Page 41 of Magic or Madness

“Fallon, I’ve done things. I’ve taken revenge on people who deserved it. I’m not a saint, and you shouldn’t have marks like that on your body from me. Whether it was out of love or …not.” He trails off, looking into my eyes as if he’s searching for something, but I don’t budge.

If he thinks some hickies and a few less-than-holy confessions are going to scare me off, he’s out of his mind. We took an oath, one that means the world to me.

“What did you do, Ozzy? Kill someone? That shit doesn’t fucking bother me. I wish I had the balls to stab my stepfather in his sleep, but I didn’t. Did you hurt someone who maybe hit your mother? Good. They deserved it,” I say harshly, but he doesn’t flinch.

Instead, his body language softens, like I struck a nerve he was waiting for me to reach.

“If I tell you everything, will you stay?” He asks, almost in tears, and I pull him into my chest, stroking his hair again.

“This means I’m yours,” I whisper, placing his hand on the heart he carved into my thigh.

It’s our way of assuring each other that we aren’t going anywhere and that this is real. I let him dig a knife into my skin, taste the blood, and nothing will ever come close to the sense of closeness that I feel for him.

“A few years after my mom overdosed, I ran into her dealer, and even though I bought for her all the time, he didn’t remember me. That lit my fuse, and I stabbed him. As many times as I could until I was pulled away. Right in the middle of the street, too, I just fucking lost my mind. I confessed, waved my rights to an attorney, and fully expected to spend time in prison, but Doc visited me, promising me a way out of it all. Despite my grief, anger, and total lack of regard for life, he saw something and took a chance on me.” His voice shakes, and he instinctively reaches for the vodka.

“It sounds like he had it coming, making money off people’s weaknesses. It’s lucky that Doc came for you.” I attempt to reassure him, but he shakes his head.

“Doc was worse for me than prison – look at my life, Fallon. I’m a fucking criminal! I’ve watched people die that I loved. I’ve stolen shit, shot people, all in the name of money.Fucking money.He corrupted me, all of us, and we worshiped the ground he walked on. We thought this life was better than what we left behind, but in reality, he stole more from all of us than we realized until it was too late!” He yells, his voice escalating the more he speaks, jerking out of my arms, and launching the vodka bottle across the room until it shatters against the wall.

“Ozzy, it’s okay. Come here,” I say, but he’s pacing again, the anger radiating off him as his boots crunch the broken glass scattered on the floor.

He doesn’t hear me because he’s whispering to himself, and I’m frozen, unsure of what to do.

He’s in a frenzy, the thoughts rushing him faster than he can process, like a tornado that won’t stop spinning over the same target until it causes maximum damage. I try to stop him by walking in his line of sight, but he brushes past me, his eyes glazed over and unresponsive.

Maybe his friends would know how to deal with this better than I do, but something keeps me from running out and calling for help.

“Ozzy, hurricanes can release more energy than all the world's nuclear weapons, in only ten minutes. That’s how powerful they are.” I stand firm, not letting him walk by me this time, and his manic pacing has slowed, but not enough to settle his nerves.

My voice is the key to calming him down, just like his was for me in the woods when my panic attack took over control of my body.

Our trauma responses are nearly identical, and all I need to do is talk him through this.

Luckily, I’ve seen way too muchJeopardy.

“The Trans-Siberian roadway in Russia is so long that it takes seven days to get across, and passengers travel through eight different time zones from start to finish,” I tell him, and finally, his eyes lock into mine.

“Is that by car?”

“No, on a train. There are nearly four thousand bridges to be crossed on the roadway, as well,” I answer, and he sits on the edge of the bed, a sense of calm washing over him.

“Bambi,” he whispers, and I rush to gather his fragile body into my arms.

I stand between his legs, holding him as tightly as possible.

Seemingly, talking about Doc sends him into a state of anger, or panic, maybe even both, which can only mean there’s more that lives beneath the surface. I’m terrified to learn more, and I’ve never heard the other guys talk much about him, so it may be a sore subject for them all.

“It’s impossible to hum when you’re holding your nose,” I whisper, and he shakes his head against my chest.

“That’s not true,” he says softly, his breathing finally returning to normal.

I plug my nose and attempt to make a humming noise, but it sounds like I’m congested or blowing a trumpet. Finally, Ozzy laughs, which instantly brings a smile to my face.

“There he is,my handsome Greek God.”

“Thank you, Fallon.” He kisses my cheek and holds me close with a protective grip, shifting until I’m perfectly positioned in his lap, the color slowly coming back into his cheeks.

“We don’t have to talk about this anymore, okay? What you’ve done will never phase me, Ozzy. I don’t need your truths to be in love with you,” I tell him, and he sighs in relief, his relaxed body still pressed against mine.

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