Chapter 7
Ashia
Four Days Later
‘Last Resort’ Reimagined – Falling In Reverse
I take a deep breath as I lock the front door of Cut Me Down, a wave of exhaustion rolling over my limbs.
It was our first day back open, and even though Emmett isn’t strong enough to work yet, he wanted to do something for the community.
Because pretty much everyone is having to attend a funeral, if not multiple, he wanted to give free haircuts all weekend long.
Thank God today is Saturday, and we only have one more day of this.
I’m glad to help give back, and a lot of the clients were very understanding when I wasn’t cutting as quickly as I used to, but it’s been over a month since I’ve cut, and the sad environment didn’t help with my sluggishness.
Some of the clients tried to be cheerful and talked about other things besides all of the death that now tainted the city, but others were not so positive.
I can’t blame them, though, because so many lost wives, children, parents, close cousins, and friends—I’ve heard all sorts of stories today.
But all I could think about was Zeke.
Taylor’s funeral was today, and unfortunately, Zeke wasn't welcome. Taylor’s mom had her body transferred out to Texas, where she’s from.
I offered to fly out with him and demand that he be let in, but that both felt heartbreaking and wrong at the same time.
Her mother is grieving as well, and I can't even begin to imagine that pain, but what about Zeke?
They were together for five years, why wouldn't he be welcome?
We don't have any answers to those questions, and I know grief comes with a lot of anger, but it just isn't fair.
Zeke deserves his chance to say goodbye, and Tay would've wanted him there.
He hasn’t answered me today, no matter how much I've texted and called. Now that he’s back at his apartment and not constantly being watched at the Attic, it’s giving me a bad feeling.
I knew at some point he’d have to go home, and that one of us couldn’t be by his side twenty-four-seven, but something about his silence is nagging at me.
He’s grieving, and I understand that, but his avoidance is telling me that something isn’t right.
I get in the car and text Damien before I pull out, telling him that I’m heading over to Zeke’s apartment.
The second day at the Attic, we drove over to get some of his clothes and other belongings for him, plus one of Tay’s sweatshirts, so I know where he lives now.
It’s a good thing too, because I was afraid I was going to have to come talk to him either way.
He was insistent on working and keeping himself busy, and then a few days ago when Damien offered him as much time off as he needed, he took it—immediately and without a second of hesitation.
Something about that rubbed me the wrong way as well.
The whole drive over there, I can’t help but think about it and feel the dread settling in my stomach.
Maybe he’ll reconsider staying with us for a while.
That way he won’t have to go through this alone and be forced to sit in the apartment they shared—where she was poisoned.
I can’t even begin to imagine the grief that’s hanging on him like heavy chains, and while I’m not sure exactly what I can do to help him, I know he doesn’t need to be alone.
As soon as I pull into a parking space, I take in the look of the building again.
It’s nothing extravagant, but it looks very homey, like the Zillow listing actually told the truth for once.
The inside smells like laundry detergent as I step through the door, a smell that I actually find extremely welcoming.
Newer, cream carpet is laid along the hallways, and the walls are painted a calm gray.
That, on top of the warm lighting coming from the ceilings, creates a cozy atmosphere that I’m sure hasn’t seemed so cheerful to Zeke lately.
The elevator isn’t quite as inviting. It’s just covered in shiny metal that shows your reflection, but it seems well maintained, and it rides smooth as I ascend the four floors to his.
I get off once the doors open and walk down the hall, feeling an eerie chill as I stride.
Each step feels heavier than the last, like something is both telling me to keep going and stop all at once.
Recognition slaps me in the face, and I’m immediately brought back to the fire escape outside of my old apartment years ago—how that night I looked down and thought about jumping.
It felt the same way, and just the thought has me quickening my steps.
The grief, the sudden isolation, the silence.
It’s all screaming at me, trying to wave me down for attention, and I feel sick.
I finally reach his door and raise my hand to knock, when a thud sounds out from the other side, followed immediately by the sound of broken glass. My body runs cold, and I knock a little more harshly than I probably should.
