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And it isn’t even funny.
Fuck everything.
That sets me off again, and I laugh, rolling on the mattress. What the fuck?
What do you really want?
I bury my face in my pillow and struggle for breath. I want Erin to be with me. I want Ash to forgive me. I want to sleep without nightmares and I want… I want to be happy, too.
But how? I was happy once, long ago. Maybe that’s the real reason I returned—trying to recapture that feeling, that state of carelessness, of freedom and joy.
Stupid, Tyler. You can’t go back. It’s too late.
Always too late. I want to give, but all I do is take. I want to live, but all I do is die a little bit more every day.
I pull my cell from my back pocket to try Asher again. I need to tell him stuff. Get it off my chest. The phone rings and rings. What time is it anyway?
The ringing stops, and someone answers.
Holy shit. “Ash? Hey, it’s me. I need to talk to you… about me. About the time I left.” My voice is thick and slurs. I sit up and prop my back against the wall. I close my eyes because my apartment spins in slow, lazy circles. “I had to go. It wasn’t easy, leaving you behind. Mom said she’d protect you, take care of you. That it’d be best if I left. Dad said he’d hurt you if I came back. Do you understand?”
I pause to draw breath, and I’m met by silence on the other end. “Ash?” I swallow thickly. “Are you still there? I want to say I’m sorry. God, I’m so fucking sorry.”
I rub a hand over my eyes, but it does nothing for the blurriness. “Just say something. Come on, man. I thought I was protecting you. I watched you, and I thought you were okay. I didn’t know… Didn’t realize. I was so messed up I must’ve missed the clues. But now I’ve changed. No more drugs. I’m clean. Just… say something.”
Silence stretches. Someone is breathing fast at the other end of the line. Then a woman’s light voice says, “Tyler?”
Christ. I jerk as if hit by a live wire. Who is that, who did I call? Did I call Marlene by mistake? Or worse—Erin? The voice doesn’t sound familiar, though.
“Sorry, wrong number,” I mumble and drop the phone on the bed. Fuck. Of course Ash wouldn’t pick up. It wasn’t him.
Dammit. Can’t do a single thing right. Can’t fix anything.
I clutch the pendant Erin gave me. What if I call her? I want to hear her voice so badly.
Bad idea. She said she has her life. Her dreams. She wants to study and become a teacher. Truth is, she needs someone better than me.
I fall sideways on the bed and let dark, dreamless sleep pull me under.
***
The weekend from hell is over, and I’ve somehow survived it. Now it’s Tuesday evening, and I’m sitting behind the desk in Damage Control, focused and alert.
Yeah, right. Truth is, I’m struggling to keep awake. It’s not working out so well.
“Hey, man, you okay?” a male voice says over the low ambient music.
It’s Rafe. I blink owlishly at him.
“You look like hell warmed over. And I didn’t notice your hand. What happened?”
I clench my bandaged hand, use the pain to focus my hazy thoughts. “Broke a glass. I’m okay.”
Everything’s fine. Nothing to see here. Move along.
But he hesitates. I swear the man’s got a sixth sense, like his buddy, Zane, and can smell problems a mile away.
I look back at the computer screen and click randomly on the calendar, pretending to be busy. He’s good, but I’ve learned tricks to pass under the radar even when I want to shiver out of my skin and howl.
