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James furrows his brows at me and links his fingers together in front of him again, pressing them against his lips in a thinking posture, his elbows each on a knee as he stares at me from the corner of the room like I’m a disobedient animal. He shakes his head and looks out the window for a few silent minutes, leaning back in the tacky blue chair that looks overused and uncomfortable. I slouch in bed and fist the sheets, keeping my eyes on his so I don’t have to look down at my wrists. They hurt, but if I don’t look, I won't have to face the disgusting reality. Avoidance has always been my coping mechanism. If I don’t think about it, it doesn’t matter. My day goes on.
I grit my teeth and try to lift the tension between us. “You didn’t need to come all the way here.”
James hates hospitals. It’s everything about them, I suppose. The overworked nurses, the somber gray rooms, the drab, colorless curtains that drape the small windows, the smell. The deaths that seems to linger in the walls.
More accurately, he’s hated hospitals since Mom died.
He stands and walks over to the bedside, and my heart sinks when I realize he’s crying. I’ve never seen him cry before, not once. James Coldfox is a hard man, one who hides his feelings and doesn’t show his cracks. He seals himself deep within walls cemented long, long ago. But now his jaw trembles and he grabs my hand gently as his tears crash against my skin.
I avert my gaze to the dull gray floors of this morbid fucking room. I can’t bear to look him in the eyes. Iknowwhat I did was wrong.
But I’m so tired. How do I tell him I want to sleep forever? In a bed of roses or in a goddamn urn, it doesn’t matter—anywhere but here will do.
I’m burning inside, and it hurts.
I just want to stop hurting.
I should’ve built my walls of cement like his. I’ve tried vulnerability andstupid, senseless love. I often wonder if I’d be different if I hadn’t. Now my walls are impenetrable—no one gets in, I don’t go out.
James’s hands are warm and he grips mine affectionately as he murmurs, “Is it work? Did you break up with that asshole Salem again? What’ssowrong with life that you’d rather die?” He shakes his head and keeps his eyes lowered, and when I don’t respond he continues with a shaky voice. “I love you, Wynn. So, so much. I want you to know that, okay? You’re all I have left in this world.”
Work sucks, yeah. I don’t mention that I just quit the third job I’ve held this year.
Corporate offices are suicide base camps. They shove you in a cubicle the size of a bathroom stall and expect you to thrive.Add a few plants and family photos.Hearing people cough all day and looking into their dead eyes day in and day out. Hearing about so-and-so finally retiring after the endless march of devoting their entire life to a company that will replace them in two weeks.
Salem was just an asshole I was having sex with. And the sex wasn’t even good. He cheated on me. I didn’t care—end of the story with that jerk.
I guess, if nothing else, being all James has left should be a reason to try to get better. But I’ve tried… so many times and the sadness doesn’t go away. The nights I spend staring into the dark don’t brighten.
“I want to discuss placing you in a rehabilitation institute.” He dips his head as he speaks and my heart sinks.
“You want to put me in a fucking institution?” I try to jerk my hand away but he holds on firmly. I lift my eyes to his, and my anger instantly disperses with the sorrow that radiates from his soul. I deflate. “I’m sorry… You know, I think that might be a good decision.” I press my other palm against my forehead to suppress the warring headache that claws at my skull. “I’m just…sotired, James.”
He sits next to me and shakes his head. “It’s not your fault you’re like this… We’ve been through this so many times, Wynn, but you know what?” His voice lifts and he sits straighter. A sickening flicker of hope dashes through his eyes. “This rehabilitation center is going to help you. They have the highest success rate for curing people like you.”
Curing people like you. People. Like. You.
My mind is a plague that needs to be cured and people likemeare damned to chase this mysterious elixir.
Will I be the same when I’mcured?
IfI get cured.
I nod in agreement, eager to move on to things less depressing, like the weather. Anything to change the subject will do, even James’s corporate job that he’sso happyto have. Anyone can see that his soul is slowly dying. That’s what the real world does to us, isn’t it? Grind, grind, grind for forty-plus hours a week just to stand at the grocery store and worry about whether you can afford food.
But I suppose he’s doing much better than I ever was. Maybe he doesn’t worry about those sorts of things. “So, do you think you’ll get that promotion?”
“My boss said that it’s a sure thing, I’ll be promoted in the next month—”
“Hey, man, it’s past visiting hours. I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to leave.” A male nurse interrupts James as he struts in, carrying an IV bag and some white towels. His black hair lies perfectly on his gorgeous head, his jaw is sharp, and his eyes are a very alluring shade of blue.
He’s handsome—but there’s something about the way he looks at me that puts me off. It’s not pity like the other nurses always have pinned on their expressions. His expression is cold, bitter, and maybe a bit curious.
James rolls his eyes at the nurse but smiles at me. “I’ll be back tomorrow. I’m staying at the inn across the street in case you need anything, okay?”
I wave my hand at him dismissively. “I’ll be fine. It’s not like they’re going to let medoanything in here,” I say as a joke but James doesnotfind it funny at all. The nurse, on the other hand, laughs coldly as he closes my blinds and sets the towels down on the small coffee table beneath the window.
James and I both snap our heads at him. I’m shocked, but my brother is furious.
