Page 77 of Forgiving Fate

Allie…help him.My heart stops as what sounds like my mom’s voice filters through my head.

Tears fall faster down my face as her words play over and over in my head. And then I realize that I’m not hallucinating. I am remembering the words my mom uttered as my dad faded away.

“Allie. I need you.”

Landon’s voice filters through my mind and my eyes fly open to see Landon sitting up on the bed, his shirt gone and his arm extended backwards, holding his shirt against his back. For the first time, I see that his tattoos extend beyond his arms and neck. His sides are covered with various geometric patterns with vines woven between them.

Blood drips down the front of his chest, and I feel like I’m going to be sick.

I stabbed Landon.

“Allie girl. I need your help. Please.”

Nodding, I stand on shaky legs and move closer to him.

I can do this.

“I–I,” I say as I walk up to him, my hands and legs shaking profusely.

Landon shakes his head. “It’s okay. It’s my fault. I should not have come in here how I did and I will explain in just a minute, but right now, I really need your help.”

Everything hits me at once, and I walk on unsteady feet to the bathroom and grab a towel. And when I come back, I walk up to Landon and stand to the side of his legs. And that’s when I get a good look at the damage that I did. The cut may be small, but I can tell it is deep. The serrated blade pierced though the skin causing the jagged edges of the cut to allow me to see things I would rather not.

Taking a deep breath, I press the towel to Landon’s back and his body visibly winces.

Landon bows his head into his hands and mutters, “Fuck.”

Leaning closer, I rub his back and then a smell hits me and it’s not blood.

Cinnamon. Smoke…Whiskey.

Straightening my spine, I press the towel into his back, and Landon sits back up. He is avoiding my gaze, and a slight twinge of anger replaces the fear and guilt of just stabbing my only friend.

Minutes tick by and my anger rises. My hands are no longer shaking and I try to calm myself down, but no matter what way I spin it, I cannot get rid of the anger.

Landon came into my house while I was sleeping. He didn’t call. He didn’t wait until he heard back from me to just walk in. He did nothing that allowed me to gain trust and a routine. He just walked in, clearly drunk, and now he is sitting here with a stab wound because of it.

What the hell is my life right now?

Half of me wants to scream at him and the other half understands that we all have our vices, and I just confirmed Landon’s. But I could have killed him. If he wasn’t moving around, I could have slit his throat and then I would not only have his blood on my hands but his life, too.

Panic and anger fight against each other as the silence that is normally welcomed sits between us like a loaded gun.

I stare down at the man who is supposed to be a predictable constant in my world, who is now an unpredictable variable that I know is struggling, but has just shown me a side that I didn’t expect.

Landon scrubs his hands over his face and rests the side of his head in his hands. He looks fucking exhausted. My anger fades away slightly. I know he is struggling. I know the last thing he needs from me is to pester him with questions…especially after I just stabbed him. But I don’t think I can go another second without confronting the elephant in the room.

“Allie. I’m —-”

Shaking my head, I interrupt him. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this. Can we just cut to the chase and skip the “I’m sorry’s”? What the actual fuck were you thinking, Landon? I could have killed you!”

Landon sits up, and I continue to hold pressure on his back. “I know. I’m—”

I furrow my brows at him and give him a pointed look, and he stops mid sentence.

“Allie. I know you don’t want to hear me say it, but I need to. So just give me a chance to explain. Please.” His voice is full of exhaustion and I know he knows he messed up.

Now the question is, do I give him a chance to explain or kick him out and try to fight this battle in my head alone?

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