Page 96 of Any Means Necessary

“Please, go.” This time my voice is barely above a whisper, hitting him straight in the chest. He begrudgingly takes a step back to clear the doorway, his arms bracing himself on either side of the doorframe. When I close the door and turn the lock, the sound of his deep voice carries with the string of curses uttered violently under his breath.

Falling onto the bed, I kick my shoes off before crawling under the covers. No longer trying to hold back, I sob freely into my pillow.

I need to call Mia, or Julie, to talk through the devastating weight dangerously close to crushing me in this moment. I need someone to comfort me, tell me that everything will work out. I need advice on where to go from here, and what steps I need to take to heal from all of this. I need a voice of reason to talk me down from the emotional ledge I’m teetering on right now, dangerously close to freefalling into the knowledge that my life is over. I need understanding and logic against the irrational thoughts dragging me towards a spiral away from the person I’ve worked so hard to become, and back to the broken person I was before.

But I can’t.

I can’t tell anyone any of this. Legally, and morally, I can’t say a fucking word. Even if the NDA I signed wasn’t gagging me, there’s no way I could ever drag the people I love into this hell. The only person I can turn to for refuge is the man who caused all of this.

Instead I cry myself to sleep.

***

The sound of my phone ringing yanks me out of a restless sleep. My eyes are exhausted and tear swollen when I force them open to reach for the device. A photo of me and Mia on a wild night out lights the screen, my best friend’s name written across the top. Taking a deep breath, I press the button to answer.

“Hey Mia.” I force a cheerful tone despite my wrecked voice. Turns out spending the whole night sobbing uncontrollably really does a number on the vocal cords. “What’s up?”

“Lexie.” The way she says my name has me sitting up.

“What’s wrong?”

“Your sister’s here at the hospital.” There’s something in her tone that has a new knot forming in my stomach. Trying not to assume the worst, I ask for clarification.

“Samantha’s there, like, to visit?”

“She’s going into surgery, I wanted to call you before I scrub in. You’re still her emergency contact.” Mia’s voice is more serious than I’ve ever heard it before. This is real, the knot tightening painfully.

“What happened?”

“Looks like a hit and run. Her car rolled, she never regained consciousness.” I’m already up and moving. Woah, I’m kinda dizzy—last night’s episode really did a number on me. It feels like an emotional hangover.

“How is she?” Stumbling into the closet, I’m shoving clothes into my carryon suitcase before I can have a chance to look at what I’m grabbing. Anxiety is starting to build in my chest, pressing against my ribcage like a corset several sizes too small.

“She has pretty severe concussion, we won’t know the extent until she wakes up. The imaging showed massive internal bleeding. She’s at risk of paralysis and organ failure. We’ll know more after we open her up, but she’s stable.” Mia’s professionalism is impressive as she delivers the update of such an emotional personal topic. I can hear the sounds of hospital chaos around her, and I try not to picture my little sister part of the urgency.

The corset strings tighten painfully.

“I’m coming. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Bras and panties are being hastily tossed into the bag without consideration.

“I have to get into the O.R.” Mia’s voice is soft and riddled with restrained concern. “I’ll see you when you get here.”

“Ok,” I breathe. “Thank you for calling, I’ll let you go. Bye.”

“Of course,” Mia responds sincerely. “Bye.” Standing in the center of the closet—that looks like it was hit by a tornado—I look around feeling lost. Tugging on a clean pair of leggings and an oversized crewneck sweatshirt, I stuff my sock clad feet into my white tennis shoes.

Stepping over the piles of strewn clothing, I move to the bathroom to collect my toiletries before adding them to my bag. Zipping the carryon closed, I rush to the kitchen, trailing the suitcase behind me.

My phone is already open looking for flights from NYC to Oregon. Last minute flights are so expensive and have multiple hour long layovers. Overwhelmed and already emotionally raw from last night, the phone is shaking in my hand. Deciding just to pick the best of the shitty flights, and the most expensive, I struggle to fill out the ticket information.

I need my damn credit card.

Grabbing my handbag from the far edge of the counter, I’m digging through it frantically when I hear Callum enter the kitchen behind me. “What’s going on?”

Shoving things aside, my wallet is still nowhere to be found. “Where the fuck is it? It has to be in here.” I force out a shaky breath, my frustration level rising.

“What are you looking for?” he asks, getting closer.

“My wallet. I can’t buy a plane ticket without my fucking credit card.” Fed up, I take the bag and turn it upside down to empty the damn thing out on the counter. All of my shit comes tumbling out, scattering across the counter top and falling onto the floor.

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