Chapter 16 #2
He looks up, and there’s something raw in his eyes. “Because sometimes people don’t want to talk. Sometimes they just…want something else. Something that feels good, even if it’s just for a minute.”
My pulse kicks up, suspicion rising. “What happened, Levi? Did you two—”
He cuts me off, jaw tight. “Yeah. We hooked up. In the library. It just…happened.”
A flush of jealousy and shock runs through me, but mostly, I’m pissed that he didn’t tell me sooner. I drag a hand through my hair, trying to keep my cool.
“For fuck’s sake, Levi,” I mutter. I have no idea why I’m so pissed, especially when he all but gloated about it a few days ago.
I should have known exactly what he meant when he said they had a moment.
But I have to say I’m surprised at my brother.
This isn’t like him. “When were you going to say something?”
He shrugs, a bitter smile on his lips. “Didn’t think it would help. We’re all on edge. She was hurting. So was I.”
The library is quiet when I get there, too quiet.
I spot Carrie behind the main desk, trying to shelve a stack of books, but she moves like she’s underwater.
Her skin is pale, almost gray under the harsh lights.
Eyes heavy, lips pressed tight. She keeps rubbing her forehead like she can’t clear the fog.
I step closer, worry squeezing my chest. “Carrie. Hey—talk to me. You don’t look good.”
She tries to smile, but it barely flickers. “I’m fine, Nico. Just—just tired—”
Before she can finish, her knees buckle. She drops the books, swaying. I lunge forward and catch her before she hits the ground. She feels small in my arms, limp and boneless.
“Carrie!” I shake her gently, panic starting to rise. She doesn’t respond, her head lolling against my shoulder.
I shout, voice echoing off the high shelves. “Help! I need help in here!”
Mrs. Jackson, the head librarian, comes running from the back, her eyes wide. “What did you do?” she snaps, rushing over.
I glare at her, holding Carrie tight. “I didn’t do anything. She just collapsed. Let me take her to the infirmary.”
Mrs. Jackson’s mouth is tight, stubborn. “I’ll take her. You can’t—”
“With all due respect, you can’t,” I cut in, shifting Carrie’s weight so she’s cradled in my arms. “She needs help now, not a debate.”
She calls for guards, her voice urgent, but the intercom just crackles, and no one comes. The seconds stretch. Carrie is limp against my chest, breath shallow, skin cold.
Mrs. Jackson hesitates, fear and frustration warring on her face. “Fine. But you take her straight there, you hear me? No funny business. I’m right behind you.”
“I will,” I promise, already moving.
We rush through the corridors, my arms aching from holding her but I don’t dare let go. Mrs. Jackson is right behind me, breathless but keeping up. When I burst through the infirmary doors, the nurse at the desk freezes, eyes going wide as she sees me.
I lay Carrie on the nearest cot, brushing the hair from her face. “What’s wrong with her?” My voice is rough, more desperate than I want to admit.
The nurse edges closer, nerves all over her face. She glances at Mrs. Jackson, then back at me. “I—I have to check her, sir. Please step back.”
“I’m not leaving her,” I say, voice tight.
Before the nurse can answer, Carrie stirs, panic lighting up her face. She grabs at the sheets, trying to sit up. Her eyes find mine, wild and afraid.
“Nico, go,” she says, her voice shaking. “You can’t be here.”
I frown, stepping closer. “Carrie—hey, calm down. I’m not leaving you like this.”
She turns to the nurse, voice pleading, urgent. “Please, get him to leave. He can’t be here. You get me? He can’t be here.”
The nurse nods, stepping between us. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to go now. Please.”
For a second, I can’t move, can’t breathe. The look in her eyes hurts worse than any punch I’ve ever taken, but I see the fear in her face. I see how much she needs this, whatever it is.
I pace the hallway outside the infirmary, every muscle in my body buzzing with worry. I keep replaying Carrie’s voice, that panic in her eyes, the way she begged the nurse to get me out. I want to respect what she asked, but leaving her in there, alone and scared, makes me crazy.
Five minutes pass. Then ten. Every second stretches out, thick and heavy. No one comes out, no one tells me a damn thing. I try to stay calm, but it’s no use.
I need to see her. I need to know what’s happening.
A plan forms in my head, reckless but simple.
I duck around the corner, away from the cameras, heart pounding.
There’s a sharp metal edge on an old radiator against the wall.
I roll up my jumpsuit leg and press the skin of my calf right to the jagged spot, gritting my teeth as I drag it hard across my skin.
