“I love you,” she repeated, her eyes falling closed again. I held my breath for a moment, my hands frozen, until I saw the subtle rise and fall of her chest. She was alive, for now. I stood up and walked out of the bathroom. Ash followed me, looking at me in concern.
“I don’t know what to do,” I admitted.
“I don’t think she’s going to be okay, Z,” Ash said, softly.
I nodded. She wasn’t going to be okay. I wanted her to be okay, but I had learned in the past few months that wanting something meant nothing; even need was a silly thing to contemplate. The only thing that worked was what you got. “We should get rid of the bodies.”
“The bodies?” he asked.
I nodded toward the front door. “The bodies of the Awakened. There are quite a bit out there, and we should get rid of them.”
“Burn them? Bury them?” he asked. He looked disheveled, defeated and torn. There was blood and dirt streaked across his entire body, his jeans slung low on his hips, and I had never seen him look more beautiful in all the years I had known him. I wanted to run to him, to pull him to me and never let him go, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even feel.
I sighed, wiping a hand across my forehead. I was covered in blood, and I was sure I had just gotten blood all over my face now too. “We should bury them.”
He nodded, disappearing into the kitchen for a moment and reappearing with both of our shirts. It was hard to believe that less than an hour ago, Ash and I had been tearing each other’s clothes off on my mother’s kitchen counter.
I took my shirt back, pulling it over my head. I was shivering like crazy, but I didn’t think it was because I was cold. “There are shovels in the barn. Let’s go.”
SHE DIED TWO DAYS LATER. I changed the bandages. I washed her. I gave her antibiotics that I found in the medicine cabinet in the upstairs bathroom. I took care of her the best that I could to the best of my limited knowledge. I wrapped her in a ton of gauze and prayed and prayed and prayed, but she died.
My mother was dead.
I could barely look at the body that was lying in front of me. We had moved her upstairs, to her bedroom. She had been in and out of consciousness, mumbling nonsense or calling out for Caspar. She wasn’t herself anymore. She was sick. Her skin had burned hot with fever. She died in her sleep, free of the pain that had ben plaguing her for days.
Ash and I were both orphans now.
“Zoey…”
I shook my head, refusing to look at him. It couldn’t be happening. Not another person. Not now. Not ever. I felt the emotions boiling up in my stomach, up my throat, threatening to burst out. It was taking everything I had not to lose it. I had to keep myself sane; I had to keep myself calm. I had to survive, and I couldn’t lose my grip.
“Zoey?”
Ash was standing behind me, looking down at my mother’s body with a deep sadness on his face. “Are you okay?” he asked, reaching for me.
I ducked out of the way, heading downstairs and into the kitchen. “We need to go. This area isn’t safe anymore. We need to pack up and head out of here, make a plan,” I said.
“Zoey, no. There’s time for that. We’re safe for now. We need to bury your mom.”
I swallowed hard. “No, I just…I want to leave. We need to go.”
He crossed the room, coming to stand in front of me. I took a step back, overwhelmed by the heat radiating off of him. I kept shivering. “We are safe. I promise. You need to mourn your mom, Z. You need to give her what we couldn’t give your dad.”
“I don’t want to bury my mom,” I said through clenched teeth, my fingers lost in my hair. The bubbles were bursting in my throat, and I was about to spill over. “I don’t want to mourn her. I don’t want to care anymore. I just want to die.”
Ash’s face paled for a moment, but he didn’t react to me. “No,” he said, firmly. “You aren’t going to die. I’m not going to let you die. Your parents would want you to live. They would want you to keep fighting. You’ve been so brave and so strong, and you have to keep fighting. It’s what they would want.”
“They would want to be here with me, Ash. They would want to be alive,” I said, my voice raising.
“Of course they would!” he said, his voice remaining calm. I wanted to tear at him. I wanted to break the smooth look on his face. How could he feel that way? How could he not be bursting and ripping apart at the seams? “But they can’t. They can’t be here, Zoey, and I’m here. And we are going to do this, okay?”
“I don’t want to!” I screamed, reaching for the nearest thing to me. My hands found the salt and pepper shakers on the table. I threw them at the wall, sending salt and pepper scattering across the tile floor. I started grabbing things off the shelves and counters and throwing them, tossing them to the ground, feeling a sort of relief when they hit the ground or the wall. “I don’t want to. I’m tired, and I don’t care anymore. I don’t want to do it anymore. Don’t make me!”