Chapter 56
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
I think living out of a hotel room is going to actually drive me crazy.
It’s been three weeks, and we and the animals–who we’ve been hiding–have jumped from hotel to hotel to let the heat die down.
Although we haven’t caught much heat. Arthur was reported missing, but because they haven’t found a body or any ‘enemies,’ his case has slid to the side.
Plus, I’m pretty sure Micah’s friend Dakota works with the police department and has been pulling some strings.
We could have gone back to Micah’s townhouse, but I just…can’t. I told Micah to go back, and he refused.
Stare at a phone, eat food, stare at a wall, drink water, stare out a window, take the trash out. It’s gotten to the point where taking the trash out every evening is the highlight of my day.
I’m barely functioning. There are reminders of Arthur all over the place, in every older guy I see walk past the window, in every cop that pops up on social media, in every soft look Micah gives me, as if he’s looking at me and seeing my past. I think he caught me waking up crying, although I can’t confirm it.
Either way, he treats me like I’m fragile, and I’m not fucking fragile.
Thank fuck the tattoo stopped itching. On some of my later nights, I imagined the itching feeling was Arthur trying to crawl out of my skin.
In bad moments, it feels like there’s a volcano in my chest. Sometimes it makes me want to scream, and other times it burns all the feeling out of me, and all I feel I can do is lie in bed and stare at the ceiling.
Micah and I never returned to the thing we started that night. I think I’ve figured out Micah’s side of the game–he wants me to take the lead. Wants me to admit weakness first. Wants me to admit I can’t stop looking at him when I think he isn’t watching. But not in a mean way. At least, not yet.
I just…fuck. In my weakest moments, I think about it, but I mostly try to occupy myself by spending time with Minky and Princess. Minky has been spending a lot of time in the bathroom so Princess doesn’t wipe the floor with his ass.
“Hey, take a look at this place!” Micah beams, showing me his phone. We’re lying in our separate beds, and he’s been showing me properties he wants to buy. It brings me so much guilt because I caused this. I made his home a murder scene.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but when I do, my last nightmare pops into my mind.
The one where Arthur comes back to life and beats Micah to death in front of me.
Where he hurts Princess. They always end as he strangles me to death on the floor, looking at their bodies, knowing damn well I deserve it for letting them get hurt.
I never should have told Arthur off. This is all my fault.
I don’t tell Micah about the dreams. Maybe it’s because the thought of Micah thinking I’m weak makes me want to gag. I should be over this by now. It’s over. It’s all over. So why am I still fucking dreaming about it?
Only it’s not over because Micah, Princess, and Minky are out of a home now because of me.
I glance at the property. It’s an old-looking farmhouse.
“There are a few acres! And a barn! We could start our sanctuary there!”
I frown. Micah is talking about us like we’re a…thing. It throws me every time. Are we a thing? Or does he mean the weird bond when you kill someone together?
Micah is looking at me, as if he expects a response. I dodge the ‘we’ topic. “Aren’t there rules about that kind of stuff? Pretty sure you can’t just…collect a shit ton of animals like some underground zoo.”
Micah’s face falls, losing that easy joy he had just a minute ago.
Because of me.
Something gross twists in my gut. I’m robbing him of his joy.
“I’m sure we could figure it out.”
There it is, that we again.
My heart races. Does he mean we could be some sort of…what? Couple?
The last time I became a couple with someone, I almost died. And then he died.
I look for somewhere to go, but there isn’t anywhere. Dim light from the closed curtains filters into our small space, and the relentless feelings in my chest build.
I need to get out. To breathe.
I stalk to the bathroom, where I have to push Minky gently out of the way and shut the door.
In there, the feeling of being trapped builds. What am I doing? Playing house? As if that was ever a safe option.
Glancing in the mirror, I catch a glimpse of my face. It’s haggard, with dark circles under my eyes even though all I do is lie in bed.
Then, there’s movement behind me in the shower.
It’s Arthur. He’s leaning against the shower wall, smirking.
Arthur. My heart races, jackhammering in my chest, and for a moment I want to run. What is Arthur doing here? He’s not here. He can’t be. He’s dead.
Arthur lunges for me.
I don’t think, I just turn around and throw a fist into his face.
