Page 69 of Shadebound
Zayden’s fingers brushed mine again. Then he signed:If you wanted me in your bed, you could’ve just asked. You didn’t need to lie still enough for four hours that I thought you’d gone and died.
I signed back, fingers moving with tired precision.If I were dead, you wouldn’t notice. I’d give you the same amount of winning conversation and attention.My hands trembled slightly, but I held his gaze, letting the sarcasm do the talking because anything softer might have broken me entirely.
He grinned, tired but not enough to fade his smugness.You’re an idiot if you think I wouldn’t notice, Heartache. I notice everything you do.
I tugged on my braid until it loosened.Like what?
He rolled over, his face barely inches from mine. I could taste the mint from his toothpaste on my tongue and wondered how nice it would be in my mouth. For a split second, anyway. Until I remembered how much blood had stained my hands the last time I’d let myself act on my feelings towards him.
He lifted his hand, unaware of my internal spiral.How you don’t blink when you’re stressed out. Or how you keep tugging at the cuff whenever you do something that would normally have your shadows present.
Anyone could have noticed those things.I replied. It was a lie. But it was hardly like I could tell the truth now.
Or ever.
He scoffed, eyes rolling.Would anyone have noticed that you keep talking to Death? I know you’ve been hearing him more. You keep zoning out, and you always do that when he speaks to you.
I didn’t blink for a minute. Maybe more. Then I lazily signed,Maybe you’re right. Maybe you do pay attention.
He grinned bright enough to burn.I have to. That’s what best friends do. We learn the small things that show how much the person we love is struggling. So we can help them.
I kept my hands still. My throat tightened. A reply tried to form, but the weight of everything—pain, exhaustion, the ache ofbeing witnessed—pressed it back down again. I didn’t respond.Couldn’t.
Even if I wanted to say that I loved him. That out of all the emotions in the world, love was the only thing I didn’t mind feeling with him.
It felt less hideous when I felt it for Zayden.
It was almost... almostnice.
The hours dragged, stretched out and cruel enough to make me almost feel bad. I wound up people-watching when I wasn’t staring into space. It seemed like the only thing worth doing. The only thing that didn’t make me feel anything.
Draven looked bored. Otherwise unbothered. He was just doodling in a notebook, muttering silently to himself.
Kalamity sat hunched on his bunk, arms wrapped tight around himself. His head was low, almost pushed into a pillow, but I heard the sound that slipped from his lips—hoarse, ruined, barely there. Not a cry. Not a word. Just pain that had nowhere else to go from the sheer noise in the air.
Luna had buried her face in her arms and hadn’t moved in hours. Her shoulders were rigid, still locked in whatever tension had overtaken her at the start.
At the foot of his bed, Tyler rocked back and forth with shallow rhythm, fingers clawing through his hair like maybe pressure could anchor him.
It brought me joy to see him suffering. Even if it was from something that was meant to hurt me too.
When the sky was well and truly dark, I kept my eyes fixed on the far wall, searching for anything steady to focus my attention on. My chest rose in uneven rhythm, too fast, too shallow to be normal. I tried to inhale slower. Tried to hold it. Failed.
Time passed some more, and the room blurred at the edges, just a little. The blanket under my palms was too thin. Myfingers pressed into the mattress, desperate for something real to ground me. My throat burned, dry and tight, breath stuck. I let it out slowly, then tried again.
Everything was wrong.
No one spoke.
No one moved unless jolted.
The screaming hadn’t stopped.
The screaming was never going to stop.
I couldn’t close my eyes. Every time my lids lowed, the sound drilled deeper, dragging me back to the surface. I focussed on the ceiling instead—on the jagged seam where two panels met, on the faint discolouration in one corner. On the scribbled image of a monster, with the same handwriting from the poetry book having scrawled,we’re all mad here.
Anything to keep my mind occupied worked. Even reading that over and over.
