Page 81 of Marked

Twenty-six

There’s a beeping sound near me. I reach for my alarm clock, but there’s some resistance before I smack against something cold.

What the hell?

I open my eyes but immediately close them with a flinch. Why is it so bright? I count a few seconds then pry them back open, ignoring how they burn in response. I blink them into focus and furrow my brow at the tiled ceiling above me.

Hearing the sound again, I roll my head to the side and see that it’s not my alarm clock. Instead, it’s a computer screen displaying vital signs. I drop my gaze down to my hand and see that the cold thing I hit is a metal rail guard for the bed. The resistance I felt is the IV nestled into the crook of my elbow.

I’m in the hospital.

I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath, trying to push back the memories of when I was fourteen and waking up in a similar way. Back then I had died. I was terrified at the idea of dying, of crossing the murky water of the river Styx, but then Cerberus gave me an option and I was sent back to the living after agreeing to become a hellhound.

Fragmented memories come back to me, and I realize that once again Cerberus gave me a choice. I chose to continue living, chose to remain a hellhound. I had too many loose ends, too many regrets to just die. Cerberus had called me one of his favorites, told me that was the only reason I was getting this rare third chance, but I think maybe he knew just how much regret I had.

“How long are you going to pretend to be asleep?”

I jolt at the sound of the voice and open my eyes. Turning my head to the right, I see Scott reclined in a chair, arms crossed tightly over his chest. It takes me three attempts to finally get out his name. “Scott?”

He hums in the back of his throat, eyes narrowing on me. “What the fuck were you thinking, Dalton?”

“What?” I croak.

“What?” he echoes in disbelief. He leans forward, hands on his knees. “I asked what the fuck you were thinking when you tried to kill yourself!”

I jerk back from the vehemence of his shout, but the pillow cushions my throbbing head. “I wasn’t.”

Scott stands from the chair so abruptly that it tips back and crashes with a loud smack on the linoleum. “Don’t,” he warns with a baring of teeth. “Don’t you lie to me when I’m the one who found you!”

I close my eyes and scrunch my brow as I try to remember what he’s talking about. Brief clips of him calling my name and yelling at me. When I open my eyes again, I see his lips are now pressed hard together in a thin line. “Scott—” I start, but he cuts me off.

“Severe alcohol poisoning along with an infection in your leg. That’s what the doctors said.” His nostrils flare as he points to my legs hidden under the blankets. “You consumed so much alcohol, your body couldn’t fight off the infection in your thigh! Luckily the wounds in your calf weren’t infected, but they still had to pump your stomach and flush you with fluids to get your system somewhat regulated again!”

I keep my mouth shut as he angrily paces along my bedside. I honestly didn’t realize I had done so much damage to my body. It wasn’t my intention.

Scott stops at the foot of my bed and rubs his mouth before looking at me. “The damage had already been done to your leg by the time your healing could kick in. You have scars now, Val.”

I swallow and give a small shrug. “They’re just scars, Scott. It doesn’t matter.”

He hisses and slams his hands down on either side of my feet. “If you had just gotten the EMT to look at it, you wouldn’t have any!” His hands ball into fists as he drops his gaze from me once again. “If I had insisted you be looked at, you wouldn’t have them.” His voice quiets. “If I had dragged you to the hospital with me, you wouldn’t have done this to yourself.”

Shame hits me like a freight train. “Scott, no. This isn’t on you. Don’t try to take the blame for my stupid actions.” When he looks up at me, my eyes sting at what I see there. He really thinks this is his fault. “I wasn’t trying to kill myself.”

With a deep breath, he uncoils his hands and straightens. “What other explanation could there be?”

I fold my hands in my lap and look down at them. “I wanted everything to go away, but not in the way you’re thinking. I didn’t want to die. The images from that night—” I take in a shaky breath as the memories try to resurface. “They were too much. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw everything happening again and again. But it kept getting worse. My mind started to twist what happened, and it wouldn’t leave me alone. I wanted to sleep without the nightmares, to fall into a black abyss and deal with everything later. I couldn’t handle it, Scott.”

“You found your abyss, Val,” he states in a firm but not unkind tone. “At the bottom of four bottles. Four. Even for a wereanimal, that’s an insane amount to consume in the nine hours I left you. And I don’t even know how fast you drank them.”

Four? Gods, I thought it was only two. “Every time I woke up from a nightmare, I drank more. It wasn’t to kill myself,” I reiterate. “It was to sleep without any dreams.”

Scott walks over to the chair and steps on one of the legs so that it lurches itself back up into the correct position. “At the scene, you looked more shaken than I have ever seen you. Despite needing answers, I tried to give you time to recuperate. But after listening to the recording, I realized just how traumatic it must have been for you.

“Still, I waited eight hours to give you ample sleeping time, but when you didn’t answer any of my calls, I panicked. My instincts told me something was wrong, so I rushed to your apartment, blowing up your phone the entire way. Standing at your front door, I heard your phone ring, but you weren’t answering. I pounded on the door, but still nothing. Your door was unlocked so I opened it and called your name. That was when I smelled everything.”

There’s a beat of silence before he continues. “You have no idea what it was like to find you like that,” he says in a low voice, not looking at me. “Cold and barely breathing, then throwing up and seizing. I know we have our spats, Val, but I never wanted to see you like that.” His voice gets a little wobbly as he continues. “I never had siblings, but I imagine if I had a little sister, she would be like you. A bratty one.”

I let out a weak chuckle. “Does this mean I call you big bro?”

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