“Zeke?” I call out, not hearing a response, so I bang again, and when I still hear nothing, I decide that I’m getting into that damn apartment, no matter how he feels about it.
He could be completely naked and destroying the place, but I need to know that he’s okay.
I try to open the door, but it’s locked.
So, I reach under the mat for the spare key and quickly slide it in, wasting no time to unlock it.
As I push it open and storm in, my eyes are automatically drawn to the horrific sight in the living room, bringing me to a halt…
There’s broken glass and what appears to be a liquid across the floor…
Zeke is dangling, and his body thrashes as he hangs from a taut rope.
His eyes meet mine and widen, showing a thousand emotions all at once before his body spins and turns them from view…
Small grunts and gasps make their way to my ear, instantly snapping me back and pushing me forward again.
“Zeke!” My heart pounds as forceful as a horse’s sprint as I run inside, ignoring the glass and what smells like whiskey as I dart over to him.
My first thought is to grab onto him, so that’s immediately what I do—throwing my arms around him like I’ve been yearning to do for the past week and a half.
I try to lift him up, but between his weight, and his twitching, I'm not near strong enough…
I’m not strong enough.
Adrenaline floods me, and the edges of my vision start to blur along with the thoughts in my head. I have to act quickly. Quick. Think. Think. What do I do?! My muscles are straining under his weight, but I hold on as tight as I can and lift, willing to do anything to keep my brother alive.
As I look up to assess him, I trail the rope’s position to the beam just above him, and I don’t immediately notice an easy way to untie it.
I scour the room frantically, trying to find anything that I could use, when a small glint catches my eyes.
My gaze snaps to the coffee table and locks onto Zeke’s knife.
Doing a double take, just so I can be sure I can reach, I lunge for the knife and grasp it in my hand tighter than I’ve ever held anything else.
“Just hold on! I’m going to get you down!
” I scream and jump onto the coffee table, silently praying that it holds my weight long enough to do what I need.
Pressing as hard as I can to the thick, prickling twine, I begin sawing through the rope just above his neck—moving more hysterically as I realize his movements are slowing.
Please, please, please, please…
Once I’m about halfway through, the rope snaps and his motionless body falls to the ground, smacking the floor with a loud thud that rings out into the hallway.
My knees finally give out as I step down, and I fall to the hardwoods beside him, clawing and ripping the rope away from his already-bruising neck.
I plaster my hands to the side of his face and tilt his head back, noticing the slight blue tint to his lips.
“Zeke! Wake up! Please, don’t do this!” I pat his face, trying to wake him up, and when that doesn’t work, I try a little harder and smack him, but get the same result.
A thought pops up into my head, and all I want is to yell for Ser or Damien.
They would know what to do, but as tears finally start to stream from my eyes, I realize that they’re not here, and I’m all alone.
I’m alone…
Serena would keep her head in check and wouldn’t freak out until later, but I’m not her. I don’t have medical training, and I sure as hell have never dealt with someone else in this position. Normally, it’s me that needs medical expertise, and I’m not sure how to give it to someone else.
But someone like Ser would know.
I shakily reach into my pocket, finally feeling like I’ve started to make some fucking sense, and scramble for my phone to dial 911. It only rings half a time before a woman with a monotone, calm voice answers.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“Please send help! My brother tried to kill himself!” I yell, much louder than I anticipated, and I instinctively cover my mouth—not sure who I could possibly bother by my volume, and not really giving a shit, but I suppose it’s just an old habit that is resurfacing as I panic.
“What the hell is going on here?” A large man, wearing nothing but gym shorts and a tank top runs into the apartment, obviously hearing the commotion from the hall.
“I…” I finally move my hand from my mouth and swallow harshly, trying not to drool and spit all over the place. “Go find help…” I whisper out, and through a small gasp, as I find it hard to breathe. The man’s eyes widen, and he only nods once before sprinting back out of the apartment.
“Okay ma’am, I need you to stay calm. What’s the address of the emergency?” the woman speaks again, reminding me that I’m on the phone with help already, and I shake my head, barely registering what she said.