Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Blue
Asharp slam echoes around me, and I stare at the front door, my insides shaking hard. I keep my arms crossed over my bare chest, afraid to move. The warmth I felt only minutes ago, when Red pinned me to the wall, fades quickly.
My breath sticks high in my throat. I wait for the doorknob to turn and Red to come back through the door, declaring he knows he can't be without me, but it stays firm in its place.
A dull ache grows more intense, as my heart hammers too hard and too fast, each beat slamming into my ribs and making my stomach twist until nausea creeps up and settles there. Any warmth left disappears, leaving my skin prickling and cold, every inch breaking out in goose bumps.
My thighs tremble without moving, my hands shake against my arms, and swallowing becomes deliberate because my throat keeps tightening like it might close if I let it.
I don't look away, because the second I do, the waiting becomes real, and my body keeps bracing for the knob to turn, for footsteps, for some sign he didn't just give up on us.
"Please come back," I whisper.
No matter how much I will Red to appear, the house stays deadly silent with my pulse banging hard enough to make my ears ring.
He's outside.
He just needs a minute to get past his fear and clear his head.
I swallow, forcing air into my lungs one slow breath at a time. The tick of the clock turns louder, and I blink hard, tighten my arms around my chest, and finally take a step toward the door.
Tears blur my vision, and the tremble in my hand turns violent. My fingers curl and uncurl against my arm until I can't see if the knob is moving or steady due to tears falling. Hope spikes and crashes until the waiting hurts more than the leaving.
Just open it.
He's there.
I take a choked breath and reach for the knob, fling the door open, and a gust of chilly wind knocks me backward. I swipe my wet face and push forward, stepping onto the cold porch pavers.
"Red!" I cry out, but it's weak. A new wave of nausea hits while I glance as far as I can, but can't find him.
"Red!" I scream, stepping off the porch and onto the walkway, shaking harder from the cold.
A raw devastation explodes within me.
He left me.
Everything turns foggy. Somehow, I make it back into the house. The couch where he stood is empty. His jacket isn't there. The air still smells like him, but that only makes my stomach twist harder.
I walk a few steps, and my knees give out. I sink onto the thin rug, and a raw sound tears out of my throat. My chest caves inward, and air refuses to come when I need it.
How could he leave me?
I need a knife.
The block of cutlery sits on the countertop, mocking me, but I can't move. And I need to feel physical pain to counter the rip I feel in my heart. So I bury my nails into my thigh and move them back and forth until the skin breaks and red blood appears.
It gives me no relief. So I continue scratching and opening more spots, trying to mask my emotions, and utterly failing.
Pressure builds behind my eyes and spills over, hot and unstoppable, leaving my face wet and burning while the door stays closed, more blood pops out, and the house swallows me whole.
Time doesn't seem to move, but it might be, and I'm just not registering it. My heart races so fast, it shoots with pain, my breath coming out faster in shorter spouts.
I press my palm flat against my sternum like I can hold my heart in place if I push hard enough. It doesn't help. The pressure just keeps building, sharp and relentless.
He said he loved me.
The words replay, clear and exact, and my mouth opens on a sound that scrapes out of me before I can stop it. I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head hard.
He wouldn't say that and leave.
He wouldn't say that and mean goodbye.
"This isn't happening," I whisper to the empty room.
My voice sounds wrong, thin and cracked, and hearing it makes my throat burn. I drag my knees closer to my chest and wrap my arms tight around my bloody legs.
The sound of the heater kicking on pierces through the room, and my skin prickles. I suddenly realize how naked and exposed I am, but the awareness doesn't get me to move. It only adds another layer to the weight pressing over me.
I look toward the hallway, half expecting him to appear there instead, like I imagined the whole thing. The bedroom doorway stays empty. The silence stretches.
My breathing stutters, and I press my forehead into my knees.
Heat gathers behind my eyes, and a fresh wave of tears spills over, sliding down my face and dripping onto my legs. White grows on my knuckles from how tight I'm squeezing them.
I close my eyes, sobbing, "You can't just leave."
The words echo faintly, and the lack of an answer makes another wound open inside my chest. A sob tears loose, loud and ugly, ripping through me before I can swallow it back. Another follows, then another, each one stealing more air until my lungs burn.
