Page 67 of When I'm Gone

Oh, hell. I’m going to have to do something drastic here. He obviously doesn’t want me holding him so it’s got to be different. What else works? Ice? He’d probably choke on it before it could do any good.Think, you fucking idiot, think…

The worst idea I’ve ever had occurs to me, but it’s all I’ve got, and his color is still awful. Worse, I’m pretty sure. “I am so fucking sorry for this, Easton. Please know that,” I mumble as I scoop him up. He fights me like a feral alley cat, scratching and clawing as he tries to wriggle out of my arms. Gritting my teeth, I tighten my grip and thank whoever or whatever is out there that there’s some fight left in him. Still isn’t breathing, though. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was having an allergic reaction and his throat was closed.

In the bathroom, I turn the shower nozzle to glacial and step in with him.Please, just let him be okay.The water is a degree above ice, stinging my cheek and a solid chunk of my upper body especially, which is another thing I don’t havetime to dissect until Easton is okay. As the water rushes over his naked body, he gasps, the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. He drags air in like he’s drowning, and I carefully set him down and step out, giving him the space I’m sure he needs from me.

Each stuttered lungful he manages, the steadier it gets. Dread and terror like I’ve never felt before settles deep in my bones. There’s no coming back from this. He’s been hurt more than anyone should be in a lifetime, and I refuse to contribute to any more of his pain. Going through the motions, I towel off and go on a search for something he can wear. I don’t feel the blood until it drips on the hardwood as I take the warmest sweats I own out of my dresser.

The source is a gash on my cheek from Easton’s fingernails. Good. He did damage. I prod at it, wincing at the contact. It’s not very deep, but it definitely stings. As sick as what I did to him makes me, I’m so fucking proud he fought back. He did a number on me. I’ve got about ten across my shoulders and chest where he really got a piece of me.

Tears prickle my eyes and threaten to spill over, but I blink them away. I can’t lose it yet. Get Easton some clothes. He’ll sit in that shower until he’s blue if I let him. Once he’s taken care of, then I can get far away from here so he doesn’t have to see it. That’s the fucking least I can do, now that I’ve done irrevocable damage. Make sure he doesn’t see.

There’s no looking at him when I drop the clothes off, but I listen to his unsteady breaths for long enough to confirm he’s not at risk of oxygen deprivation anymore, and turn the water to warmer when it sounds as even as it’s going to get in his current state before striding away. The uncontrollable need to watch out for him won’t leave me as easily as he’d probably like, even with the methodical, detached way I’m treating this.

It’s the only way I’m going to make it out of the house before the ground crumbles beneath my feet.

The water cuts off as I grab my car keys off the counter with an alarmingly shaky hand. At least I can find solace in the fact that he’s not going to be sitting in there until he’s frozen solid. Easton calls my name, brokenly and haggard, from behind the closed door. I stall, and almost go to him. Leaving him like this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I know him and that forgiving heart of his. He’ll forgive me, and I’d much rather he hate me when the price tag of his forgiveness is the progress he’s made in learning to not let people hurt him and call it love.

“Sweetheart, I am so fucking sorry,” I whisper before high-tailing it the fuck out of here.

~~~

Somewhere, I’m definitely somewhere. But the moonlight is dancing across the water and it’s as good of a place as any to get drunk. It’s also quiet, which is good for the kind of mental spiral I’m aiming for. Nothing to distract me from the whiskey and regrets.

A list of regrets so long it could cross this lake and back. Is it a lake? I don’t know. Somewhere in the sticks, that’s for sure. It’s not even like I picked the spot, but there was a liquor store about twenty minutes back and not much in the way of civilization, so it was too good to pass up.

God, I fucking ruined him. The most special and beautiful person I’ve ever known, and I squashed him. I did just what his ex did, we’re one and the same. Reeled him in only to commit unspeakable trauma on his body and soul.

I take another swig, and swallow it down, wincing at the burn. God, I hate getting drunk, especially on the hard stuff. But it was either this or wrapping my car around a fucking tree. There isn’t redemption for something like this. I’m fairly open-minded, or so I like to think. Lots of crimes canbe committed for valid reasons. Stealing when you’re starving or killing to protect your life, for example.

Nothing can justify this. I took someone else’s body; it wasn’t mine to give. I knew, I knew that I should have called it off tonight. I thought I had done my due diligence in checking with him, but it happened so fucking fast. One second, he was fine and the next, he wasn’t.

I’m repulsed with myself. I should have known better. Should have done better. How can I claim to care about someone and do this to them in the same breath?

Twigs snap a few feet from behind my head, but I don’t startle. Don’t even care what it is. Maybe a bear. Then my mom would think my carelessness was an accident.

When a familiar figure drops down beside me in the rocks and mud, some part of me knew he’d find me even if I hoped he wouldn’t. “You should go,” I say firmly. Fuck, I don’t want to argue with him.

“Tough luck,” Brady returns, maneuvering me so he can get comfortable leaning against the large tree trunk we’re apparently sharing.

He’s going to hate me too. Hate would be putting it mildly. I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t bury me. “Just go, Brady.”

He snorts a laugh, but I don’t know what’s funny. “Yeah, right. No way in hell am I leaving you drunk and alone in the middle of a forest. And it’s fucking almost midnight.”

Despair tears my chest open. I’ve already lost both of them. Brady is simply choosing to humor the corpse of our friendship because he doesn’t know any better yet. Brady has been by my side my entire adult life, I have no idea who I’d be without him. How I’d continue on.

“I really wish you would,” I mumble through a veil of tears.

Brady makes a pained noise, as though he can feel the axe cutting out something essential inside me, something thatwas never meant to be severed, much less hacked to pieces. “Talk to me,” he pleads.

I take another swig instead. How the fuck do I tell him something like this? Brady grows impatient with my silence. “Let me try this another way. I saw you drive away like your ass was on fire and went to check on Eas.”

A lump lodges itself in my throat, I’m only able to shake my head in response. I can’t—I can’t think about the condition he is in now because of me. “Don’t,” I mouth, but I know he felt me say it.

I’ve already lost them both. My best friend and my only—nope. If I say that, even internally, it’s going to kill me. “You gotta go home, Ace.”

“I can’t,” I insist. He doesn’t understand. Easton might not even yet. Sometimes, it takes time for a trauma to really set in. But I know.

Brady sighs. “We don’t have to talk about it tonight. If you want to get shitfaced, I’m not going to stop you.”

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