32. She needed this
32
SHE NEEDED THIS
ASHER
“Asher, man!” Jace’s shout cuts through the hum of scattered porch conversations.
My grip tightens around the beer bottle at the sound of his urgency. My muscles tense as I shove up from the chair, panic slicing through me.
Jace reaches the door just as I push through the wall of people, his eyes wide and frantic until they land on me.
“It’s Halle,” he blurts out. “Something’s going down with her and Hunter in the bathroom.”
Without waiting, he spins and takes off, weaving through the house. I rush after him, my heart beating harder with every step.
“Move!” I bark, elbowing my way through the packed hallway.
Faces blur as I shove past them, murmurs and gasps ripple around me, the crowd curious about what’s going on. I reach Connor first, and he takes the bottle from my hand. My eyes narrow on him.
“What the fuck, man?” I demand.
Just an hour ago, he was explaining the rules of the drinking game Chase the Ace to Halle. Her face lit up at the name, and she laughed so hard, she nearly fell off her chair. The sound was like music, and everyone around her couldn’t help but laugh, too. Her eyes were dancing. I’d never seen her so carefree. She was having fun, and for once, the shadows she carries with her weren’t weighing her down. I didn’t want to steal that from her. As much as I wanted to be a selfish asshole and lock her in my room for the night, exploring every inch of her body until her laughter turned to panting gasps, I knew tonight wasn’t about me. She needed this.
So why the hell is she sobbing in the bathroom?
Connor’s hands shoot up, his expression full of worry. “I don’t know, Ash. She went to the bathroom, came back, and just… lost it.”
A gut-wrenching cry pierces the air, something crashes into the wall, and panic takes over, burning in my chest. I push past him, my hand landing on the door handle, when Madi runs up to me, her hand gripping my arm.
Her face is tight with concern, her nails digging in as she speaks. “It’s their mom’s anniversary today. Hunter didn’t want to remind her, thinking it’d cause her more pain, but she overheard us talking about it.”
Guilt wraps around my mind, suffocating me. I should’ve been there for her when she started to spiral. I should’ve known today was the anniversary of their mom’s death. Fuck, I’m an asshole.
“Halle,” I call, opening the door slowly.
My heart shatters. Sharp shards pierce through my veins at the sight in front of me. The weight of my girl’s pain radiates outward, and I latch onto it. Halle’s crumpled on the cold floor, her body slumped over, unable to hold herself up as Hunter kneels in front of her, sweeping her hair from her eyes.
“Wake up, Halle, please,” he begs, his voice desperate, pleading.
I don’t know if she hears him.
Scanning the room, my gaze lands on the orange bottle scattered on the floor, pills spilling out of it. A lump forms in my throat at the sight. Jagged shards of glass crunch under my feet as I step into the room; a broken mirror lies nearby.
“Ash,” Hunter cries, his voice full of fear. “Please, man, she…” His words stumble out and he sucks in a sharp breath, his hands shaking.
“She won’t wake up,” he chokes out, his face draining of all color.
I move on instinct, every cell in my body wanting to wrap her up in the safety of my arms, to pull her out of the empty black hole I know she’s fallen into. One I’m all too familiar with. Sliding one arm under her legs, the other supporting her back, I lift her, cradling her to my chest. The coldness of her skin bleeds into me, her breathing too shallow, too slow as my lips press to the top of her head.
“I’ve got her,” I say firmly, my eyes locking with Hunter’s. “Go shut the party down.”
“Is she okay?” Madi asks when I walk out.
“She will be.” I motion toward Hunter. “Go look after him,” I whisper to her.
I hold Halle a little tighter, kicking her bedroom door open. Before I step through, I glance back at my best friend. The way he’s staring at his sister, helpless with his panic mirroring my own, sends another wave of worry through me.
He’s struggling, too.
Tessa steps into my line of sight, her hands twisting nervously together in front of her. “When she wakes, can you tell her we love her?” She says, her voice cracking.
My eyes soften as my heart expands at how much my friends love her, and I nod, not trusting myself to speak. I close the door, shutting us into our own little world. The noise, the chaos, it all fades into the background.
Carefully, I lay my girl down on the soft sheets of her bed. The moment I do, her arms wind around my neck, holding me close like she’s afraid I’ll walk away.
“Asher,” she murmurs weakly, “please don’t leave me.”
Reaching back, I gently take her hands and unwind them from around me, placing them by her sides as I hover over her.
Leaning down, I press my forehead to hers, our breaths mingling together. “I’m not going anywhere, baby. I got you.” I promise her.
I change into the pair of sweats I left here the other night and quietly climb in next to her. Settling in, she rolls over, pressing herself against me. Her head rests on my chest, and her leg hooks over mine, holding on to me like I’m her lifeline.
Sighing, my eyes slowly adjust to the darkness of her room. The faint slither of moonlight peeking through her curtain casts a shadow across her walls. My hand trails up and down her back and along her arm. For a moment, we stay like that. I don’t ask questions, I don’t get mad at her. I let her feel. Everything.
It doesn’t take long before her mind and body begin to shut down. Her shoulders start to shake under my hand, and my shirt grows cold and damp, her silent tears soaking into the fabric. I keep tracing aimless patterns along her back, hoping my touch brings her the comfort and safety she needs .
“You’re okay. Let it all out, sweetheart. I won’t let you go,” I tell her.
And she does. Sobs tear through her, each one more painful than the last. She clutches at my shirt and hiccups as she fights to breathe through the storm of emotions consuming her.
Nothing I say or do will help her. She needs to feel this—every tear, every tremor. She needs to have this moment in time to come out stronger. It’s the only way through the pain.
There is no shortcut to grief, no easy way out, no detour around the hurt, no escape from missing them. No way out at all. The only way is forward because the hole they leave behind, it never closes. But we have to keep living, keep smiling for them. If we don’t, their memory will forever live in the darkness of their death, buried beneath the weight of our pain, never to see the light, the joy, the love, or the life they once lived.
Without realizing it, Halle taught me this, taught me how to live with the pain. How to carry it without letting it crush me. She showed me how to keep moving forward while also remembering Aiden and all his good. She has no idea how much she saved me from the depths of my own guilt. Now, watching her fight her own battle, I know she can get through it. I know she’ll rise from this stronger than ever. She’s a survivor.
Her tears and her pain press down on the room, and everything begins to slow. Her hand gradually loosens around my shirt, and her fingers move to wipe at her eyes. The tension that took hold of her body begins to drift away, and I rake my fingers through her hair as she sighs into me.
“She killed herself.”