Past the Broken Bridges

Chapter Forty-One Sawyer

Chapter Forty-One

Sawyer

Staring at my naked body in the mirror, I frown at the way my rib cage tapers in. I trace my fingers along each bone that sticks out under the skin and then move my attention down to the yellow, purple, and blue discoloration lining my torso.

Moving my hands up, I press them under my jaw and feel the bumps hidden beneath the surface. The swelling has gotten worse. Every time I swallow, I can feel it. Every time I breathe, I struggle. I didn’t need the doctors to tell me that the cancer has spread. I can sense it in the way I move, the way I sleep, the way I live.

Blinking, I drop my hands to my sides and study the patchy hair on my head that’s slightly thicker than it was when I moved here. But it’s still short. Still ugly. I can’t style it. Don’t want to shave it. Wearing a wig is starting to hurt, like my skin is far too sensitive to hide under it. I’ve given up caring what people think.

It doesn’t matter anyway.

Once upon a time, I considered myself pretty.

I had the potential to get back to that place.

But I know the odds. Fifty-seven percent is a generous survival rate for my type of cancer. There is nothing I can do that would make it any better at this point.

Rubbing my yellowing eyes, I grab a towel and wrap it around my tiny body. I’m done seeing what’s been done to me.

Done feeling sorry for myself.

I don’t remember dressing.

Don’t remember leaving the building.

I know Paxton is at work. He dropped Pop-Tarts and coffee at my door before he left. I had no appetite, so they’re still sitting on the counter.

My body goes on autopilot as I walk through the city, my feet hurting, my lungs aching when I go up even the slightest incline.

I have no real destination in mind.

The bridge is too far, and I don’t want to cloud the last memory I have of it, of being there with Paxton. I’m okay with walking away from it.

Just one more time.

That was all I wanted.

To see it one more time.

And I got so much more.

As I near the edge of campus, I see a group of guys huddled around somebody smaller than them by a solid foot, and I can tell they aren’t playing around the way friends do. I stop halfway down the sidewalk, debating what to do. I could cross the street and pay them no mind. That’s what my parents would tell me to do. What I should do.

But I know what it feels like to be beaten down by life. I know what Paxton must have felt getting treated poorly by somebody who should have never laid a hand on him. Maybe that’s why I walk over with feigned confidence.

“Leave him alone,” I call out.

Two of them turn to see who’s talking, looking uninterested when they see me. The other three surrounding their prey stand taller, the wild-eyed one in the middle giving me a curious once-over as I stop a few feet from them.

“Leave him alone,” I say again, looking at the shaken boy behind them. “Are you okay?”

He’s silent, eyes darting to one of the guys still hovering over him. I don’t believe him at all when he stammers, “Y-Yes.”

The boy with wild eyes walks over to me, shooting me a slimy smile. He looks familiar, but I can’t place him up close. “You’re brave.” His eyes go up to my hair. “And not only for that haircut. It’s…daring. Butting into people’s business though…” He whistles.

“Yo, Marco,” one of the guys behind him says. “What do you want us to do with this dude?”

Marco?

Marco.

The person standing in front of me shifts his focus behind him. “I expect my payment by the end of the week. You know what will happen if I don’t get it.”

Whoever the smaller boy is quickly nods, not hesitating to run the second he gets the advantage.

Payment. It this some sort of deal that I walked into?

“Damn, baby,” Marco whistles, giving me another once-over with raised brows. “I’d offer you something good, but it looks like you’re already on it. Haven’t seen somebody this skinny since my ex started shooting up heroin.”

I have no doubt this is the same Marco I’ve seen based on the tattoos that peek out from the edge of his long-sleeved shirt—the same one Paxton has been willing to risk everything to get revenge on. My gut is telling me to walk away and pretend like I saw nothing. But I can’t. Because Paxton is right.

Somebody should stand up to him.

For Dawson.

“You got my friend killed,” I say.

His eyebrows go up, and his friends go silent behind him. “Come again, sweetheart?”

My shoulders go back, ignoring the pet name. “You killed Dawson.”

He looks over his shoulder at his friends with a slick grin before turning back and chuckling. “Were you sweet on Gable? I thought his type would be more…put together. His last girl was. Then again, I always had a sweet spot for brunettes.”

