Page 41 of Reckoning

Madeline

It was a struggle to breathe normally when he entered the room and even harder when he sat next to me. I nearly jumped out of my skin when he touched my back. Was he tracing my scar? My hand closed tighter around the porcelain, and a corner cut into my palm. I’d deal with that later.

But his words didn’t make sense.

It sounded like a goodbye.

And then … nothing more. No kiss or further caress, though I could sense his hand hovering just above my skin as if held back by an invisible wall. And then with one final exhale, he was gone.

The lock to the bathroom door clicked shut, and there was quiet for a while. But then he stumbled, and I heard the crack of bone on tile, the scattering of something small against a hard floor, and his strained laughter. I sat up cautiously, still holding my weapon. What was he doing in there? The room suddenly felt cold, as if he had opened the windows to let in the fall night air, but a look over my shoulder assured me they were closed. Releasing my makeshift knife for the moment, I grabbed the shirt I’d tucked underneath his pillow and pulled it on, then rearmed myself and crept out of bed toward the bathroom. Should I call his name? Maybe the element of surprise would be better. Standing on my toes, I felt around on the top of the doorframe with my free hand until I found the emergency door key, turning it as quietly as I could in the lock until the door swung into the room and was able to step into the light, only to find Meyer sprawled unresponsive on the floor, empty bottle and loose pills strewn about his body

I probably should have just let him die. It seemed like something anyone else would have done in my situation. But the moment I saw him, I forgot every vendetta, the anger and hurt I’d been nursing and feeding for the past three weeks.

His chest rose with a shallow breath, then fell.

Whatever Meyer had been through in his thirty years of life to turn him into this monster didn’t warrant a death sentence. He’d been nasty, cruel, and outright violent with me, but despite all that, there was a gossamer ribbon linking his heart to mine. What happened when the heart on one end of that thread ceased to beat? Would the other one stop along with it?

Another inhale, then the discharge of breath.

I fell beside him to feel his face. His skin was cool, but that was normal. Was he colder than usual?

His chest didn’t rise again.

Maybe I’d finally lost my mind. But I didn’t want to lose half my heart along with it.

He had to wake up. There wasn’t any other option.

I slammed my fist against his chest.

He coughed.

“JOSHUA!” I screamed as I tried to roll Meyer on his side. He was so damn heavy. “JOSHUA! GET IN HERE!” I finally got him up off the ground, and I worked on prying open his mouth. God, should I make him vomit? I tried to think. He could choke. But what else could I do? I grabbed the pill bottle off the floor, black type swimming before my eyes as I struggled to read but couldn’t hold my hand still. Oxy. Was that an opiate? I didn’t know!

The bedroom door slammed open behind me, and I sobbed in relief as Joshua burst into the bathroom. “Please help,” I begged, turning to look at him. “He’s having trouble breathing.”

“Christ,” he muttered, falling down beside me and pulling out a nasal spray. “I just got this yesterday.”

I stared at him in horror as he jammed the tube up Meyer’s nose and pushed the plunger, delivering the anti-overdose drug to his system. “Has he done this before?”

“Once,” he said grimly. He reached into his jacket and handed me his cell phone. “Call the doctor.”

“911?”

Joshua looked at me in horror. “No, God no. His father will know. Dr. Yang is in the contacts.” He pressed his head against Meyer’s chest. “He has a strong heartbeat. Do you know how long he’s been under?”

“Not long.” My hands shook as I searched for the doctor’s phone number. “It was just a few minutes.”

“Sometimes, that’s all it takes.” Joshua grabbed my shoulders. “Hold yourself together, Madeline. He’ll be fine.” He looked down and frowned. “You’re bleeding.”

I stared at my palm with the phone ringing in my ear. There was a deep slash across my palm, the piece of porcelain I’d intended to use to kill Meyer on the floor by my knee. “I …”

“Forget it,” he snapped and grabbed the phone from me just as the doctor answered. “Make sure he keeps breathing.”

I placed my head against Meyer’s chest, listening to the slow thudding in my ear, the rush of blood through his arteries that continued to flow despite his best attempt. As Joshua spoke to the doctor, telling him how much Meyer had taken, counting out the pills left on the floor, I spread my blood against Meyer’s chest while I gripped his shirt for dear life.

His palm met the back of my head, gently stroking my hair, fingers twining with the strands as his chest rose with a deep, strangled breath.

I sat up, grabbing his face, and he placed his other hand over one of mine. He groaned, the first sound he’d made since I came in. “What …?”

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