Chapter 27
That’s Where My Demons Hide
Wyatt
Aria’s eyes are wide in fright as she stuffs her phone back into her skirt pocket. I’m immediately alarmed. “What is it?”
“Your sister. Upstairs. We’ve got…”
Before she can finish, I’m bounding up the stairs with her behind me.
My ears start to ring and the world around me blurs as I take two steps at a time.
Arriving upstairs, I see Harper pulling at a doorknob with one hand and banging against the door with the other.
As I move closer, she takes a step back.
“Camila’s in there. With some…”
Her sentence is drowned out by the deafening noise the door makes as I kick it in. I hold out an arm to protect Aria from the splinters of wood flying through the air before I rush into the room.
What I see stops me cold.
Camila is lying on the bed in her underwear, her dark hair spilling out over the white sheet.
Her cheek is resting on a spot of yellowish orange; one arm is draped above her head, and her lips are open just a crack, dripping with vomit.
She’s completely gone, and someone’s bent over her, pulling out his penis and moving to pull down her panties.
“Fuck off!” he growls in a real dirty voice, and that’s when I see his face.
It’s Gray.
And I see red. I completely lose it. Something inside me explodes, and I’m at him. I tear the motherfucker off my sister with such force that he crashes against the heavy wooden wardrobe along the wall.
“What the fuck, man?”
I dig my fingers into his curly hair and pull until he howls in pain.
He squirms and tries to hit me on the chin.
I reflexively fend off the blow with my left arm, which is a mistake.
Pain shoots through my body, making my head throb, catapulting me back to that summer day—the day I never want to think about again.
Nevertheless, with a jerk, I manage to pull him toward the adjacent wall and jam my forearm against his neck.
But the pain doesn’t stop. It just grows.
I can’t see straight; everything’s swirling.
There’s a sharp smell of gas and iron, and then I let out a bloodcurdling scream.
“Wyatt!” It’s Aria. It’s a miracle that I can hear her, that she manages to get through to me.
I’m overcome by a strange feeling. It’s like my mind’s wavering between the present and that summer day, unable to decide where to stay.
I feel dizzy. Bile is burning my throat, and I’m only vaguely aware of my forearm still pressing against the guy’s throat.
Then I hear her a second time, and that’s the decisive moment my mind needed.
With great effort, I fight my way back to the here and now—drenched in sweat, panting, my entire body trembling, and Gray still writhing beneath my arm.
I can’t look at him because everything is shaking and blurring, and there’s agonizing pressure on my temples.
Then I puke. My stomach cramps; I get hot, cold, hot again, everything shakes, before my eyesight slowly clears.
I’ve barfed all over Gray. It’s running down the front of his shirt, trickling off his sweater onto that pitiful dick of his that he was going to force upon my sister.
The thought makes me retch a second time, and I increase the pressure against his throat before Aria appears next to me and tries to pull me away.
“Wyatt, stop, that’s enough. YOU’RE GOING TO KILL HIM!”
The sound of her voice against my ear, her sweet scent, her hair tickling my cheek as she tries to tear me away from him—they pull me back from my frenzy, from being about to rip this filthy motherfucker’s soul from his body and dismembering him for what he wanted to do to Camila.
And thank God Aria has this effect on me, thank God, for when I come back to myself, I see what I’m doing. I see his reddened face, his eyes popping out of his skull.
I let go of him with a jolt. My pulse skips a beat. Sweat’s dripping off my forehead. It takes all the strength I can muster not to throw myself straight back at him.
Aria knows it. Aria knows me. And that’s exactly why she puts her warm hand on mine and wraps her fingers around mine.
Breathing heavily, I look at Gray. He’s gasping for breath, coughing, and pulling up his pants to cover up his vomit-covered balls all at the same time.
“If you ever get close to her again, I’m going to castrate you with my bare hands, motherfucker.” I spit in his face. “Get the fuck out of here.”
Still coughing, he rushes past me. Aria squeezes my hand.
Normally I’d be freaking out with joy, but right now I can’t think about anything but my sister.
I whirl around, bound across the room, and take a seat next to her.
Harper tries to get her to sit up, but Camila just keeps slumping down like a newborn with no tension in her limbs. She’s completely gone.
