Chapter Thirty
I’ve roused enough to see sunlight peeking through the curtains, but still cling to the remnants of my dream.
If I don’t open my eyes, I can pretend the anxiety isn’t seeping back in like liquid nitrogen flowing through my blood stream.
I consider myself a strong person for the most part, but that last power move by the Beanie Bastard, as Clay has called him, has affected me more than I’ve let on.
There was a brief point between the smoke curling around the doorframe and me passing out that I remembered how I felt during the car crash that took my parents.
Terrified, vulnerable, done for. I swear I caught a glimpse of my mom looking back at me in the mirror too, before I dropped to the ground to await my fate.
Now, wrapped in Rhys’ sheets, that same terror lingers like the smoke trapped in my lungs.
The scent of his cologne mixes with the faint trace of burnt hair on my skin.
My throat still aches from the coughing, my nails sore from scratching at the locked door.
Every time I close my eyes, I see fire licking the edges of the wood again, clawing to come inside.
Muffled voices drift up from downstairs.
Clay’s low, steady baritone, Rhys’ clipped tone that means he’s trying to stay calm, and then there’s a softer, feminine one, threading between theirs like she’s trying to hold the peace.
I vaguely remember dipping in and out of last night, hearing parts of conversations through Rhys’ mic.
No one wanted to be the one to tell me, but they spoke of the video that played in front of the entire school.
How my privacy was breached, my body gawked at.
That’s why Rhys ordered Addy to pack up our belongings under his watch while Clay stayed with me.
Then they swapped over so Clay could go back to his dorm and do the same.
It should comfort me that they’re all here, that we’ve all moved into this fortress of a frat house, but instead, it feels like we’re all just waiting for the next disaster.
A temporary illusion of safety before another attack comes crawling out of the shadows.
Not that there’s anything I can do about it.
I’m on strict bed rest, since Rhys has taken the EMT’s instruction to heart. But also, I need a shower.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and instantly regret it.
My head spins, and my muscles feel like waterlogged sandbags.
The thought of standing under hot water should be comforting, but even that feels like a mountain I’m not sure I can climb.
My chest tightens as I stare at the en suite door, the place I need to go, but can’t.
I tell myself it’s just a shower. Not another trap, not another locked door waiting to smother me in smoke.
Picking up my phone from the nightstand, I take it with me, the mic app activated.
I don’t need any more surprises to catch me unaware.
The floor is cold beneath my feet as I shuffle towards the same room, holding the wall for balance.
Every creak of the floorboard sounds like the echo of that night.
The mirror above the sink reflects a girl I barely recognize, pale, hollow-eyed, haunted.
I reach for the shower handle, but my hand hesitates mid-air, fingers trembling.
My reflection looks back at me like she’s asking, Are you sure you can do this?
I’m not. Whether the smoke is still screwing with my system, or just my mind in, I’m trembling, clutching at the oversized T-shirt on my body.
I know I’m safe here, but my naivety that I’m safe anywhere on this campus has caught up with me.
The door opens behind me, and I flinch so hard my phone clatters to the floor.
Like someone has just slammed a hammer into my skull, I collapse at the sheer volume of the noise booming into my inner ears.
“Hey, hey, it’s just me,” Clay says softly, kneeling to slowly pull my hands off the sides of my head.
I don’t attempt to stand, not trusting my legs, so I tip sideways into his chest. Clay wraps his arms around me, stroking my back and arms until they stop shaking.
Once I’m ready to try again, Clay picks up my phone and steadies me with his palm at my elbow. “That’s it, take it easy.”
My chin wobbles, my self-pity reaching a whole new level.
Clay turns on the shower, testing the water with his hand, and then reaches for a towel to drape over his shoulder.
His movements are practiced and unhurried, the way they always are.
Clay doesn’t demand attention or affection. He’s just there.
Leaning my hips against the counter, he lowers to his knee again, dutifully peeling off my socks and then the thong from beneath the large T-shirt.
Clay makes no move to take a peek beneath the fabric, whereas Rhys’ head would have already been up there.
Standing to his full height, Clay smiles gently, just as the door slams open again. Speak of the devil and he shall appear.
