Page 12 of Running Feral

The dampness from the bath means his hair is a little curlier than usual, falling in his eyes in dark ringlets. His eyes are just as dark, staring at something only he can see, and his skin has lost its cool undertone, looking pallid and drained instead.

“What’s the point?” he mutters, still not turning to look at me.

Yep. There goes another chunk of my heart, cracking and falling into the ocean like a fractured iceberg.

The urge to gather him to me and hold him is almost overwhelming, but his body language is much more prickly and insular than when he was grabbing at me before.

I settle for taking his hand, slowly and carefully, and holding it gently enough that he could easily pull away. It gives me another swell of hope when he holds me back, though, squeezing my fingers a fraction as he continues to stare at the faded gray fabric of the couch.

“I know you’re not going to like this, but if you refuse to go to the hospital, I’m calling Sav.”

His eyes go wide as his gaze snaps up to meet mine.

“Wha—”

I cut him off before he can panic anymore. “I know he’s part of the Banna. But I also know some shit you might not. He’s getting out. Really. You can’t tell anyone, but I know he is. And he hates Eamon more than anyone in this world. I can’t tell you why, but I know your location will be safe with him, without a doubt. His brother’s an ER nurse. I’ve met Micah a few times, and he seems sweet. I think he would be happy to help. These are your options, Tobias. I call them or we go to a hospital. We can go to one out of town. Hell, out of the state if you want to go to Arkansas. But I’m not letting you bleed to death and I’m not letting you leave until you’re safe. Got it?”

I’m breathing a little hard after my rant, and Tobias is still staring at me, wide-eyed.

For a second, I think he’s going to argue with me. I almost want him to, because it would show me that he’s still got some fire in him. But then his shoulders sag and his gaze drops, and he looks so fucking exhausted I want to gather him into my arms and never let go.

“Fine,” he mumbles. “Call them. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like he’s not going to find me and kill me eventually, anyway. Why not speed the process along? But I don’t want to go anywhere.”

The resignation in his voice is heart-wrenching, and I would normally want to fight with him over his myopic take on the situation, but I know this isn’t the time. He’s tired, he’s coming down from what must be a colossal adrenaline crash, and he’s probably in more pain than I can imagine.

Instead, I suppress my natural urge to lecture and focus on him. My hand travels across the space between us of its own volition, and before I know it, I’m smoothing back all that damp hair that’s fallen into his face. I keep my touch gentle, because he’s bruised everywhere, but he sinks into it all the same and seems to luxuriate in letting me pet him like a cat.

Time stretches out and then folds in, distorting itself. I lose my focus watching him relax, bit by bit, until I’m jarred out of my weird moment of serenity by remembering I’m supposed to be calling someone right now. Waking them up, most likely.

I’ll owe Sav some overtime or something. This is worth a few IOUs.

Before I call, I make one last imploring pitch to Tobias.

“Can you just trust me for a few hours? You came here because you needed help, right? Let me help you.”

The words come out in a pleading tone that I’m also not proud of, but I can’t stop myself. The only thought worse than him not letting me get him medical attention is him getting up and leaving, possibly to go back to that piece of shit.

There’s a moment where I think he’s going to fight. A certain kind of tension sitting around his mouth. But then he shrugs again and looks at me with a world-weary ‘what does it matter’ expression that doesn’t belong on the face of someone so young.

“Just trust me,” I repeat, grabbing his knee with my free hand before reaching for my phone. “For a little while. Please. Everything’s going to be okay.”

I don’t get a response, but it’s still better than him running away, so I’ll take it.

Chapter Five

Ionly catch snippets of the conversation Gunnar has on the phone, but I’m trying not to focus on it, anyway.

Whatever’s going to happen will happen. I can’t control it any more than I’ve been able to control the rest of my life. Right now, I’m letting the exhaustion wash over me as I sink deeper and deeper into Gunnar’s plush old couch and work on burying all my memories from tonight in the deepest recesses of my mind.

Eamon’s face. His touch. Everything he did. I thought I knew what he was capable of before, but this was so much more than just violence. There was a darkness to it all that I never expected.

I suppress a shudder and wish that Gunnar would come back to the couch. Of course, I don’t say it out loud. But I think it as fiercely as I can, as if the universe will maybe hear me.

The one good thing about how tired I am is that it’s insulating me from feeling embarrassment over how I’ve behaved so far tonight. Not only did I show up on his doorstep in the middle of the night begging for help when he barely knows me, but to cling to him like a little child…

It’s pathetic. But I feel pretty pathetic right now, so I’m giving myself a pass. Hopefully, he understands and isn’t too disgusted with me.

I couldn’t get a job that didn’t make me a garbage human. I’ve been lying to my grandmother, the only person who genuinely cares about me, for longer than I care to admit. And I have never been able to stand up to the redneck asshole who takes his personality disorder out on my ass.

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