24. Wilder
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
wilder
T he sound that comes out of Evangeline on her first bite of the pasta dish Jax and Eddie prepared makes me want to throw her over my shoulder and run from the dining room, then come back and beat the shit out of my bandmates.
“This is delicious, you guys,” she gushes, not noticing the sudden undercurrent at the table. Even Zander picks up on it, his eyes darting around in curiosity and speculation, lingering a bit too long on Evangeline. While it’s ludicrous to be triggered by him—she doesn’t have the hardware he prefers—it still pisses me off.
I glare across the table at Eddie, daring him to make the joke brewing in his laughing eyes. Lucky for him, he glances at me first. He wipes the smile off his face and lowers his head, shoving food in his mouth. Smart man.
Jax clears his throat, drawing my attention away from his brother. His eyes hold a mild rebuke—one I absolutely deserve. In spite of his long crush, Eddie took the news of Evangeline and me getting together with admirable maturity, even telling me he was glad we’d finally pulled our heads out of our asses. He’s been nothing but supportive since, and he hasn’t flirted with her once tonight. It’s not his fault I feel like a powder keg rolling toward a bonfire.
I force myself to relax back into my chair, ignoring the way my skin crawls and itches. This dinner seemed like such a good idea when the guys proposed it. It didn’t occur to me how difficult it would be to watch Eva, Jax, and Eddie pick up right where they left off three years ago. Their effortless, lighthearted friendship doesn’t include me. It never did. I’m still the dark, cold planet orbiting light years away from their suns.
I don’t know what I was thinking. That it would be different now? That I would be different? If anything, I’m worse now that Evangeline’s mine. Every time I hear them laugh together, my fingers curl into a fist on my thigh and my teeth clench. My emotions are playing a manic game of tag and my body is no better: cold—hot—cold—hot.
My eyes keep finding the beers Eddie and Zander are nursing, both bottles still half-full. I don’t understand how they can just sip them every once in a while. Why drink unless you want to get buzzed? No one loves the taste of beer that much.
Being sober fucking sucks.
I eventually take a bite of the pasta—it is fucking good—and decide then and there that I’m learning to cook. Someday, Evangeline will make those sounds for my food.
The faint fragrance of her shampoo envelops me as she leans over to murmur in my ear, “What’s wrong?”
I’m a possessive, jealous fuck.
“Nothing,” I whisper back, turning fast to catch her soft lips with mine. She jerks back, her already rosy cheeks darkening further as she faces her plate and scoops up more pasta.
Her embarrassment, her rejection, spreads ice through my chest. The crawling sensation under my skin worsens.
I grab my water glass and drain it, wishing it were alcohol.
“So, Eva,” Jax says, his gaze flickering between us. “When are you and Lily heading into the studio?”
Evangeline answers haltingly at first but warms up as Jax guides the conversation into other topics. Eddie and Zander eventually join in, and the four of them chat easily as they eat. Evangeline is animated as she only is when she feels comfortable; there isn’t even any awkwardness with Zander, the two of them spending a solid five minutes geeking out over some new keyboard that just hit the market.
No one tries to involve me. The part of me that’s still rational knows they’re not being rude. They simply know me. I’m not chatty, don’t like being forced into conversations, and will only contribute if I feel like it. It should be a relief, but instead it stings in a way it never has before.
They know I’m not like them.
Not normal .
No wonder Evangeline was embarrassed when I kissed her in front of them.
The toxicity of my thoughts reaches dangerous levels, numbing the tips of my fingers and sending a snaking, burning sensation down my spine. Their voices become jarring. Dissonant.
I have to get out of here.
Grabbing my barely touched dinner, I stand fast and ignore the sudden silence as I collect their empty plates.
Evangeline scoots back her chair, but I shake my head, not looking at her. Afraid she’ll see the monster in my eyes.
“I’ve got it.”
As I walk into the kitchen, Eddie says something that makes Evangeline laugh softly, and I almost, almost , chuck the plates into the sink. Instead, I set them down gently, then grip the edge of the sink as hard as I can.
I can’t fucking breathe.
Footsteps snap my head to the side. Jax turns the corner, the big salad bowl in his hands. He stops when he sees me, his expression twisting with concern.
“Take a minute,” he says in a low voice. “I’ll tell her you got a phone call or something.”
My throat too tight to speak, I jerk my head in a nod. It takes a few seconds to convince my fingers to release the sink, then I flee into the back hallway. I ascend the stairs two at a time, but it still takes forever to reach the top.
A high-pitched whine fills my ears. I run the rest of the way to my bedroom. Inside, I shove the door closed right as my knees buckle.
I hit the floor hard and swing forward, my forehead smacking wood, my hands clenched in my hair.
Make it stop. Make it stop.
The Shadow’s spikes close around me, sinking fast and deep. Before I’m fully aware of moving, I’m off the floor and stumbling into the bathroom. I rip open the cabinet beneath the sink and crouch to grab a plastic container full of first aid that my mom stuck in all the bathrooms when we moved in.
A strangled gasp escapes as I tear off the lid and dump the contents on the tile. My vision sparkling at the edges, I sift through the mess until I see it: a box of gauze. As I pick it up, something small and hard rattles in the bottom.
The instant relief I feel has me biting my cheek against a sob.
No, no, no.
Just one.
Don’t do it.
No one will know.
You’ll know.
You need this.
Feeling like a passenger in my body, I watch myself rip open the box and pull out the gauze to reveal the treasure at the bottom.
Two small, circular pills.
White noise fills my head.
I’m not shaking anymore.
The pills hit my palm.
I stare at them until my vision blurs.
Something wet hits my mouth.
I lick tears from my lips.
“No,” I whisper. “Please.”
Who I’m asking for help?
There’s no help here.
Only the memory of Evangeline pulling away from me. Laughter around me, never touching me. Never mine. The cold dark. Her face wearing a thousand expressions across a lifetime. Lust and longing and hope and disgust and fear. Anger. Hurt.
River’s resentment.
My parents’ sad, worried eyes.
Shame. Guilt. Self-loathing.
It’s too much.
It’s all too fucking much.
Pointless.
Hopeless.
I lurch to my feet and turn on the tap, then toss the pills into my mouth and scoop a palmful of water to swallow them. Knowing what’s coming relaxes muscles all over my body. I slump against the vanity and make the mistake of looking at my reflection.
“You made it fourteen days.” I laugh, low and bitter, at the flushed, sweaty, tear-eyed man in the mirror. “You’re pathetic. A coward and a failure. And you’re a fucking drug addict.”
Tears distort my sight.
The man in the mirror melts away to nothing.