Page 75 of Our Darkest Summer
Red.
Red.
Red.
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing my pulse to slow, my mind to steady, as I tried to remember how to breathe.
“You won’t believe it,” Connor’s voice echoed distantly through the hallway. “Bob Marley disappeared.” He appeared in the doorway, his eyes rounding. “What the—” His breath caught, his gaze flicking from me to the mirror, then to the bed, all stained with red. “Is that…”
The twisted body of the green parrot burned into my mind. My stomach turned violently, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’tbreathe. My vision blurred at the edges, the world closing in like a tightening fist.The feathers. The blood. The way its wings are bent in the wrong direction.My hands—God, my hands were covered in it. I saw Thomas say something to Connor, but my ears rang too harshly for me to catch what it was. I started to go limp, my sight blurring. There was a mutilated bird on my bed. My lungs tightened as vomit rose in my throat, thick and burning, but I couldn’t make my body move. I wasn’t blinking, wasn’t breathing, wasn’t?—
A firm grip held my chin, and Thomas’ dark eyes poured into mine.
“Kinsley.” His voice was low, even, like he was trying to lure me back from the edge.
The next thing I knew, I was against his chest, my cheek pressed to the warmth of his skin. His scent—rain and fresh night air—cut through the metallic tang of blood, grounding me. Somewhere in the distance, I heard Connor’s voice, but it was as if I were underwater, muffled and far away.
Then, cold tile under my feet. Running water. Thomas guided me to the sink, his hands still on my arms, solid and real. He scrubbed the rest of the blood away, turning the sink water crimson. His hands were gentle, careful, like he thought I would break if he pressed too hard. Maybe I would.
His fingers brushed my chin. “Do you want me to help you with your clothes?”
I couldn’t answer. I just nodded.
The ruined fabric peeled away, and then I was stepping into the water, sinking into warmth that I couldn’t feel. I sat motionless as Thomas knelt beside the tub, his fingers threading through my hair, tilting my head back beneath the stream. The warmth trickled down my scalp and over my face, washing away the blood, the horror, the panic that still clung to my skin.
“You’re safe,” he murmured, massaging shampoo through my hair, his fingers gentle, grounding. “Just breathe, Sage.”
I tried. But my body felt like it was no longer mine. His thumb brushed a tear from my cheek.
You're next.That’s what they left on the mirror. I should compare the handwriting. I should?—
I gripped the edge of the tub, my knuckles turning white. “We should go, and?—”
“No.” Thomas’ voice was quiet but firm. “You have to rest,” he murmured, his fingers still gently working through my hair. “Take a breath.”
I wanted to argue. I wanted to say that I was fine. But my throat closed up, the memory of blood-soaked feathers flashing behind my eyelids.
My breath wavered.
Thomas’ touch was grounding; a warm contract against the icy grip of panic that caged my ribs. I squeezed my eyes shut.
Breathe.
Slowly, I leaned into him, letting the exhaustion drag me under.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Kinsley
“Let me show you something,”Thomas said, as I pulled on our school’s hockey team hoodie. It still smelled like him even though I’ve been the one wearing it over the past couple of days.
We were in his room now, my hair still damp from washing all the blood off. I lifted an exhausted eyebrow, and he gave me a small smile, bringing a blanket out of his closet.
“Come,” he said, taking my hand and guiding me toward the blocked window.
“I’m not killing myself with you,” I joked, my voice raspy, while Thomas lifted away the board.
“Well, not yet, at least,” he teased, opening the window and stepping out onto the roof.
