Page 49 of Alliance

“I think I made a mistake.”

Chapter Twenty-One

“WHAT HAPPENED?” I ASK, MYbody shooting up into a sitting position. She sounds off, her voice is slowed and soft. She doesn’t sound like her normal self. “Lana, did you take something?”

“Pills,” she whispers and my heart stops beating in my chest. My lungs refuse to pull in oxygen. For just the briefest moment, I wonder if this is how Romeo felt before he licked the poison from Juliet’s lips.

Why should I keep going if she’s not here?

“Where are you?” Asking the question feels like a kick-start to my system. I can’t fall back into that mindset, that darkness, because she’s here right now. Her voice is on the other end of the phone and I need to find her. Need to stop this.

“Home,” she breathes.

I don’t think about what I’m doing as I slip on my jeans, a jacket, and shoes. Grabbing my car keys from the counter, I run to my car.

I keep her on the phone, making her talk to me through the Bluetooth speaker as I speed to her house.

I can’t think about what I’m doing, I just have to keep moving, keep going toward her.

Her parents aren’t there when I arrive, but she has guards, men trying to step in my path as I leap from my Jeep and run toward the door. It’s Tony who’s outside, looking at me with a confused expression.

“I need to see her,” I shout, running up toward Tony’s outstretched hands.

“What the fuck are you talking about, kid?” he asks.

“Lana, she tried to kill herself.” Tony looks shocked, panic settling over his features. He spins, pushing open the door. I don’t wait for an invitation, instead I rush forward pushing past him and treading up the stairs.

“Lana!” I call, I don’t know which room is hers but I don’t stop. I push open doors as I run down the hall until I finally find her. She’s on her side on the bed, her eyes closed. If I didn’t know, I would think she looked peaceful.

I pick her up in my arms and slide onto the bed, not slowing my pace. Keeping her on her side I lift her onto my lap, using one hand to pull open her mouth while I shove my fingers in her throat with the other.

“You don’t get to give up on me, Lana. You don’t get to be selfish and take the easy way out.” I’m yelling and begging her to live at this point. She convulses beneath me and I turn her head to the side as she vomits, helping her get all the pills out.

“Good job, baby,” I tell her, stroking her hair. I don’t even pay attention to the vomit spilling over the bed. I just focus on her. Soothing her. Healing her.

And when it’s all over, I lift up her limp body and carry her toward the shower. Tony tries to interject but I flip him off.

He’s calling the Romanos, presumably telling them their daughter just tried to kill herself and the scum is here helping her.

I don’t know what’s going to happen next. How they’ll handle this. Lana’s clearly not okay, clearly not happy.

I help her strip off her dirty clothes, and I put her in the shower, rinsing her off. She lets me lead her through the motions, both of us quiet as we go. I get her dressed, pulling pajama pants up her legs and a t-shirt over her chest.

Tony only waits outside while she’s undressed, clearly annoyed with the situation. I know there will be hell to pay when her parents get here, but I put off the worry, because whatever happens it was worth it to know she’s okay.

“I’m okay,” she whispers, crawling back into bed. “It was... I shouldn’t have—”

“Shh.” I sit down next to her, my heart rate finally slowing for the first time since I answered my phone. The digital alarm clock next to her bed reads 12:03. Her parents will come back soon, I’m sure, their Saturday night adventures cut short from Tony’s call.

“I’m not weak,” she breathes, the words light and fragile. “I’mterrified.” The single word drips with vulnerability. I don’t need to ask her to know why she’s terrified. The bruises that coated her neck not long ago still live rent free in my mind.

She needs an out, an escape plan. Something to rid her of the chains that hold her here. I’m a second away from asking her to run, to leave with me when her bedroom door is swung open. My lips are parted, the words hanging on my tongue.

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” I whisper. And she doesn’t. She doesn’t owe me a damn thing. But I want her to live. Not for me, though. Not for these stolen moments or poorly kept secrets. I want her to live for herself. I wish she wanted to get up in the morning, her head filled with plans and dreams for the future. I want her to live because she loves it.

Not for anyone else.

Just for herself.

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