I’ve got to say, disappointing a caring parent is brutal on the heart. I actually broke down and sobbed for the first time in nearly six months after he strode out of my little curtained cubby of a room, certain I’d failed him in every way. And then I had to listen to him yell at Will in the hallway, and Will yell back, and it amazed me to realize that they weren’t shouting because they blamed or were mad at one another or were mad, but because they were worried. And upset. And it was because of me.
Which made me sob all the more. They care about me.
Would my parents have done the same? No—my parents didn’t even come to see me in the hospital after I’d nearly died after an Elders’ attack. They’d been too busy with their careers. If they knew I’d had alcohol poisoning, and of course were still speaking to me, there’s no doubt I would’ve only received a lecture via phone. Except, instead of the one in which Cameron practically grounded me (an adult) until I’m thirty, I would’ve heard something along the lines of, “Stop embarrassing us.”
Cameron and Will, though—they’d stayed with me all night. When the nurses tried to kick them out, Cameron told them I was his daughter and he had every right to be with me if I wanted him there. He immediately demanded that a friend of his who worked in the hospital come see me personally. In my weakened, vomit-y state, I could swear the dude was part-Elf, but I figured I was just imagining things. Will filled out my admission paperwork. They took turns holding back my hair as I threw up everything in my stomach, and then some. Cameron listened to his friend’s diagnosis and after-care like my very life depended on it, and, shaking with rage and worry, vowed I would follow each instruction to the letter.
He’s at work right now. He didn’t want to go, but Will eventually convinced him to go, insisting my butt wouldn’t leave the couch longer than to go the bathroom the entire day.
The moment we’re through the door, Will barks, “Alcohol poisoning is not funny!”
I’m not laughing, but as he’s on edge, I decide to wade carefully into this mess of my own making. “I know, Will.” My smile is weak. “At least they didn’t have to pump my stomach. Thank goodness for small favors, right?”
This was the wrong thing to say, because his eyes go so wide I fear they’ll pop right out. “Oh yes. Thank goodness! You only had to spend the night hooked up to IVs whilst vomiting up the contents of your stomach. How lucky you were.”
I bite my lip, unsure as what to say. But I do know this: he deserves an explanation. “Can we sit down?”
He nods and stalks over to the couch; I perch on the coffee table so we face one another. “First off, thank you for what you did for me. What both you and your dad did.”
Some of the anger eases off his handsome face. “Zoe.” He takes my hands. “In the last half year, we’ve become family. Screw blood.” He squeezes my hands gently despite the vehemence in his voice. “We are family. Which means you’re daft if you think I’m going to just sit back and watch you try to drown yourself, even if it’s what you think you want.”
Bits of my hair stick to my face when I nod, but I don’t want to let go of his hands long enough to wipe them away. “I know. And I thank you for that, because I love you, too.”
He scoffs, but I know it pleases him. He loves me just as much as I love him, even if he’s not one to say those three words out loud.
“Last night . . .” I shake my head. “Yesterday. I did something stupid yesterday.”
“You called someone.”
I blink in surprise.
He rolls his eyes. “You told me that last night.” He sobers. “I checked your phone, but the last call in your log was to me. Zo, what’s going on? I know you’re unhappy, that somebody broke your heart, but I figured I’d wait until you felt safe telling me. But now . . . Fuck this. I’m not tiptoeing around you anymore. Tell me what drove you to nearly kill yourself last night.”
Oh, it hurts so much to realize this is what he and his dad must’ve thought I’d done. “I didn’t try to kill myself. It was more . . . I wanted to forget. To stop hurting.” I take a deep breath, only to find Will watching me with immense concern. “I . . .” The words are hard to get out, especially as there’s no way I can tell him about how, in desperation, I’d actually attempted to break the Connections I have. I’d figured . . . I’d closed the door between me and my Conscience. Why couldn’t I do so with a Connection? It seemed simple at first—I visualized erasing those ties, but I ended up basically stabbing my heart about a hundred times before ripping it right out of my chest.
In the end, the Connections remained, and I had to find myself something to drink because I hated myself even all the more.
“You can trust me,” Will is saying, bringing my attention back to him.
“I know. It’s just . . .” Another deep breath. Time to open up a bit about what I can, even if it’ll hurt. Even if all of this changes how he feels about me. I can’t keep lying to all the people I care about in my life, or shutting down and pretending everything is fine when it’s not. “I called my . . .” Connection. Soul mate. The person I’ve loved since I was four. “Fiancé.”