35. AVERY #3
Or maybe she doesn’t ever need to know. The thought crosses my mind for the umpteenth time today.
It doesn’t matter how many times I think it, I know I can’t keep that from her.
The truth is always harder to stomach, but in the long haul, so much easier than an eternity of lies. I can’t do that to her.
“How about you save that worry for tomorrow?” Rowan starts for the elevators again, and I’m following when the doors ping open and a well-dressed woman walks out.
Her eyes widen at the sight of me, and it dawns on me how I must look while she almost trips over herself. Looking down at my hands, I stop in my tracks.
“Wait,” I call, making Rowan look back at me, holding the door for the elevator. An assessing look crosses his face for a short second before I tell him, “I don’t want him to see me like this.”
It seems so silly and unimportant, but I don’t want Rhett to look at me and see what happened.
I don’t want to look like I’m about to fall apart so that he worries about me rather than focusing on taking it easy on himself.
I know what Rhett’s like—he’ll ignore his needs to put mine first. Just like he risked his life for mine.
A small fluttering smile hitches one side of Rowan’s mouth. When he runs his hands through his hair, I notice the specks of blood on his tattooed forearms and the way the insides of his sleeves are stained a rusty red.
“A part of me hated you for taking me away from him. I just wanted to hold on to him like you did. So stupid to be jealous at a time like that.”
“Crazy, yes, but not stupid,” he scoffs, heading back toward the restrooms with me.
When we get to the corridor, he takes a searching look around us before walking me to the restroom door. It’s swinging shut, and as I go in, he pulls me back by my elbow.
“Anything and you scream, got it?”
The lump that’s been in my throat since this afternoon sinks to the pit of my stomach as I nod and head inside only for him to stop me again.
“I got it,” I tell him with the easiest smile I can muster. “I’ll be out in a couple minutes.”
Gesturing with a tip of his head for me to go, I don’t miss the way he stands back staring straight at the door.
It’s almost like he can see through it or something because I keep looking back, trying to get to grips with the weird feeling that’s followed me all day since I spotted the agents following me.
I watch the water run for a moment. With my heart beating fast and my aching body protesting as much, I hold my hands only just away from the tepid stream. It’s not warm nor cold, something in between that barely does anything to wash away the caked blood dried into the lines of my hands.
So much blood. That’s all I can think as the pink-tinged water darkens when I start scrubbing and working the soap into my hands.
The gummy scent of it does nothing to disguise the smell of blood that strengthens the more I scratch and scrub at my tender skin.
Hot tears roll down my face as the water whirls around the bowl before it drains away.
When I finally look in the mirror, I gasp at the sight of my matted hair and the spattered blood on my neck. The longer I study my appearance and scrub at my hands, the harder it is to breathe. I’m right back to this afternoon, trying my best to hold Rhett up while gravity pulled us both down.
Cough after bloody cough, all I can do is watch as he chokes, and I have no idea what to do. All I can do is hold on. Hold on and tell him it’s okay even though I don’t think it is.
“Help is coming,” I shush him, trying to conserve his energy so that he can keep fighting. “It’s coming, honey. It’s coming…” I chant and keep chanting as I hold him tighter and think of every prayer I’ve ever heard or been taught even as blood collects in his mouth.
Light golden skin pales. Green eyes darken.
White teeth stain pink. Every gurgled gasp dribbles a fresh stream of blood over chattering, purpling lips.
It’s the one lonely tear that shatters my hope.
Running from the outside corner of his eye down to his temple, it disappears into dark golden hair, and I can’t bring myself to wipe it away.
All I can do is hold him to my chest as I rock back and forth.
Bile fills my mouth as my stomach twists and twists at the memory.
The only thing I’ve felt since the moment he took that bullet for me is loss, the kind I’ve never felt before, and as I stagger into the cubicle behind me, I can barely hold myself up as I retch into the toilet and try to wipe all the blood from my skin.
It doesn’t matter how many times I repeat the words the doctor said earlier.
It doesn’t matter that Iris is safe. Nothing matters because I am drowning in feelings that I’ve never felt before.
Grief, loss, and hate. So much hate that the need to scream overwhelms me.
I wish I could rip myself open and tear it all from my veins.
But instead, it pulls from me in wicked retches and deafening sobs.