“What the hell are you doing?” Rhys’ voice slices through the steam already curling up from the running water. His expression is tight, his blue eyes intense. “She’s supposed to be in bed!” Shouldering his way between us, Rhys cups my face, cataloguing the fragility of my features.
“Back off shitface. She wants a shower,” Clay mutters, attempting to step between me and Rhys once again. A stubborn-off ensues, shoulders shoving and biceps barging. My head swims, another wave of dizziness passing through me. I can’t deal with this macho-bullshit right now.
“Addy!” I scream out. The pair in front of me still, not bothering to hide their contempt when Addy marches in and slaps them both around the back of their heads.
“Right, you two. Out. Now.”
Clayton places my phone on the counter before he leaves, an apology written all over his face.
It’s not his fault, nor Rhys’. They’re both freaked out and caring for me in the only way they know how.
I hear their bickering continue, my phone’s mic picking up on fragments before Addy kicks the door shut.
“You always have to be the freaking savior, don’t you?”
“You’re the one who can’t give her two minutes of peace.”
“Well, you’re the one—”
Addy taps my screen and mutes the mic, a knowing smile growing.
I wish I could smile back to show her how thankful I am for her being here, but a sob breaks free of my throat.
Addy clings to me, pulling me into her arms. Typing on my phone one handed, a robotic voice transcribes her message into my head.
‘Let it all out, babe. Once you’re out of tears and cleaned up, we’re going to breakfast. No one can make us run scared.’
I press my face into Addy’s shoulder, and for the first time since the fire, I stop trying to be okay.
The sobs come out jagged and uncoordinated, the kind that make my whole body tremble.
Addy doesn’t try to hush me or feed me empty reassurances.
She just holds me tighter, her fingers tracing slow circles on my spine while I crumble in her arms.
The shower continues to thunder, the stream coiling around us. It’s thick, clogging my throat like the smoke did but I leave it. At least the steam won’t block my airways, filling my lungs with filth.
“I keep thinking I should just snap out of this. I’ve done it so many times before,” I rasp, “but this time, I don’t know if I can.
They’ve all seen me. Seen Rhys and Clay and me…
being intimate. How am I supposed to show my face after that?
” The sobs come harder. My legs buckle, but Addy lowers us both to the cool tile floor.
Giving me a light shake, she forces me to watch her hands move.
“What are you ashamed of? Being a gorgeous woman who has the two hottest guys on campus crawling on their knees for her?”
I know there’s logic in there somewhere, but I’m not ready to recognize it.
I’ve always been the one who fixes, who fights, who doesn’t let anyone see the cracks.
But now, all I can do is tremble, cry and feel pathetic.
Addy tucks my hair behind my ear, her own eyes glassy but steady as she continues to sign.
“You are strong, but strength doesn’t mean pretending it didn’t happen. It comes from owning it and saying, so what? I’m a badass bitch and I deserve to be here.”
Again, knowing the truth and accepting it are two different things.
Addy reaches for a washcloth and runs it under the warm stream of water pounding against the shower cubicle, gently wiping the tears from my cheeks and the soot marks from my neck.
It reminds me of why I came in here, of how dirty I feel.
Nudging myself over, I slip into the shower with Rhys’ T-shirt still on.
The water pours over my head and body, the material sticking to my skin.
Placing the men’s shampoo, conditioner and shower gel beside me, Addy eases my head forward to kiss the top of it.
Then, she stands, puts a playlist on my phone and leaves me to wallow and wash in peace.
I can’t say how long I sit for, long enough for the tears to subside and for my heavy limbs to lighten.
Exhaustion still calls my name, a bone deep ache that begs to be fulfilled, but it feels somewhat manageable.
I drag the sodden T-shirt over my head, wash my hair and body, and wrap myself in a thick heated towel.
Addy is nowhere to be seen when I open the bathroom door.
The boys shoot upright from where they’d been sitting, Rhys in an armchair and Clay on the edge of the mattress.
The air still pulses with everything unsaid.
Their guilt, anger, fear, and their dangerous need to prove who can save me better.
I’m so tired of being caught between them, being pulled from one to the other until I feel like I’m going to be torn in half.