I rock forward and back, unable to still. The movement makes my head spin, and I clamp my jaw shut, breathing through my nose until the dizziness eases. My heart keeps racing, mimicking what I imagine it would feel like to have a heart attack.
I push myself upright and glance around, searching for something solid to anchor to. The front door comes back into view, and anger flares hot and sudden. My hand slaps the floor beside me, the sound sharp in the quiet room.
"You don't get to decide this alone," I say, louder now.
The words hang there, unanswered. I laugh, a short, broken sound that cuts off just as fast. My shoulders start to shake, and I bend forward again, nails digging into my arms as the emotion crashes back over me.
Images crowd my head without order. His mouth at my ear. His hands on my hips. The way he said my name like it belonged to him. The memory of it tightens low in my body, confusing and cruel, and I suck in a breath that turns into another sob.
I stay on the floor as time slips past without shape.
Light shifts across the room, creeping along the wall and onto the rug.
My muscles ache from holding myself so tight, but every attempt to stand dies before it starts, even though the knives gleam not far away, beckoning me to use them.
Yet my legs refuse to cooperate, heavy and useless.
Rawness hits my throat from crying, each swallow sharper than the one before. My nose clogs, eyes swell larger, but the tears keep coming, sliding down in steady tracks.
I stare at the floor, at a small mark in the rug I've never noticed before, and fixate on it because thinking about anything else hurts worse.
I listen for sounds outside, for a car pulling up, for footsteps on the porch. Each distant noise makes my head lift, hope spiking so fast it makes me dizzy. It's all cruel. Every sound is followed by nothing, and the drop afterward is brutal.
"He said he loved me," I murmur again, quieter this time.
The words sound smaller now, fragile, like they might break if I push them too hard. My hands unclench at last, falling uselessly into my lap. My arms tremble from the release, and I lie on my side, curled like a baby.
The house stays still. I finally sit up, drawing my knees up again and resting my chin on them, staring at the door until my eyes ache. I squeeze my arms tighter, instinctively and desperately, as if making myself smaller might undo what just happened.
A knock lands sharp and fast, cutting through the quiet like something breaking. I hold my breath, unable to rise and wondering if it's even a knock. The house has made noises before. Pipes. Wind. Lies that turned into nothing.
Please be Red.
Another knock follows, harder this time.
"Blue! I'm coming in, so I hope you're both decent!" Demi's voice chirps as she pushes the door open and my breath catches so hard, it stings my lungs.
Cold air rushes in, carrying Demi with it. She stops short just inside the entry, her eyes sweeping the room until they land on me.
Her smile falls, and her jaw tightens. She drops her bag to the floor. "Oh my God."
I press my forehead to my knees, and the raw, uncontrolled howl that breaks out of me resembles a wounded animal.
She crosses the room in long strides and drops down in front of me. A blanket appears around my shoulders, thick and warm, wrapping tight before I can flinch away.
She keeps her voice firm, but gentle. "Hey. Look at me."
I shake my head, hard, and squeeze my eyes shut. Another round of panic hits me, seizing my heart and lungs. Sweat breaks out on my skin while a new set of cold tremors attacks me.
"Blue," she orders, her voice stronger, "open your eyes."
I can't. I cry harder.
She slides her arms around me and holds me tight. "Shh. It's okay."
"It's not," I sob.
Her hands grip my shoulders through the blanket like she's anchoring me to the floor. She holds my wet cheek to her chest. "Try to breathe." She mimics deep breaths.
It reminds me of Red and makes me cry harder.
"Oh, Blue!" she sympathizes.
A long time passes before I calm enough to look at her.
She pins her brown-green, worried eyes on mine. "What happened?"
The question hits hard. I somehow get out, "He left me."
Demi's expression sharpens. She glances once toward the kitchen, her eyes flicking to the counter, then back to me. She asks, "Did he hurt you?"
I shake my head too fast and get dizzy. The room tilts.
"Easy," she offers, and tightens her grip, keeping me upright.
"He said he loved me." My chest caves inward again, and my breath breaks.
Demi pulls me forward without warning, my face pressing into her shoulder. Her arm locks around my back, holding me there while my body shakes against hers.
I cry into her shirt, loud and messy, my hands fisting in the blanket as new wounded sounds rip out of me.
She stays still, her palm sliding up and down my spine in slow, steady strokes. She coos, "I've got you. I'm here."