Page 44 of Splintered Memories
17
Emersyn
Iglaredatthegroupof kids who’d set off the firecrackers.
The teenage boys were cackling at the stir of commotion they’d caused until an older man on the outskirts of the bonfire scolded them. They scurried away, and I watched as they disappeared into the park.
I rolled my eyes and turned back to August. I froze at the expression on his face.
He had pulled from me, his eyes wide and wild as he stared into the bonfire. A sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead as he gripped his left shoulder so tight his knuckles blanched.
Something cold and unnerved slid down my back. I stiffened.
“August?” I had never seen that look on his face before. Gone was the casual, easygoing smile. Gone was the ever-watchful caution in his eye. There was nothing but blind panic in his expression. “Are you all right?”
He didn’t acknowledge me. His eyes didn’t move from the fire; his fingers dug deeper into his shoulder as his shallow breathing escalated.There was something in the way his mouth twisted, the pinching around his eyes that I couldn’t place.
My pulse spiked as I glanced around. I didn’t see any sign of danger. Nothing seemed to be out of place.
But something was very wrong.
“August?” I said his name again, louder this time. I lifted my hand, hesitating before I pressed my palm against his knee. “What’s wrong?”
The moment I touched him, he jerked back, standing so quickly he almost lost his balance. I tried to grab for him, but he took two swift steps back, his eyes whirling around before they finally focused on me.
He blinked once. Those gray eyes of his had glossed over, his pupils dilated despite the bright flames of the bonfire. Dread, heavy and suffocating, bore down on me as I gaped at him.
August’s eyes seemed to focus then, his mouth parting as he stared at me. “Emersyn?”
He sounded as confused as I felt. It was as if he didn’t know where he was or what was going on.
“What’s wrong, August?” I repeated, wanting to go to him, but scared he would retreat again.
He still clutched his shoulder, and I finally recognized what was tightening his features behind the shock and fear—it was pain. He was in pain, and I didn’t know why.
I stood, needing to know what was going on and how I could help. “What hurts?” I took the few steps separating us. A few people close to us shot us odd looks, but I didn’t care.
August shook his head, his mouth twisting into a wince as his body stiffened. “I need to go,” he said, his voice tight betweenclenched teeth.
Before I could stop him, he turned, stumbling away from the bonfire and toward the entrance of the park.
I was right on his heels, my panic surging. August didn’t run away. Something was extremely wrong if he was walking away from me in a crowded park at night.
His steps were so quick I had to run to keep up with him. “Wait,” I called, catching up with him. “August, what’s going on? Do you need a doctor?”
He didn’t slow down, though his eyes flicked to mine briefly. “I need to go,” was all he repeated.
I had no idea what was going on. That wild, unfocused look lingered, along with the pain on his face. We were almost to the entrance of the park. My vehicle wasn’t far. I wasn’t sure what his plan was, but I wouldn’t leave him.
My fingers curled around his elbow, gripping tight until he slowed down. “Okay,” I said, nodding as he looked at me with more panic. “You can go, but I’m going with you.”
He slowed his pace but hadn’t stopped. I clung to him, refusing to let go. He studied me for a long moment, as if it took his brain awhile to process what I said.
When he didn’t answer, I pulled him in the direction of where I’d parked. “Come on,” I said, making a decision for him. “Let me get you out of here. I’ll take you home.”
He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t fight me as I walked him to my SUV. He climbed into the passenger seat, never letting go of his left shoulder. I winced at the strength of his grip. He would have bruises later.
August was quiet as I drove. There was nothing but his labored breaths and occasional winces. He shook his head when I continued to ask whether he needed a doctor. I wasn’t sure I believed him, but I couldn’t see what was wrong. He didn’t appear to be bleeding. He hadn’t fallen.
