Page 73 of The Casualty of Us
He pauses again, and I nod at him to keep going even though every new thing he’s unearthing is just digging my grave deeper without me even having to do anything.
“So for example.” He exhales suddenly, eyes dropping to the book on the table with unease working its way across his face. “When they brought her to the hospital after the kidnapping.” I go still at the mention of the mostly forbidden topic. “She wouldn’t do anything until someone gave her something to write with, just kept asking for them over and over again. Pen and paper, pen and paper,” he mutters quietly, something about the whisper making my stomach twist. “She wrote down everything she could remember about it.” His eyes rise back to mine. “She filled three notebooks full of details, and that was only the stuff she remembered clearly.” He scoffs, delivering bluntly, “She didn’t include anything that she deemed questionable because of lack of sleep.”
I can’t help the way my hands clench at the picture he’s painting, and when the bottle he’s holding gives a loud crack…I know he’s fighting the same thing—the urge to go hunt the fuckers down who did that to her.
“She wanted them to be caught,” I interject, because that’s pretty fucking understandable.
“No.” He gives me a hard shake of his head. “No, Hayes, sheneededthem to be caught.” The bottle gives another crack as he pauses before his voice quiets again. “And I think part of her still blames herself because they weren’t, like somehow she missed something.”
“I think that’s what scares me the most some days. The after of it all. The second-guessing.”
Her words float through my head before aiming straight for my stomach with a kick that just has it twisting harder. Knowing I was just a great fucking addition to that.
“She didn’t even acknowledge anyone until she had it all out, though. The only thing she did besides write was squeeze my hand.” His gaze holds mine like he needs me to understand something as badly as she probably still needs them to be caught. “Then she closed the last book, looked at me, and told me to remind her that after sixty million years, it’s the pangolin that walks by as the elephant mourns its baby, and somehow, goodness prevails.”
My brows drop as I try to untwist her words, but I’m too caught up in the picture of my girl in that fucking state to even ask what a pangolin is before he scoffs.
“Then she passed the fuck out for thirty-six hours.” His eyes fall back down to the book, fear flashing front and center again. “I thought she really fucking lost it there for a minute.”
“What does it mean?”
Because with O, it has to mean something.
“She explained it when she woke up.” He shrugs. “How out of sixty million years worth of creatures it’s the pangolin that’s survived.” He finally releases the bottle with a twist as he snorts, “Not the sabertooth or the mammoth, not the strongest or the biggest, but the pangolin.” He shakes his head, mouth pulling up into something too sad to be a smile. “A creature whose only defense is to curl itself up into a ball outlasted them all.”
“And somehow, goodness prevails,” I mutter softly, brows dropping, and try to work through it like she would.
“Despite the odds, even in something as brutal as nature.” He gives me a single nod, sighing wearily. “Ophelia needs things to make sense. She needs there to be a reason. A logic to the world.” His mouth quirks up with a roll of his eyes. “It used to really freak her the fuck out when we were little and she couldn’t make sense of something.”
“I can imagine.”
Because with all the pieces he’s added to the ones I’ve already memorialized of her in my head, it makes sense why she wouldn’t give me an inch until my lunch table confessional. Why she might never stop looking at me the way she does now.
“She’s the smartest person I know, and my money’s on her, always, in any room.” He clears his throat, and I manage a nod to let him know I’m still with him. “But you have to remind her sometimes. To fight it. She’ll push herself until there’s nothing left otherwise.” His eyes start to drift, and he mumbles, “Madness in the great ones must not unwatched go.” He shakes his head. “It’s from—"
“Hamlet.” I nod, the phrase churning up what’s left of my stomach and making me have to swallow before adding quickly, “I know.”
He pauses, tension returning to his face. “I always hated that our mom named her after that girl.” The words end on a sharp breath and he seems to catch himself before delivering with finality, “But that’s my sister, Flynn.”
And there it is.
He thinks I can’t handle it, that maybe it’ll even make me run, and maybe…
Maybe some part of him is even hoping it will.
Thinking the same stupid-ass shit that led me here in the first place.
“I’m honestly surprised she brought it up with you.” That sour look flashes across his face again with a twist. “It’s not something she usually talks about.”
“I don’t blame her,” I cut back in, holding his gaze. “But like I said…she’s amazing,” His mouth turns down with a frown, and I shoot him a smirk while sitting my definitely doomed ass back down. “In fact, I wouldn’t change a single thing about her.” I grab the book off the table before tossing back. “Right, Ollie?”
Fucker.
His jaw twitches before he grumbles, “Whatever.”
“By the way.” I lean back on the couch. “You’re late for practice now.”
His eyes blow wide, and he jerks his head to look at the clock on the stove. “You piece of shit,” he shouts, grabbing his athletics bag off the floor as he hauls ass for the door. “I expect fucking pizza when I get back for this!”