The pain is instant, hot and sharp. Blood beads up and starts to run, bright and sticky.
I pull the fabric down, limping a little as I make my way back down the hall. I bang on the infirmary door, face set in a grimace. The nurse from earlier spots the blood trickling down my ankle.
“What happened?” she demands, rushing over.
“Cut myself on some busted metal out there,” I mutter, playing it off like nothing. “Could use a little help.”
She sighs, clearly annoyed, but opens the door wider. “Come in, sit. I’ll get the kit.”
As she leads me in, I scan the room, searching for Carrie. My chest loosens a little just seeing her there, pale and shaken but alive. Mrs. Jackson is sitting beside her, talking low.
I ease onto a cot, keeping my eyes on Carrie. I don’t care what I have to do. I’ll sit here and bleed all night if it means I get to make sure she’s alright.
The nurse takes one look at my leg and her mouth goes tight. “That’s a deep one,” she says, cleaning the blood with brisk, practiced hands. “You’ll need a tetanus shot. Have you had one in the last five years?”
I shake my head, trying to look annoyed instead of relieved. “Nope. Last one was way before I got locked up.”
She clicks her tongue, wrapping the cut in gauze. “Well, I’m out of stock. Shipment won’t be here until tomorrow.” She eyes the wound, then looks at me. “I don’t want you going back to your cell until I get you that shot. Too much risk of infection.”
I bite down on a grin, fighting to keep my face straight. “Guess I’ll just have to stick around, then.”
She shakes her head, already moving on to tidy up her kit. “Yeah, guess you will. Try not to bleed all over the place. I’ll check on you in a bit.”
I glance over to where Carrie’s still lying on the other cot, Mrs. Jackson by her side.
The nurse doesn’t seem to notice I’m paying more attention to her than my own wound.
For the first time all day, relief cuts through my nerves.
I’ve got at least a few hours in here. Enough time to make sure Carrie’s safe, maybe even talk to her once Mrs. Jackson steps away.
A few minutes after the nurse patches me up, she heads over to Carrie’s cot, checks her pulse, then tells her she’s clear to leave.
To my dismay, I watch as Mrs. Jackson helps Carrie gather her things, gives her a look I can’t read, and then they quietly leave together. Carrie doesn’t even look back. She’s gone before I can say a word.
The infirmary feels bigger without her, but also emptier.
The nurse is busy somewhere else, and for a while it’s just me and the sound of the ticking clock.
I stare up at the ceiling, feeling stupid.
I risked a deep cut for nothing. Couldn’t even check if she was alright.
I can’t see out the high window. The only hint of time passing is the slow drag of the clock—close to seven now. Every minute stretches out, useless.
All that effort, and I didn’t even get a real word with her. I keep replaying her panic, the way she couldn’t wait for me to leave.
Seven o’clock comes and goes. The nurse disappears for dinner, locking the medicine cabinet and leaving me with nothing but my regrets. I sigh and close my eyes, ready to just ride it out till morning.
Then, a little after seven thirty, the door creaks open. I sit up, expecting the nurse, but it’s Carrie. She slips inside, eyes darting, closing the door quietly behind her.
She crosses to my cot, sits down beside me, close enough to touch. For a second, neither of us speaks.
Finally, she breaks the silence. “The nurse is gone for dinner. I thought I’d check up on you.”
I can’t help the grin that tugs at my mouth, even as I shake my head. “You’re sneaky.”
She leans in, her voice softer now. “Did you cut yourself just to see me?”
I look at her, don’t bother denying it. “Yeah. I did. I needed to know you were alright.”
She stares at me, eyes glassy with something between worry and relief. “You’re an idiot, Nico.”
“Yeah,” I say, voice low, “but I’d do it again.”
She looks at me, searching my face, that little smile still playing on her lips. “You look better than you did in the library,” I say, voice low. “You scared the shit out of me, Carrie.”
She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “I freaked out. I just…everything got to be too much, and I panicked. I’m sorry for making you worry.”
I shake my head. “Don’t apologize. You don’t have to be strong for everyone all the time, you know.”
She’s sitting close—too close for comfort, but I don’t pull away. Her hair brushes my shoulder, her hands shaking a little as she clutches a stack of papers. She’s barely keeping it together.
“All of this is so horrible,” she says, voice low and thick with emotion. “I think the ATF has railroaded you, Nico. The more I read, the more I’m sure of it.”
I look at her, searching her face. “What makes you say that?”