Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
JEREMY
Idon’t remember signing anything or leaving the building. I don’t remember the taxi ride back to my apartment. But now I’m standing in front of the door.
I’m numb. So numb.
It was Ryan.
He was the person who would visit our house when I was little.
I think he’s the person who orchestrated my parents’ car wreck.
I still don’t know why, but it explains why the police were so quick to close the investigation.
My aunt always told me they were real estate agents. But now it’s clear to me that they were part of Skynet.
The company Marcus’s father owns with that monster.
Did Marcus know? Did I actually fall in love with the villain?
He looked guilty. He looked apologetic. Most of all, he looked heartbroken.
We talked about my parents more than once.
My hands shake as I unlock the door and push it open.
All the pain and heartache I went through as a result of Mom and Dad’s death happened because of Marcus’s family. And he fucking knew.
It doesn’t matter anymore. We’re done.
Once again, I’m alone. Unwanted. Thrown away.
I see Ryan’s face in my head, his smile sinister. My mom’s glare. My father’s angry shout. He killed them.
The knock on the door from that night. “Your parents were in an accident.”
The CPS lady pushing me into a car with nothing but a small suitcase. “Foster care isn’t so bad, honey.”
The click of the lock when my foster parents locked me away. For a year.
My aunt looking guilty and sad.
My heart broke. It’s breaking now. All over again.
Toothless pads up to me when I enter, meowing loudly and rubbing against my ankles. I crouch to pet him absently.
“I don’t even think you can save me right now, bud,” I whisper.
There’s so much pressure in my body, I feel like I might explode.
My hands feel hot, my fingers twitchy as they dig under my waistband and tear at the skin there.
I can already feel blood beneath my nails from when I started to scratch on the ride home, but I can’t seem to relieve the pressure.
The voice in my head is so loud right now, grinding on what little sanity I have left.
He’s gone. He didn’t want you.
Your foster family locked you up.
You’re a burden to your aunt—a chore.
Your parents are dead.
I stand and stomp my feet like a little kid. “Shut up!” I screech. T darts away at my sudden outburst.
I stumble into the bathroom, tears flooding my eyes and streaming down my cheeks as I pull my hair and stare at the drawer below the sink.
“No, no, no,” I say around a sob. “I don’t want to.”
Except I do.
My heart is beating so fast, and my head hurts.
No one wants you.
With shaky hands, I yank open the drawer, the contents clattering, and grab the rectangular razor blade.
But you promised him.
“Just one cut.”
But he doesn’t want you.
I carefully place the blade on the counter and take off my shoes and jeans so that I’m standing in my T-shirt and boxers.
I swallow, skimming my fingers over my stomach before I pull the edge of my elastic waistband down and study the damaged skin.
The raised scar is already marred by an angry red scratch that’s starting to scab over.
I pick away the clots, watching in fascination as the blood starts to ooze again.
I need more.
My heart hammers in my chest, and my stomach rolls.
I pick up the blade and hold it against the scar, feeling a sting of pain as I apply some pressure.
I drag it across my flesh with intention, feeling ragged relief as red wetness wells up in its wake and dribbles down my thigh, soaking into the fabric of my boxers.
But the reprieve is fleeting.
I need more.
I cut again, deeper this time, tears blurring the bathroom around me. The pain is more intense, but it also feels so good.
More.
More.
More.
I cut deep.
Too deep.
I drop the blade, and it skitters across the floor toward the tub, leaving bright red smears on the tile.
Yet I’m still anxious.
My heart hurts. My head aches. My legs feel restless and itchy, and I scratch at them and pound on my thighs with my fists.
The pressure is too much. It’s squeezing my chest. My limbs feel heavy.
A sharp pain runs up my arm.
Am I having a heart attack?
I drop to the floor and stare at my trembling hand; it’s slick with blood. I look down. It’s puddled all over the floor, seeping into the tile grout.
Why is there so much blood? What did you do?
Toothless’s needy cry pulls me from my stupor, and I scramble to my knees, push him from the bathroom, slam the door, and flick the lock.
I fall back onto the cool floor, and my stomach rolls as the room spins.
My mouth waters, and I lean over the toilet and gag, almost blacking out as I gasp and choke around the bitter bile in my throat.
When the nausea passes, I slump back to the floor, the copper smell overwhelming as my cheek slides against the thick, sticky liquid.
I’m so cold.
Marcus is going to be upset. I told him I wouldn’t ever do this. That I would talk to him before I hurt myself.
I’m sorry.
But he’s gone. He doesn’t want you.
