He kisses me again and another shudder wracks through me. “Just get the hell out of here. Leave his crazy ass here. I can deal with him. But you, my love,” he says in an admonishing whisper, “need to get the fuck away from him.”
Heavy footsteps thunder into the kitchen and I hear the cocking of a gun. “Get the ever loving fuck away from my girl or I’ll pump your head with every goddamn bullet in this gun.”
Gabe presses another kiss to my neck before pulling away. Brandon charges forward, gun raised like he might hit him again, but I intervene.
“Enough, Brandon!” I huff and gesture to Gabe, “Just tie him back to the chair.”
Brandon curses but slams the gun onto the counter so he can wrangle Gabe back to the chair. Once he finishes, I regard my longtime friend who looks so different from the boy I once knew. He’s still every bit as ripped as the last time I saw him. But now, as he dons only a pair of jeans and no shirt on his chest, I can see some things have changed. His once pure flesh has been inked up in a gigantic dragon tattoo that covers his shoulder and part of one pec. Fire pours from its mouth surrounding where his heart is. Inside the fire is a name.
My name.
Baylee.
His dark green eyes almost glow with the rage that ripples from him. With each angry breath he takes, his muscles tighten and twitch making his dragon seem alive. The fire looks as though it’s licking and twisting on his flesh, charring the boy from my past and revealing the demon from within.
Gabe’s lying.
I think.
Brandon stalks toward me and I flinch. I don’t miss the scowl on Gabe’s face as he watches Brandon’s every move. Nor do I miss the furious glare of disgust as Brandon notices my small retreat away from him.
But then, as if suddenly someone doused the demon with holy water, he returns. Green eyes glitter to life and a smile quirks up on his lips as he flashes me a flirtatious grin.
“Like what you see, babe?”
It alarms me how quickly he was able to change moods. As if he could sense my unease and wanted to calm me.
Forcing a laugh, I wave at the chicken. “Feed him that, will you? I’m going to take a quick shower.”
Without waiting for an answer, I leave his confusing presence and hurry to the bathroom. Once inside, I lock the door and sit down on the lid of the toilet.
Gabe’s words won’t stop replaying in my head, despite my desire to discount them as his own lunatic evaluations.
There’s something going on with Brandon, though. And I don’t like it one bit.
I’ve got to figure out a way to get away from him. From both of them.
And soon.
THEY KEEP ME drowning and lost in a sea of prescribed darkness. Each time I find clarity, the icy chill of calming bliss wraps its tentacles around my mind and drags me back under. Oftentimes I fight. I fight for her. My sun and moon. The only light inside my goddamned head.
But each time, she’s gone.
I promise myself as I begin to wake up that I won’t let them steal her from me. As each and every memory of my girl comes back to me, I greedily horde all of her smiles, frowns, and peaceful stares into my memory bank. My goal is to put them into a place in my mind so that if I’m pushed back into the darkness, I can find her burning bright somewhere in the fucking abyss.
“War.”
Dad’s voice has spoken to me intermittently, a constant lifeline in my dark hell. Sometimes I’m able to grasp onto it and pull myself out. Other times, no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to latch on and free myself.
The nurses and doctors think they’re helping me by sedating me but the medications don’t help. They thrust me right back into the nightmares I’ve grown so accustomed to. But this time, it’s harder to break free of them. This time, I feel more lost than ever before.
The few moments of clarity I’ve had were spent obsessing. Being stuck in a hospital, it has nearly driven me to the brink of ultimate madness, knowing the entire building is crawling with toxins and germs.
“War.”
I hear my father again. This time, I reach for him. His warm hand envelops my own and it pulls me from the darkness. Not long ago, I’d have been horrified to touch him but now I crave his comfort. With several slow blinks, I see my worried father keeping vigil at my bedside.
Baylee.
I try to say her name but I’m still unable to speak. I’m not sure what this means but I’m completely unaware of what’s going on with my body. I feel as though I’m a hurricane of thoughts trapped in an unmoving corpse.
“You have to get better, son,” Dad tells me with tears in his eyes. “You’re living in your head. I need you out here with me, boy.”
My throat aches with emotion but no tears come. I know I’m not paralyzed because I can feel his grief all the way down to my toes. But, I can’t move or speak.
Just blink.
“Baylee needs you.” His words cause my eyes to burn. I wish I could cry for my girl. To show any signs of improvement so I can get her back.
But the moment I blink, the threat of tears disappears.