Crashed

Hmm.

I kind of laugh as delirium takes over. As I look down to see that I’m not sitting in urine.

No.

But why is the floor covered in blood?

“Colton!” I call, but I’m so weak I know my voice isn’t loud enough.

I’m floating and it’s so warm and I’m so tired. I close my eyes and smile because I see Colton’s face.

So handsome.

All mine.

I feel sleep start to pull on me—my mind, my body, my soul—and I let its lethargic fingers begin to win the tug-of-war.

And right before it takes me, I understand the why, but not the how.

Oh, Colton.

I’m sorry, Colton.

Darkness threatens to pull me under its clutches.

Please don’t hate me.

I have nothing left to resist its smothering blackness.

I love you.

Spiderman. Batm—

The sound of the gunshot startles me awake. I spring up in bed and have to catch my breath as I tell myself it’s all over. Just a goddamn nightmare. The fucking bastard is dead and got what he deserved. Zander is fine. Rylee is fine.

But something’s off. Still not right.

“Say something I’m giving up on you …” I jolt from the panic I feel from hearing the lyrics as they pass through the overhead speakers. Shit. I forgot to turn them off last night. Is that what scared the fuck out of me? I scrub my hands over my face trying to snap me from my sleep-induced haze.

That had to have been it.

“… I’m sorry that I couldn’t get to you …”

I reach for the control on the nightstand to shut the music off. And then I hear it again, the sound that I’m sure was what woke me up. “Bax?” I call out into the room as I realize Ry’s side of the bed is empty. He whimpers again. “Fuckin’ A, Bax! You really have to take a piss now?” I say to him as I place my feet on the floor and stand, waiting for a second to steady myself and thank fucking God this is getting easier because I’m sick of feeling like an eighty-year-old man every time I stand.

I immediately look out toward the top of the stairs to see if any lights are on downstairs and the hairs on the back of my fucking neck stand up when it’s dark as fuck. Baxter whimpers again. “Relax, dude. I’m coming!” I take a few steps toward the bathroom and feel a bit of relief when I see the sliver of light around the closed door to the toilet room. Jesus, Donavan, chill the fuck out, she’s fine. No need to go smothering her and shit just because I’m still freaked the fuck out.

Baxter whimpers again and I realize he’s in the bathroom too. What the fuck? The dog’s licked his balls one too many times and is going crazy. “Leave her alone, Bax! She doesn’t feel good. I’ll take you out.” I walk into the bathroom, knowing he’s not going to come with me unless I grab his collar. I yell a hushed curse trying to get him to obey but he doesn’t move. I’m fucking beat and not in the mood to deal with his stubborn ass. I slip on the water on the floor and my temper ignites. “Quit drinking the goddamn water and you won’t have to go to the bathroom in the middle of the fucking night!” I take another step and slip and I’m fucking pissed. I’ve had it right now and am having trouble keeping my cool.

Baxter whimpers again at the bathroom door and when I reach it, I rap my knuckle against it. “You okay, Ry?” Silence. What the fuck? “Ry? You okay?”

It’s a split fucking second of time between my last word and the door flinging open but I swear to God it feels like a lifetime. So many thoughts—a fucking million of them fly through my mind, like at the start of a race—but the one I always block out, the one that I never let control me, owns every fucking part of me now.

Fear.

My mind tries to process what I see, but I can’t comprehend it because the only thing I can focus on is the blood. So much blood, and sitting in the middle of it, shoulders slumped against the wall, eyes closed and face so pale it almost matches the light marble behind it, is Rylee. My mind stutters trying to grasp the sight but not processing it all at once.

And then time snaps forward and starts moving way too fucking fast.

“No!” I don’t even realize it’s my voice screaming, don’t even feel the blood coat my knees as I drop to them and grab her. “Rylee! Rylee!” I’m shouting her name, trying to jostle her the fuck awake, but her head just hangs to the side.

“Oh God! Oh God!” I repeat it over and over as I pull her into my arms, cradle her as I jolt her shoulders back and forth to try to wake her up. And then I freeze—I fucking freeze the one time in my life I need to move the most. I’m fucking paralyzed as I reach my hand up and stop before it presses to the little curve beneath her chin, so afraid that when I press my two fingers down there isn’t going to be a beat to meet them.

God, she’s so beautiful. The thought flickers and fades like my courage.

Baxter’s wet nose in my back snaps me to, and I suck in a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. I get a little better grip on my fucking reality—my fucking sanity—and it’s not very strong but at least it’s there. I press down and let out a shout in relief when I feel the weak pulse of her heart.

All I want to do is bury my face in her neck and hold her, tell her it’s going to be okay, but I know the thirty seconds I’ve fucking wasted sitting here have been more than too much.

I tell myself that I need to think, that I need to concentrate, but my thoughts are so fucking scattered I can’t focus on just one.

Call 9-1-1.