield if he gave me a second of shit for the rest of the drive.
It wasn’t until I saw us pulling down the street to the clinic that I relaxed back, putting my arm down.
The relief of knowing I was close to help was enough to make me relax enough to pass back out.
For all of two minutes.
And during those two minutes, that fucking bastard half climbed into the back, opened the door, and shoved me out, before peeling off.
I couldn’t even think about revenge then as I scraped myself up off the pavement and stumbled inside.
I’d never, fucking never, knew relief like I did when I saw Ama come running up, her pretty blue-gray eyes wide with concern.
Because I knew that it didn’t matter what she thought of me. She would help me. She would save me.
It was all going to be okay.
Which allowed me to let go, to drift into unconsciousness for a little bit.
Then there she was.
Working on me.
Being equal parts sweet and snippy, which shouldn’t have been possible, but Ama had always been good at it.
She’d once sat in my bathroom and cleaned up the knuckles I’d broken open in a fistfight, apologizing as she fished out bits of concrete out of the wounds, but also scolding me for always solving problems with my fists instead of my wits.
We’d been, I dunno, twelve or thirteen at the time. She was already a little doctor in training. And I was forever her pet project, trying to make me a better human being.
It was the memories that made all the poking and prodding and cleaning tolerable.
Amaranta Stone was the only real bright light in my entire fucking childhood.
The girl with the books.
The girl with the big brain.
The girl who always pushed me.
But I never resented her because I knew she pushed herself fifty times harder. And because she was maybe the only soul on Earth who believed in me.
But, yeah, she never missed a chance to remind me that I’d fallen so fucking far below expectations.
Because she didn’t know what it was like when she left. When the only bright spot in my dark life was gone.
I mean, I’d been happy for her. Everyone had. I wanted nothing but her happiness, and for her to pursue her dreams.
But there was no mistaking that things had gotten worse for me without her around. So, yeah, some shit went down. Things that I couldn’t undo. Things that would shape my entire future.
There was no going back.
Not even for her.
