Page 61 of Toxic Hope
They both straighten up as I approach. With everything I’ve got, I force a smile on my face, saying a silent prayer that I can fool them into thinking everything is okay.
“Hey,” Preston greets me when I reach them. “What did the doc say?”
“Everything is on track,” I force out the lie, hoping they will buy it.
“That’s great!” Easton takes my hand, interlacing his fingers with mine.
“We should go celebrate,” Preston suggests, stepping closer.
Lowering my head, I sigh with relief that they bought my lie. “I’m really tired. I think I just want to go home.”
“Let us take you,” Preston says in a voice that tells me he isn’t giving me a choice in the matter. “I’ll drive your car. Easton will follow in the truck.”
“Okay,” I agree, because I know he would throw me over his shoulder and force me into the car if I disagree.
We walk out and into the parking lot in silence, and I’m grateful for the time I don’t have to talk and lie. It’s hard enough not to cry and force a smile on my face when I just want to fall apart.
“Are you okay?” Easton asks when I climb into the passenger seat of my car.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I say, keeping my voice even. “Just feeling the effects of the meds now.” The last part is not even a lie. Nausea is creeping up on me, and my eyelids are getting heavier with every passing moment.
“Okay.” Easton sounds like he believes me. “I’ll see you at your place.” He leans down to kiss my cheek before closing the door behind me.
Preston is already behind the wheel, turning on the engine. I close my eyes and let my head fall back against the headrest as he pulls out of the parking lot.
Don’t cry. Not yet.I keep having to tell myself over and over during the short drive. I’m so exhausted, physically and mentally. I just want to pass out right now.
By the time we are pulling up to my house, it’s hard to keep my eyes open at all. I try to unbuckle myself, but I’m so weak, I can’t get the button to push down.
“Here, let me help you,” Preston offers, reaching for the buckle. He opens it with one quick move, before getting out of the car to walk around and open my door for me.
I’m getting ready to swing my feet out when Preston shakes his head. He leans down and slides his arms under my legs and back. I’m not strong enough to fight this, so I wrap my arms around his neck and let him pick me up.
Easton is parked next to us. He gets out of the truck and dashes to the front door to open it so Preston can carry me inside. I lean my head against his shoulder and let my eyes close again. This might be the last time he holds me like this. I suck in a breath, taking in his scent. I’m going to miss the way he smells, just like I’m going to miss the way he makes me feel. I’m going to miss everything about them.
“Is she okay?” Grandma’s concerned voice meets my ear as Preston carries me to my room. I want to assure her that I’m okay, and she doesn’t have to worry, but I just don’t have the strength to do it right now.
“Yes, just very tired today,” Easton explains for me. “We’ll get her straight to bed.”
“Thank you, boys.” Grandma’s voice is far away now.
A moment later, I’m placed in my bed. I don’t open my eyes when someone takes off my shoes and pulls off my wig. Or when lips meet my forehead twice. I can’t bear to open my eyes and watch them walk away. So I pretend to be asleep when they walk out of my room and close the door softly behind them.
I hear them walk down the hallway and talk to Grandma for a few seconds, but I can’t make out what they are saying. Then the front door opens and shuts. I stay still and quiet for a few moreminutes, making sure they are not coming back, or Grandma comes and checks on me.
Only when I’m sure I’m alone for the night, do I let the tears go. I allow myself to feel everything I’ve been holding in. So much fear, grief, and sadness. Too much to handle for one person.
I sob quietly into my pillow until sleep finally finds me.
26
EASTON
By Friday morning, one thing is obvious: I’m going out of my skull. I feel like a caged animal. Pacing around, unable to get very far. Trapped. And every day it gets a little worse. Every morning, I wake up without hearing from Emma.
“What’s up with you two?” Sarah looks up from the bowl she’s putting together for breakfast as we enter the kitchen, slicing up fruit and arranging it on top of yogurt.
“What are you talking about?” I grab a strawberry before she can stop me, popping it in my mouth while she groans and rolls her eyes.