Everything starts to fade, and the edges of my vision waver. Something’s wrong. I did something bad, and I should be scared. But I’m not because it’s quieter now. More peaceful. At least in the suffocating darkness, I can finally rest.
MARCUS
By the time I reach Jeremy’s apartment, I’m gasping, my whole body on fire. Something’s wrong.
Marion texted me, saying that she was on her way here because Jeremy wasn’t answering his phone. I rushed straight here.
In my mind, I see his face when he left the conference room.
He was so empty. So lifeless.
I fumble with the key Jeremy gave me, trying not to drop it as I shove it into the lock and push open the door.
I enter the hallway, and dread pools in my stomach.
Jeremy’s apartment door is ajar. Like he didn’t bother to close it when he got home.
Fear is dry in my throat, and I toe open the door with my boot. The hinges creak, and I startle when Toothless jumps down from the arm of the couch, yowling loudly. He scampers toward the bathroom door and starts to paw at it, scratching at the white-painted wood.
I walk toward him, and something on the carpet catches my eye. I bend down, and choke on panic when I realize that it’s one of T’s paw prints. But it’s dark red.
Blood.
I stand and pound on the bathroom door.
“Jeremy?” I yell, my voice rising. “Jeremy! Open the door.”
Silence.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
I pick up Toothless and toss him gently into Jeremy’s bedroom and close the door. Then I take a step back and kick the door with my booted foot. The wood splinters but doesn’t give, so I kick it again with a desperate grunt.
The door flies open violently, and the taste of metal is sharp on my tongue. Jeremy’s lying in a pool of blood, the sticky mess clinging to his hands, face, and hair.
“Shitshitshit,” I ramble as I rush to his side and drop to my knees.
His skin is gray, and I press two fingers to his throat, feeling for a pulse. It’s there, but it’s faint.
I pull his head onto my lap, tears hot and heavy on my cheeks as a sob crawls up my throat. “Jer, baby, don’t leave me.”
I examine his body and see the wide cut on his hip. It looks deep. I yank off my coat, pull my T-shirt over my head, and ball it up, pressing it firmly against his wound.
“Dammit, Starlight, hang on. Don’t do this,” I plead. “You promised.”
I’m crying in earnest now, and my throat feels raw as I chant his name over and over. I cradle him tightly to my chest, one hand still pressing on his hip, literally holding on for dear life. “I’ve got you. Hang on.”
I hear a familiar female voice behind me, but I can’t seem to process what she’s saying. She’s on the phone, telling someone that Jeremy is hurt really bad. That he might be dying.
I cry harder until I can’t breathe.
He can’t die.
I press my lips gently to his. His skin is so cold. “Baby, please don’t leave me. I’m so sorry.”
There’s a lot of commotion and then someone is taking Jeremy from me, and I clutch him tightly against my body, shaking my head.
He’s mine.
“Marcus, you have to let them help him.” She sounds kind, her voice steady and gentle.
“Marion?” I ask, around another sob.
“Yes, honey. Let the paramedics have him. They’re going to help him.”
“Son, let him go. We need to take him to the hospital.” I look up at the man, who pulls me to my feet and guides me into the living room.
I stare numbly as someone brings in a stretcher and Jeremy is wheeled out of the building.
Marion comes up beside me and puts her arms around my back.
She’s crying too. I turn my face into her shoulder and seek comfort in her warmth.
He’s okay. He has to be okay.
There’s an ambulance outside. Red and white lights reflect through the window, bouncing around Jeremy’s perfect apartment like an unwelcome intruder. They stain his colorful curtains, his mismatched furniture, his overstuffed bookcases. It feels like a violation.
Marion takes my hand and drags me outside.
It’s raining hard now, the water soaking my skin and masking tears.
But they’re still there. I can taste the saltiness.
It reminds me of kissing Jeremy on the beach, the ocean water commingling on our lips.
That’s where we should be. Not here. Not like this.
“Who’s going with him?” the paramedic asks.
Marion looks at me, offering me the choice, but I know it’s not where I belong. I’m not good for him. He told me once we were toxic, and he was right. He hurt himself because of me. He almost died.
But he’ll be okay.
“You go,” I say to her, giving her a sad smile. “And tell him I said goodbye.”
“Marcus—”
“Tell him I love him.” Without waiting for her reply, I turn and take off down the street, shivering uncontrollably as I wrap my arms around my bare chest. I hear the sound of the ambulance doors slamming closed and the wail of the sirens before they fade into the night, and I just keep running.
For the first time since I was eleven years old, I don’t feel his presence anymore.
He’s really gone, and I’m truly alone.