Page 103 of King of Pain
Just another wail, deeper, more guttural this time. His hands claw into his hair, pulling hard enough to make my stomach drop.
And then, through the broken sobs, he gasps, voice shredded beyond recognition:
“She’s gone.”
My world tilts.
My lungs seize.
No, no, no.
“What!” I cry, my own voice foreign to my ears. “No, Chance, no. No. No. No.”
But he’s not listening.
He wails again, his grief ripping through the room like a storm, like a hurricane, like a thing with claws.
Then he collapses against me, fists twisted in my shirt, his head buried in my lap as the sobs rack his body.
I wrap my arms around him, rocking with him, holding him through the devastation.
For an hour, we sit like that—Chance sobbing, screaming, breaking into a million shattered pieces.
For an hour, I whisper, “What happened?” over and over.
For an hour, he doesn’t answer.
And then—
Silence.
His body goes still.
His breath, shallow.
His voice, gone.
I tighten my arms around him, trying to steady his trembling body, trying to anchor him to me, to anything at all. His breath is uneven, jagged gasps between silent screams, his fists still gripping my shirt like a lifeline.
“Chance, talk to me,” I whisper, my own voice breaking. “Please.”
Nothing.
His body feels rigid against mine, locked up, frozen. His face is buried in my chest, and I can feel the heat of his breath against my skin, but it's erratic, shallow. I shake him gently, my hands skimming up his back, cupping the back of his head.
“Chance, baby, please,” I plead. “Who—who’s gone?”
Nothing.
I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my lips to his temple. I want to take his pain, pull it into me instead.
I steel myself for a question I know the answer to. I know it—and I don’t want to hear it—but I have to. For him.
“Do you mean... Ma?”
His body shudders, and he lets out a shaky, stuttered breath—then he nods against my chest.
And I break.