“I’ll take her,” I say. Harper carefully places her into my arms while I look around the room for her clothes.
“Here.” Aria has gathered up her leggings, UGGs, and knit midriff sweater.
Sitting down next to me, Harper’s eyes dart back and forth between my sister and me.
She begins to nervously slide around on the mattress before she gets up and leaves the room to stand in front of the door to keep anyone from coming in.
It’s quiet. Neither of us says a word as I hold Camila and Aria pulls the sweater over her head.
Aria’s fingers brush my chest before disappearing into my sister’s collar to pull her hair out.
The smell of Aria’s hand cream streams into my nose.
Along with beer. And yet I can still catch the scent of vanilla, which will remind me of Aria forever and ever and a little bit longer, too.
I lay my sister down on the bed so Aria can pull Camila’s leggings up for her while I bend forward to tuck her feet into her boots. She’s wearing reindeer socks. My chest tightens.
“It’s my fault.”
Aria looks at me. “That’s not true, and you know it, Wyatt.”
“It is.” I lean against the soft king-sized mattress with my temple, my eyes focused on Camila’s knee, on the hole in her leggings. “I’m responsible for her. I should have been paying attention. I should have made sure nothing like this could happen.”
“Wyatt.” Her sympathetic tone makes me look up. Aria is sitting cross-legged on top of the comforter while stroking Camila’s hair. “You’re a good older brother. Always have been. But you can’t be looking around everywhere at the same time. Camila’s seventeen. She’s starting to want her own life.”
“She is so delicate, Aria. Seventeen and yet so done with the world. That’s just not right.”
Aria lowers her eyes. “She’s been through a lot. First your dad, then your mom, and then…”
“You.” I swallow hard. “And then you.”
Only a faint glimmer of light comes in from the hallway, but when the shadow on the wall moves, I know Aria’s nodding. For a while neither of us says a word until, eventually, she sighs.
“I should have called. Camila was… She didn’t deserve me leaving her, too.”
“No. She didn’t.”
“Anything happen recently to explain why she’s so drunk?”
“Not really. No idea. Mila’s been difficult lately.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know. She’s got secrets. Only gets home real late at night. Well, in the morning, actually. Whenever I ask her about it, we fight. I just can’t get through to her.”
Aria takes the edge of her sweater to wipe the last bit of vomit away from the corner of Camila’s mouth. “Should I try to talk to her?”
I consider her suggestion for a long time.
Not because I don’t think it’s a good idea, but because it makes me remember things.
Like how Camila always wanted to talk to her when something happened in her life.
That first crush? Aria. That first fight with her friends?
Aria. When Mom was no longer there? Aria.
And that was all before Aria left me. Her leaving changed a lot of things. It tore open wounds and left scars.
“You can give it a try. But…”
“It won’t be like it was. I know that.”
Her words leave an oppressive silence between us, while the bass booms in from outside and the electronic beeps creep toward us over the walls.
Eventually I stand up. “Let’s take her to the hospital.”
Aria nods. “You here with your car?”
“No. I…” My heart rate increases. “No.”
“No?”
“No.”
She stares at me with a look I don’t like. A mixture of curiosity and sympathy. But I don’t want to explain that my arm’s screwed up or have her pity me because of it. I want to be Wyatt, just Wyatt, the guy who can do everything and overcomes any challenge with a smile.
I expect her to inquire further, but she doesn’t. Instead, she puts her arm under my sister’s neck, lifts her up, and says, “Okay. Then we’ll go in mine.”
I bet Aria’s wondering why I’m carrying Camila over my shoulder instead of in my arms. But she doesn’t say anything, just gives me far too sad a smile and follows me out of this god-awful room. Harper silently joins us by the door.
The Mitsubishi’s leather seats are cold as hell.
I carefully place Camila in the back and get in next to her so I can rest her head in my lap.
Aria turns on the car and sets the heated seats on max.
We make our way through Aspen’s narrow streets and drop Harper off at her house by Snowmass Mountain.
Ten minutes later, Aria’s parking her car in front of the hospital, and I put Camila back over my shoulder.
I’d love to carry her in my arms, but my injury just won’t let me. Aria follows.