Page 82 of Fractured

“Lilith,” Ambrose panted as he ran up to my side. His arms locked around me, tugging me away from railing. I sagged in his arms, numb, confused. “You don’t want to die, do you?”

“No,” I croaked out as sandpaper seemed to rub along the insides of my throat. “I want to live. I want to be normal. I want tolove,” I wailed with no tears.

For once, my eyes were dry.

“Then come back home with me,” Ambrose said. “We can chat through this. We can work out a plan. Your life doesn’t have to end this way.”

I should have protested, but I couldn’t speak. My body went limp as he picked me up and carried me back to my place. Atticus and Saint joined us on either side, casting sorrowful looks over my exhausted form. When I glanced over his shoulder, Kenzo followed behind, as if he was the defensive line. As if they thought I’d have the energy to run again.

I didn’t.

This time, the joke was on them.

The sound of their shoes crunching over the loose pebbles on the road and their calm, repetitive breathing lulled me into almost a catatonic state, similar to when I had been forced to stay in bed for so many days.

I drifted in and out of reality, as if my dreams and the world were fighting over my sanity but doing it gently. So weird.

Soft covers embraced me as Ambrose set me down on the bed, and then I was alone. I stared at the ceiling for what seemed like hours, but I didn’t really know. I had no concept of time. All I knew was that I wanted to live. But I also didn’t want to be like Lauren.

Absently, I heard the low whispers of the guys as they came and went. Sometimes, one of them would lie next to me and hold me, sometimes they’d only sit of the edge of the bed and check my forehead. Did they think I had a fever?

Silly men, insanity didn’t cause fevers.

I giggled to myself, then stopped.

Or did it?

How should I know? Whenever Lauren had an episode, I tended to stay as far away from her as possible and I definitely hadn’t been concerned with checking her for sickness.

As the sun started to dip low through the window, I came back to myself. My head still pounded, and I was so thirsty, my tongue was sticking to the roof of my mouth.

I sat up hesitantly, ready to flop back down if the room started spinning.

It didn’t.

I had a vivid recollection of everything that happened this morning, kind of, but it all seemed like it had been a dream. Had it been?

“Hey there, sleepy head. Back to the world of the living?” Atticus appeared in the doorway, holding either side of the doorframe like he was stopping himself from coming in.

The thought that he wouldn’t want to be close to me made me feel small and meaningless. Something of my thoughts must have shown on my face, because he pushed through, and then Saint appeared on his heels.

“Are you back with us now?” Saint kissed my forehead before fluffing the pillows up behind me so I could lean against them, and then he joined me. I scooted up to the headboard and pulled my knees up to my chest.

Atticus sat cross-legged on the foot of the bed so he could face me.

I should’ve been embarrassed, but surprisingly, I was just there. Drained but present. Saner than I’d felt in days. It was starting to seem like such a rare occurrence that I mentally held onto this moment with all my might.

“Want to talk about what happened?” Atticus started, his eyebrows raising as if he was encouraging me.

“Not particularly.” My voice sounded like it was scratching over stones to come out.

“I think you should talk about it.” Saint wrapped a warm, safe arm around my shoulders.

“With just you two? Ambrose and Kenzo aren’t joining?” I asked, trying to delay the inevitable conversation.

“We’re here. We didn’t want you to feel ganged up on, so we sent in the two least threatening ones.” Kenzo winked from the doorway. Ambrose was right behind him, but neither entered the room. They seemed content to watch from the hallway.

“Okay,” I drew out.

---