Dixie.

“Real shame about him,” he coos. “He still owes me, you know. He screwed me out of my legacy and then he screwed me out of a lot of cash.”

That’s all he has to say? Somebody is dead because of him and he’s worried about money? “Do you have any conscience at all?”

The smile remaining tells me he doesn’t. “When you’re in my position, you can’t afford to have a conscience.” His eyes rake over me for a second time, landing on my chest, which has flattened considerably over the past month. “Shame about you too. Bet you were hot once.”

I swallow at the words that feel like a knife to the heart. “Fuck you.”

His eyes spark. “You’re a spicy one, huh? I guess I could look past the body with a face like that. You willing to pay back your boyfriend’s debts on his behalf? I can think of some ideas on how to make things right.”

He’s disgusting. “If you think I would ever touch somebody as slimy as you, you’re mistaken. Dawson had his problems, but he was obviously ten times the man you will ever be.”

The guys behind him stand taller as Marco walks up to me and grabs my arm. His grip is painful, and I know it’ll be another bruise. I’ll deal with that when the time comes. In the meantime, I swallow the surprised yelp and try acting unfazed, even though my heart is beating so fast in my chest I’d be shocked if he didn’t hear it. “You better watch your fucking mouth, bitch.”

I was told once to be careful what I say.

That it could lead to trouble.

But I also said I didn’t care, if what I had to say was worth it.

And Dawson was my friend.

He is worth it.

Paxton is worth it.

I don’t know what I have to lose anymore, Paxton said.

Unlike him, my future doesn’t matter.

“Or what?” I challenge Marco.

Something digs into my stomach.

When I look down, my body freezes.

“Scared yet?” he taunts, jabbing the barrel of the gun farther into me. His shirt sleeve rises up, revealing the edge of the tattoo I’ve seen before. “Dawson Gable was just as much of a scumbag as me; he just hid it better. It’s not my fault that you were too dick-blind to it. So how about an apology, hmm?”

He drags the barrel upward, keeping it between my breasts and hidden from plain sight if anybody were to pass us.

Don’t do it, a voice pleads in my head. Be smart with your next words.

Professor Banks’s words echo in the back of my head. That mouth is going to get you into trouble someday.

I don’t know what I have to lose anymore.

I take a deep breath. “Did Dawson get an apology?”

Marco’s eyes narrow. “Do you have a death wish?”

I lean into the gun to show him I’m not afraid.

I am not afraid.

“He didn’t deserve to die,” I tell him. I know I speak for a lot of people when I say that. “There’s nothing you can say that will change my perspective on him. He was my friend. He was a lot of people’s friends. And you took that away from all of us. I will not apologize to you because you don’t deserve it. I can only hope you get what’s coming to you in the end, the way we all will. So do it. Pull the trigger.”

I put my hand over the barrel.

Not moving it.

Not trying to push it away.

“Do it,” I taunt, voice breaking.

“Marco,” one of the guys calls out. “Come on. She ain’t worth it.”

I stare Marco straight in the eyes. “Do. It.”

His eyes get dark, darker than they were before. “You psycho little—”

One loud bang cracks, so loud it’s deafening.

But I barely hear it at all before I’m falling.

Falling.

Falling.

I see the horrified look on Marco’s face above me before he and his friends all bolt, scattering as darkness blankets over me.

I think I hear somebody say, “I didn’t pull it. I didn’t do it.”

The voices are getting farther and farther away.

There’s pain.

So much pain.

Everything gets fuzzy.

Grows warm. Comfortably warm.

Then there’s somebody above me. The boy who ran away from Marco. He’s kneeling above me, frantic. I think he’s saying something. Touching me. Trying to comfort me.

But he sounds so far away.

He’s got dark hair.

And dark eyes.

He doesn’t look like Paxton, but I pretend he is. Just for a moment. Just enough to say, “In a-another l-lifetime.”

The boy shakes his head, his mouth moving but nothing coming out. Nothing I hear anyway.

My eyelids get heavy.

Heavy.

Heavy.

Suddenly, the pain subsides altogether.

Until there’s nothing but…

Peace.

And when I close my eyes, I see Dawson.

Healthy. Happy. Himself.

He reaches out to me and says, “Thank you.”