Page 106 of Creatures Like Us
I’m so lucky he’s here with me. At least I’ll die happy, in the arms of the one I love.
I want to tell him all this—I want to make him understand—but all I get out is, “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine!” Asher wails.
“I am,” I manage, tasting blood at the back of my throat. “I’m with you.”
I’ve never seen him this upset. Not even when I drugged him and chained him to the bed, wanting to keep him. Selfish?…?I was so selfish. I know that now. And I deserve this?…?for all the bad things I did?…?for all the selfish choices I made?…
Oh. Everything is going dark. Does that mean?…?Is it happening?
Asher collapses onto me with a cry, touching his forehead to mine. His tears fall into my face like drops of rain, and I taste their salt on my tongue. If it’s the last thing I ever taste, I am happy. If his arms around me are the last thing I ever feel, I am happy. I want to tell him not to be scared, not to mourn me. That I’m sorry, most of all—sorry to the end. But I cannot get the words out. It’s fitting, I suppose—one last failure.
As the darkness seeps into my vision, I imagine another path in life I could have taken, another version of reality where I wouldn’t end up bleeding on the floor in an unfamiliar place, and I really, really hope for the one thing I never thought I’d hope for.
Survival.
Chapter 30
Asher
It’sastrangethingto, on one hand, hate someone for what they did to you and, on the other hand, when you see them, the world tilts back onto its axis. Everything feels right and simple again.There he is, your brain says, and that surge of relief?…?It’s staggering.
But when that same relief turns to utter horror?…?staggering isn’t even the start of it.
Blood and chaos.
A blade puncturing the most vulnerable part of the person I love the most, hate the most, care about the most. The person I need.
Even more staggering, the one who did it was my brother. The one I thought I loved and whose approval I craved so badly all my life was also the one who caused me more harm and heartbreak than Noah ever did.
I haven’t slept. I can’t.
I have to stay awake, have to be ready in case I need to protect him. I’ll do anything to protect him, if only he’d wake up.
I can’t sleep unless he wakes up.
I can’t eat unless he wakes up.
I can’tliveunless he wakes up.
How is it possible to yearn so much for the same person who caused you so much pain? But that pain was nothing compared to the horror of seeing the blood pour from his body.
He’s everything now. All that is left of my life is wedged between my hand and his.
I sit with him all night, holding his hand in my palm, squeezing it momentarily, checking to feel his pulse.
Still beating. Still alive. Hope. There’s still hope.
The machines checking his vitals are beeping steadily. The nurses said his condition is stable, that he was lucky, that no organs were punctured beyond repair, but that it might take time for his body to recover and for his mind to find its way back to us.
When he wakes up, I will be here, holding his hand. I can barely keep my eyes open, but I will.
The next time I blink, I sense a presence by the door, and I turn my head.
It’s my brother.
He looks the way he always does, as if he hasn’t just wounded the one I love. As if he hasn’t almost ruined everything.
