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“Yeah, alcohol will do that.” A pause, then, “Me neither.”
A weak, quiet laugh trickles into my ear. “Yeah, you didn’t last long.”
“This shit is good,” I say, feeling a smile lift my mouth.
Again, he chuckles, but this time it fades pretty quick, replaced with a sort of pointed, heavy silence.
“You’ll be careful, right? Vicodin…it’s really addictive.”
Swallowing thickly, I roll my head toward him. Like me, he’s still on his back, face angled toward me. Our eyes meet, and I don’t miss the worry shining back at me from his glimmering pupils.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “Of course.”
His gaze darts between mine. “Okay,” he whispers. “I trust you.”
And just like that, a maw of shame opens up inside me.
Because…he shouldn’t.
He shouldn’t trust me.
I don’t even trust me anymore.
How can I, especially now, when there’s this delicious buzzing in my fingers, and warmth shooting through my veins, and I feel so heavy, so relaxed, like I could sink into this mattress and never feel the need to come back up for air.
I open my mouth, but close it, and instead strain my ears, ensuring Waylon’s still asleep before I speak.
“Do you still feel her?”
Jeremy’s face tightens, and he averts his gaze, lashes blooming shadows over his pale, moonlit cheeks.
“Jeremy?” I say, his name hitching ever so slightly. Even through the deepening Vicodin-infused haze that is slowly, but surely, pulling me into its warm embrace…
I hear it.
Feel it.
The cord of panic that rises inside me, plucked by ruthless fingers, reverberating through every bone, joint, and nerve.
Say it. Say it, please fucking say it.
“Yes,” he tells me.
And like always, I inhale that word like it’s the very oxygen I need to keep going. Caging it deep inside my chest for as long as I can bear before releasing the air that carried it. And the reverberations quiet, fading into stillness once more.
Rolling away from me, Jeremy murmurs quietly into the room, “Night, Mason.”
My mouth opens, but whatever was about to come out gets choked back.
Instead, I simply say, “Night,” and close my eyes.
And I give into the lull of the painkillers as they carry me into a heavy, bottomless, dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Merry Christmas, Iz…
I miss you. We all do.