Only, my fist doesn’t hit anything until it does, smashing into the shower wall with a bang. I whirl, looking for where he could have gone.
Arthur isn’t there.
“Are you okay?” Micah’s panicked voice asks.
I stare, heaving. Fuck this wall. Fuck this place. Fuck everything. I’m going crazy.
“Mads?” Micah is at the door now.
“Fine,” I say. I don’t want him to see me like this. Why does he care?
I turn to see Minky shivering on the other side of the room like he’s afraid of me. Grief punches me in the chest, and I drop to my knees.
“Mads, please, let me in,” Micah says. He’s pleading with a note of genuine terror in his voice, which spikes my heart rate. He’s not going to leave me alone.
Fine, fine, fucking fine. I rip the bathroom door open. “See! I’m fine.”
Micah steps inside. “Your hand.”
I glance down. My knuckles are split open.
“Are you okay? What happened?”
The worst thing is that there is genuine concern in his voice. I don’t deserve that concern.
Tears make my throat tight. Horrifying, weak tears.
“I thought I saw…” I stop myself. Because saying I saw Arthur will absolutely get me landed in the loony bin. And I’m not crazy.
At least, I don’t think I am.
“I’m fine,” I snap.
There’s a moment of silence. I glance up to see pain in Micah’s eyes. Pain where there’s usually sweet, enthusiastic kindness. Genuine kindness.
My chest tightens so much it hurts, pain gripping around my ribcage like talons.
I’m hurting Micah. The only man who has been truly kind to me.
Pain, pain, pain.
I hate this version of me. This isn’t me. This isn’t me.
“I…” I stare at him, hovering on this moment. Every old instinct says not to show weakness. To turn around and run. And yet, those blue eyes still look up at me with…kindness. Still. Despite everything.
I can’t face them. I turn away, my heart racing, and say, “When I go on my walks, I’m not walking; I’m throwing food away because I can’t eat it.”
The confession feels odd in the bathroom, and I wait for Micah to do something. To mock me. To judge.
But because I’m facing away, I can’t see him.
So I keep talking.
“I want to sleep all day and be up all night, but I don’t want to sleep during the day either because of the dreams…” I glance down to see that Minky has moved up to start chewing on my socks with his needle-sharp teeth. No longer cowering.
I crouch down, petting him. Minky ignores me and goes for the bath towel instead.
“I can’t keep living in a hotel; it’s driving me crazy.”
I mean, I punched the shower wall. That's something Arthur would have done. I’m turning into him.
My breathing grows faster and faster.
I hear Micah crouch down behind me, and I wonder what the hell he’s thinking. Does he think I’m crazy?
I turn to glance at him. He sits criss-cross applesauce like a kid, pursing his lips. “I swear I saw a demon by the dumpster the other day, but turns out it was just a shadow.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m with you. I think I’m going a bit stir crazy.”
I stare at him. He picks at his fingernails. I don’t think he’s mocking me. Or judging.
In a blank tone, I ask, “Do you think I’m crazy?”
“Crazy? No.” Micah puts his hands in his lap. “Traumatized? Yeah. I mean, Arthur did a number on you, but then…what we had to do…you know? It’s not something people usually see.” He glances down, face flushed.
Right. He also participated. He shot Arthur to keep me from feeling guilty.
Something cold and hard slams into my gut at the same time as my cheeks get so hot I feel like I have to hide my face.
I don’t deserve this man. Like even a little.
I need to be better. Be less…angry. Less freaked out. For a minute, I think through how in the hell I could do that. I could try to be less grumpy. Try to be less angry. I need to try.
But the thought makes the back of my throat hurt. How am I going to do that? How? I can’t even sleep.
“You know, back when I lost my dad, I got put on meds. They helped at the time.”
Immediately, I balk. I don’t need meds. Meds are for crazy people, and don’t they come with a bunch of side effects? I don’t fucking want that. What if they change me?
Micah gives me a worried look, and I look back down at my hand. My knuckles are split, and they’re pounding and hot.
Fucking hell, I punched a hole in the wall and scared Minky. I can’t sleep. I’m hurting Micah. Turns out you can try to stop playing old games, but sometimes they still play you.
I have to try something. I need off this ride.