Chapter 5 #2
Blair lets out a stunned gasp, grabbing onto the collar of his jacket in a brief, desperate embrace. Relief only lasts a second before she yanks back to swat his chest hard enough to draw a hiss out of him. “Why’d you do that?” she chokes out, nails biting into her palms.
“What the hell are you on about?” he rips out the words impatiently. “I should be asking you that.”
“Me?” she shrieks, her entire frame shaking beside him as she flings a finger toward the shattered lightbulb behind us, launching straight into a panicked ramble recounting everything that’s just happened.
Brows furrowed, he cocks his head to glance over her shoulder, his gaze settling on the scattered fragments strewn across the floorboards.
My chest tightens as I watch them, the cracks spreading quietly through me, mimicking the splintered glass behind me.
Toxic fumes infiltrate my head as their argument dissolves into unintelligible noise, the room around me blurring into a sick, disorienting haze.
By the time they’re done bickering, he pulls her into a tight embrace, his hand smoothing over the back of her head while she sniffles into him.
A few moments later, they retreat out of the room, their voices fading further and further away.
Leaving me behind.
Alone with my own thoughts for the first time since walking into this house, the full weight of everything crashes over me hard enough to make something inside me cave inward.
It feels worse than the day I lost my father. Worse than enduring years trapped beneath the same roof as the woman he remarried and all the heartless ways she learned to chip away at whatever was left of me.
Because despite all of that, I still had Dax.
Or maybe I only thought I did.
Now I’m left rifling through every small, intimate moment between us, trying to figure out how I missed all the cracks until something uglier finally claws its way past the grief.
Anger.
Its virulence catches me off guard, burning away the numbness fast enough to make me dizzy with it. Near the doorway, Manson shifts subtly, lashes so thick and hooded I can barely make out the dark brown of his eyes, leaving him unreadable.
Melting deeper into the ground, my arms tremble as I scuffle back in a hesitant, jerky motion, unable to control myself. Every inch of my body stings and aches, but it’s the spikes encapsulating the inner walls of my chest that threaten to crush me and send daggers pricking behind my eyes.
Teeth grinding, I keep my attention fixed on him as he tracks every hesitant movement I make, arms rigid at his sides. A twitch ripples through his fingers before they slowly curl into fists, the only fracture in his otherwise unreadable stillness.
Somewhere between panic and hysteria, a gamut of terrifying thoughts snarl together in my head, strangling the words before they can leave my mouth. Blistering white spots pepper my vision.
Speak. Beg. Shout.
Just do something.
But my tongue only bloats heavier behind my chattering teeth.
He closes some of the distance between us.
Shrinking back, a strangled whimper slips out of me as my legs scraggle against the wood, drawing closer to my chest for protection. Painfully aware of just how exposed and vulnerable I am.
Why’s he the only one who can see me?
Why’s he so unfazed?
The questions all die in the back of my throat, a slobbering tangle of sobs ejecting in their place.
Taking in my visceral reaction, he stops an arm’s length away. A heavy sigh escapes him before he spears his long, blunt fingers through his tangled blond hair, tugging it back before meeting my eyes. I dodge them, screwing mine shut like that’ll blank him out of existence.
“Tatum,” he says, his voice just as gentle as I’d ever known it. “Won’t you look at me?”
A thread of reluctance keeps my lips stitched tight, trembling as I stiffly shake my head, attention fixed on the darkness behind my eyelids.
He groans, sounding almost pained.
Silence drags for only a moment before he moves closer, soft on his heels the way I’d expect from a hunter circling its prey.
Floorboards groan closer and immediately, I flinch, squeezing my eyes tighter and dragging my aching palms against the cold hardwood to draw myself back as far as I can go.
“S-stay back.”
My voice comes out in a pathetic squeak, stripped so raw with fear it jars me. Spasmodic trembling jerks through my body like a marionette yanked by invisible strings. I keep retreating until the small of my back slams into the cold wall and my spine snaps rigid.
Both arms fling up as my last line of defense, barricading me behind the tears streaking down my face. It’s all I can do.
“P-please. Please, d-don’t come—don’t—"
My stutter returns with a vengeance, hijacking the rest of my words.
Shoulders climbing toward my ears, I shrink deeper into myself. My broken cries double in pitch as he crouches beside me. His arms brace either side of my head, silently urging me to look at him, but I keep my eyes screwed shut, lashes wet and trembling.
Manson whispers my name again, each syllable scraping through my defenses, but I don’t budge. The space between us shrinks.
He’s so close.
“It’s not as bad as it feels,” he says softly with a tone that almost has me forgetting the meaning behind them. “I promise. You’re safe.”
Against my better judgment, I latch to the soothing tenor of his voice as it settles over me, grounding me enough not to completely drown in this pulverizing reality I’ve found myself in.
“Let me help you.”
Somehow, I manage to see past the sheen of tears enough to meet his roaming eyes, catching on the lines etched between his brows. But everything sways again, dragging me into a floaty haze that fogs my mind and dulls my reflexes despite my best efforts to fight it.
Pushing against the lump in my throat, I ask, “What’s happening to me?”
One of his hands leaves my side, drifting down to cup my cheek, his thumb dusting my jaw. Every inch of my body tightens.
“Promise me you won’t pull away,” he says, his head cocking to the side as we lock eyes, his expression so tender it begins chipping at my resolve.
Reluctantly, I nod. Desperate for something else to focus on besides the combative thoughts rattling around my head, I trace a fingernail along the rough edge of the floorboards beside me.
Silence festers for the briefest moment, but it feels like an eternity.
Brows quirking, he opens his mouth, hesitates, then presses his lips hard enough to flatten them again. My gut churns.
Unease creeps back in, but I funnel it into the protruding nail jutting from the floor, worrying the sharp edge beneath my thumb while the slightest shift in his expression tugs at my nerves.
“Manson, you’re scaring me.”
His throat rolls. The tension in his jaw clashes with the gentle way he caresses the edge of my chin. “I’m not trying to. I just—”
Releasing my chin, he carefully stills the nervous motion of my thumb against the nail.
His attention never leaves my face as he guides my arm higher, drawing me away from the wall I’m slumped against. Afraid to test his strength, I let him maneuver it around my head, unable to make sense of what he’s doing.
It’s taking too much energy to dissect everything. Too much energy to keep my head afloat as a splitting ache unfurls behind my eyes and fans outward across my skull.
“You had a really bad fall,” he begins to say—
—the fall.
My mind snaps back to it, but the thoughts reel too quickly for me to pick apart and sort through.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, the sadness in his voice raising every hair along my neck. “I never wanted this to hurt you. I just didn’t know how to explain it all. Yet.”
“What?” I splutter, my voice meek and wavering, warily tracking every flicker that crosses his face. Something is crushing my chest.
Eyes still locked on mine, he guides my trembling hand around the back of my head until my fingertips brush something cold and damp.
A tidal wave of fear grips me by the throat. I choke on it, unable to form intelligible words. Frozen. Cemented in place. Time collapses into a slow, dreadful loop of confusion and agony. I need it all to stop.
When he lowers my hand back in front of us, bright red coats my fingers, the metallic scent sharp and prominent.
My eyes widen at the sight of it, a broken, disbelieving sound slipping from me, my thoughts tripping over each other.
I’m bleeding.
Why am I bleeding?
Manson’s soft features collapse a fraction, his eyes hooded when he delivers the final blow.
“I’m so sorry, Tatum,” he says, his voice low and regretful. “You didn’t survive.”