Page 118 of Inevitable Destruction

It takes my mind all of two seconds to connect the pieces.

He smells like another man.

The immediate surge of jealously rolls through me, and I inadvertently tighten my grip on his hair, tugging on the strands and making him whimper. I freeze, my heart hammering against my rib cage as I watch his face for any signs of consciousness. After a few long, turbulent moments, I spread my fingers.

I want to berate him, to scream at him and call him stupid, moronic, pathetic, any name in the book to get my fucking point across, but he won’t hear me. He shouldn’t hear any of it because it’s not his fault.

Not when I filled him with a chaos he couldn’t control.

* * *

“You found him in, what?”I ask, wearing a path into the floor with my hands clenched into fists at my side as I resist the overwhelming urge to deck Lawson in his fucking face.

“In his vomit, Rhett. He was leaning over the center console, his face pressed into the passenger seat in a puddle of his own vomit, while also sitting in a pool of his own blood. I called it in, and they got him here as soon as possible, but while they were loading him up, they noticed a fuck ton of new track marks, alongside old ones which makes sense given his tox screen results…”

He’s not telling me anything I don’t already know. I noticed them last night while I was plastered to his side. I couldn’t quit touching the swollen, angry marks on his hands, forearms, and they even went as high up as his biceps—on both arms. I’m surprised they could even find a viable vein for an IV.

His eyes fluttered open once, but the moment they did, he cried out in agony, and I panicked and hit the nurse’s button. They came in and gave him another dose of some pain med, putting him right back into sleep.

I craved more than anything to see his eyes, for them to finally be on me again, but I couldn’t bear the sounds clawing from his throat. He writhed in pain, and it was so visceral, I can still fucking feel it inside of me. It exuded from his pores in dense waves—waves still crashing into me, over and over.

I’d take every morsel of his pain if I could, but I can’t. The only thing I can do is bear it with him. And I plan to every step of the way.

His tox screen came back this morning, and the nurse from last night stuck around to tell me since no one else would, not even fucking Jamie.

I turn away from them and the conversation to go back to Dominik.

“Rhett,” Jamie calls, and I throw my arm up, dismissing her.

“I don’t want to hear anymore, Jame. I can’t. If he wants to tell me, I’ll let him, otherwise I don’t have the right. Not anymore.” I’m despondent as I plant my ass back in the chair that hasn’t been moved from his side. I slept next to him last night against the nurses orders, but I’ve never been one to be told what the fuck to do.

I think he slept better having me against him. My familiar touch and smell comforted him—or at least I hope it did.

“You were never destined for destruction, Dominik,” I rasp, clutching his hand between mine. My thumb traces back and forth over the veins and bumps. Even past his blemishes, his skin is still soft.

“You were destined to love, to feel. And you ended up getting the shit end of all of those. You got a broken heart. You got a life full of endless pain.

“So maybe I was right, in a way—with it all being inevitable. But it’s not your destruction that was—it was me. Us. This… love. This obsession. This fucking craving.

“Cause that’s what this is, Dominik. It fucking has to be. It’s painful and gut-wrenching and straight-up agonizing. But it’s real, and right now, I’m feeling every single fucking one of those. So, I’m gonna need you to wake up. Show me those pretty eyes of yours, beauty boy, and let me know you’re okay. Tell me this isn’t my destruction.”

I grip his cold hand harder, feeling the thin bones just underneath his frail skin. I still can’t believe I let it get this bad. I should’ve… I should’ve done something, fucking anything, but because of my insanity, I’m sitting here on this rock-hard chair in front of the hospital bed the man I love is lying unconscious in.

He went past the extreme because I was too fucking afraid to admit the truth. I pushed past the doubt that lingered for my own selfish reasons, and now, I don’t know if I’ll ever see his eyes again, if I’ll ever hear his voice, his contagious laugh.

Not because he’ll die, because the doctor assured me many times he’s in the clear, but because the moment he opens his eyelids, he’ll force me away, and I’ll have no choice but to abide by his wishes.

How could I not when I ruined everything? I caused this pain he’s in, and I have to live with the consequences of it, even if it means losing the only good thing I’ve ever known.

Because he is. Dominik is fucking good. He’s flawed, painfully so, but so fucking beautiful.

My beauty boy.

I glance up from staring at the seemingly transparent skin of his hand to his face. His eyes are still sunken deep with black circles encasing each one and eyelids just as thin as the rest of his skin.

I swallow down the bile ignited by my consuming self-hatred as my eyes roam over every inch of his body like it will be the last time—and every time, I fear it will be.

It’s as if now, I’m seeing him through new eyes. His appearance is drastically altered from my very first memory of him from months ago to the point I barely recognize him. The thin hospital gown does nothing to hide his protruding ribs as they jut against the material, and the scratchy blue blanket only seems to accent his too sharp pelvis.

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