Page 135 of Irreversible

“I said no.” It’s forceful enough to stop one of the nurses in her tracks as she passes by my door. “I don’t trust her, got it? She can think I’m dead for all I care.” Blind trust ends badly. I still can’t believe I let my guard down. I look away from his curious gaze, knowing he’s too astute. I’m not giving him an invitation to probe further. “Go ahead and tell her that.”

Tell her she killed me. Let her stew on that while she’s beneath her husband.

Fuck, I’m petty. My head falls back on the pillow.

“How about I just stick with the original plan? There’s no evidence of a man named Isaac.”

I try to swallow, but my throat is too dry. “Fine with me.”

We’ll pretend I was never there. That I never laid myself bare before Everly Cross. I’m a figment of her imagination. A story.

A ghost.

“Okay then, I’m going to head out.” He taps the top of the laptop. “I’ve left you plenty of reading material when you’reup for it. I mean it, though—if we do this, you have to stay in contact. Youcannotgo dark on me.”

I shrug. We both know what I’m like when I isolate, and I don’t make promises I’m not sure I can keep.

Basically, I don’t make them at all…except one.

I will kill you. Consider that a promise.

Tanner pauses like he can read my mind. Like he might already suspect this is a bad idea. But it’s better he stays in the loop by helping me than wasting his breath telling me to stay out of it.

“Rest up.” With one last look of caution, he hands me a bottle of water from the bedside table and heads for the door. “I’ll be back later.”

There’s an unwelcome pressure behind my eyes as I watch him go. It’s the realization that I would be dead now if my friend hadn’t moved heaven and earth and gone into hell to find me. It compels me to stop him.

“Tanner?”

He pauses in the doorway. Turns.

Exhaling through my nose, I dip my chin. “Thank you.”

A grin curls at the corners of his mouth. “You’d have done the same for me.” With a half salute, he walks out the door.

Yeah…

Opening the laptop, I glance at the file titled, “Saving Porter’s Stubborn Ass. Again.”

I would have.

32

Istare at my reflection in the smudged hospital mirror.

Hollow cheeks. Dark circles shadowing my jaded, red-rimmed eyes. Pale skin surrounded by a mound of dirty-blond hair that looks like it was on the receiving end of an unfortunate lightning strike. My lips are chapped, my nails long and brittle. My body is frail and malnourished.

But I’m still here.

I matter.

I press both palms to my cheeks and practice a series of different expressions in the mirror. Wonder, joy, anger, shock. My mouth still knows how to smile, my eyes still know how to gleam.

I’m going to be okay.

When the water runs warm, I discard my gown and step underneath the jets for the first time in years. A real shower.

Gel soap. Shampoo. Conditioner.

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