Page 76 of The Casualty of Us
“No, no, no,” he hushes, one hand dropping down to wrap around mine and immediately bringing it up against his chest. “Feel that?”
And I do: the rise and fall, the steady thump against my shaking palm.
“Right there, do it with me.”
I take a breath.
“That’s it. That’s my girl.”
Then another, forcing the air past my locked throat and into a chest that still seems to be trying to crush me.
“I’ve got you, baby.”
I blink, coming back enough to recognize the hazel eyes drilling into mine.
“Another,” he orders, waiting a beat for me to choke down another breath before doing it again. “And another.”
It’s only when I force my body through the torturous action a few more times that the panic filling his gaze lessens slightly, though.
“There we go,” he hushes, brows drawn down tight over a face that’s finally starting to come into focus. One that’s definitely too pretty for the pissed-off look on it. “I need to ask you something real quick, okay?”
I try to open my mouth to make something come out, but the only thing that escapes past the ache in my throat is some kind of choked whimper.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” His thumb strokes down my cheek through something wet, and he uses his hold on my other hand to bring me even closer. “Just tell me what happened, that’s all.”
“Ophelia…”
No, no, no—
“I tried to tell you.”
Those hazel eyes break away from mine long enough for him to shout, “Hold on!”
“Calm down!” the other voice shouts back. “We were literally about to go into the library! I pulled on her hair and said something stupid about her always being my sweetheart!”
“Yeah, well, you obviously should’ve not!” Hayes roars, barely giving me time to blink before his gaze finds mine again. “What happened?”
“Ophelia, Ophelia…”
Graham. The library. Fuck.
I was meeting Graham at the library, and then….
It’s a split second of dark and light crashing together.
Of something hazy curled up in a ball all of its own in the dark recesses of my mind crashing against the stark contrast of a smiling boy in the blinding light of day.
The two thrown together break me open completely.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
How did I miss it? How did I— “I forgot,” I croak, reaching right inside to yank it out through the scar tissue.
Fuck. I forgot. Or didn’t…didn’t want to remember—my own mind hiding things from me. I’m not sure which is worse.
Ignorance or cowardice, take your pick, O.
“What’d you forget, Freckles?”
