Page 59 of Shattered

I barge into the kitchen, leaving the door wide open, to find Asher lying on his back, his head on the floor. He’s not moving.

Before I can fully panic, he screams.

“Get the fuck out, Bane!”

He’s absolutely furious; it’s evident in his voice, and I consider bolting for the door in fear.

But I won’t.

“It’s me,” I say simply.

That fact doesn’t ease his anger. “I don’t care who it is, I said GET THE FUCK OUT!”

His voice isn’t as strong this time. I feel it. His dumb ass must’ve fallen down the stairs, and by the sound of it, his pride broke his fall.

“Are you okay?”

I approach him cautiously, unsure of what he’ll do. He’s a volcano, and I have no idea what will come out, especially once I spot the fist-sized hole in the wall beside him.

“Do not take another fucking step,” he finally hisses.

I stop short, keeping some space between us, and watch as he turns around and sits up against the wall. His face twists in pain as he moves, and I can’t stand to see it.

“Just let me help you,” I urge, taking another hesitant step forward.

He manages to prop himself up to a sitting position, his back against the wall. His legs stretch straight out in front of him, and he clutches one with his hand in a white-knuckled grip. His face contorts in pain, and I find myself wincing.

“You don’t understand. No one understands,” he says, his voice hardly audible in a whisper.

“Then talk to me. Help me understand.”

“No.” He’s so firm with that no.

“If you’re not gonna talk, let me help you off the floor.”

“Fuck off.”

That’s when I lose it. “Asher, I swear to god, if you don’t let me help you up off this floor right fucking now, I’ll call an ambulance, and you know they’ll just sedate you; I sure as fuck would!”

His nostrils flare as he glares up at me, and I swear he’s going to breathe fire and incinerate my entire body.

“Donotfucking touch me.”

The irony of his words is not lost on me as he struggles to brace against the stairs and pull himself up. He stops halfway, unable to lift himself, and growls as he struggles. I see the moment he’s going to either pull something important or fall and hurt himself more, so at my own risk, I step in, sliding under his arm and using my whole body to push him up. I can feel the fury pouring off him as he reaches a stand, finally able to relax.

“Let me help you upstairs.” I nearly add that he should lie down, but I choose life and bite my tongue. Still, he tries to shrug me off, but he’s tired enough, and I’m rested enough that he can’t budge me. “Asher, I wasn’t fucking asking.”

Something in him caves, and though he won’t look at me, his whole body softens at that moment. Finally, but reluctantly, he allows me to help him up. We climb side by side, with me holding the weight he can’t handle. When we finally reach the top, I help him into his bedroom, and he collapses on the bed. He huffs when I sit beside him, shutting his eyes toward the ceiling.

“Never invited you to stay!” he hollers like a fucking child.

“You just fell down the stairs, you stubborn prick. I’m not leaving you here.”

“Y’know, that first night you charged over here to confront me, I wondered if you were ballsy or just stupid. You’re leaning stupid.”

“Shut up.”

Much to Asher’s disapproval, I settle into the bed, facing him on my side with my head on one of his pillows. It smells like him, a scent I find strangely comforting.

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