Chapter One - Finn
“Don’t let me die…Please don’t let me die…”
Explosions boomed in my ears, shooting me upright into a sitting position in bed, gasping for air and crying out into the empty bedroom. Gunshots still echoed in my head, along with the gurgling of Dotter’s blood as it poured out of his body until there was nothing left. I looked down at my hands, half expecting to find them bloody. They weren’t. But metaphorically? That was a whole other f**king story.
Trembling, I rose to my feet, my broken arm casted and hanging uselessly in a sling. My body was coated in a light sheen of sweat, and even my sheets were dampened and dark. Blinking at the sunlight that crept through the closed curtains, I tried to remind myself where I was. I wasn’t fighting for my life. Wasn’t watching people die. I was safe.
As safe as I was going to be, anyway.
Pushing the curtains back, I squinted outside. After spending a couple of weeks in a hospital in Germany, followed by another couple of weeks in a hospital in D.C., it was nice to be in a home. But instead of the sandy beaches and hot weather of California, I saw a foot of snow reflecting the sun, blinding me. And we were supposed to get even more tomorrow night. Fucking ridiculous. I studied the position of the sun in the winter sky. Damn, what time was it now? Last thing I remembered, I took a few pills and zonked out. It had been…morning? Maybe? Now, judging from the sunlight streaming through clouds, it was mid-afternoon.
I’d missed a whole day.
Sure. I could act shocked about this, but that happened more often than not lately. I slept away the day, high on painkillers and drunk from whiskey. When I woke up, I swore I wouldn’t touch another drink. I’d last an hour or two.
Then I’d do it all over again.
I ran my hand over my shaved head, wincing at how rough it felt. I’d been back in the good old USA for a couple of days now. I still felt like I was trapped in the f**king desert. Instead, I was in the winter wonderland from hell. Carrie’s parents’ house.
A knock sounded on the door, and I dropped the curtain. I glanced down at myself. I had on a muscle tank and a pair of black basketball shorts. Decent enough, I supposed. “Come in.”
The door cracked, and the red hair I’d recognize anywhere appeared before the face I needed so damn much did. “You’re up?”
“Yeah.” I tugged on my tank and crossed the room. “You can come in.”
Carrie entered, shutting the door behind her. She hesitated, looking torn. Her blue eyes were sober and crystal clear, while I was a f**king drunken wreck. I’d been snapping at her lately. Pushing her away. I hated myself for it, yet I couldn’t seem to f**king stop.
“Did you sleep good? I thought I heard you cry out.”
I fingered the puckered wound on my head. It was still sensitive to the touch and ugly as f**k. Not as ugly as the rest of my scars. Inside and out. “I had another nightmare. Same old thing.”
She approached me slowly. “Anything I can do to help?”
“Yeah.” I met her eyes. “You can come hug me.”
She gave me a smile. “Anytime.”
Within seconds, she was in my arms. Well, my arm. I glowered down at my broken arm, knowing it was as marked up as my head. You just couldn’t see it right now. I closed my arm around her, burying my face in her neck. “Fuck. I missed you.”
She tilted her face up to mine. “I missed you, too.”
“You should start sneaking in here to see me at night.” I dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Then I can at least hold you for a little bit before I fall asleep.”
She did sneak into my room every single night, but we never acknowledged her visits. It was our unspoken agreement. Without fail, I would have a nightmare every night. Also without fail, she would come in and comfort me until I fell back asleep. Then, in the morning, we pretended it never happened. I could tell she wanted to talk about it, but she kept silent.
She just gave, without asking for anything in return.
She was too good for me.
“I’ll try tonight,” she agreed, stretching up on tiptoes to press her mouth to mine.
I tensed and pulled away. I couldn’t…she couldn’t really want me right now. Not when I looked and felt like this. She stepped back, the disappointment in her eyes way too f**king clear. “I’m going out to refill your prescription. Want to come with me?”
I’d love to, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t ready for the world to see me yet. “Nah. I’ll stay here.”
“O-Okay.” She watched me, her brow furrowed. “Did you see the sun is shining?”
My heart wrenched. We used to say that, back when I’d been overseas. It had been our code for “I love you.” Back when we’d been a secret. Back before her father found out about us. Before he’d threatened me if I ever hurt his baby girl.
I didn’t want to hurt her, and yet I was.
I needed to start acting happy better. I pasted a big grin on my face. I felt like a f**king clown. “I did. It’s so bright.”
She nodded, perking up a bit. “Are you sure you don’t want to go out with me? It could be fun. Maybe we could go out to dinner? Have a little date.”
I started to waver. A date sounded f**king fabulous. It had been so long since I felt normal. Since I felt human. We hadn’t had any alone time together, unless you counted stolen moments like this one, and it had been way too long since we acted like a couple at all. I was a f**king mess, and I knew it.
Could I pretend not to be, for her? I could try. “Well…”
I looked over at the nightstand. The mirror over the top of it showed us in perfect profile. She watched me with a hopeful look in her eyes. All red curls, gorgeous skin, and bright blue eyes. She was flawless. And then there was me…Beauty and the Beast.
The wound on my head ran a thin line across my skull, extending down past my eyebrow. My shaven head was patchy at best, due to some lovely hospital clippers that had been used on me. I was told my hair would grow back in eventually, but I was supposed to go out with her like this? I could picture the looks now.
The disgust. The pity.
No. I wasn’t ready.
“We could go Christmas shopping, too,” she said, her voice excited. “It’s only six days away, and I know you didn’t get anything for your dad. I still need to shop for mine, too.” She grabbed my hand, squeezing it. “We could have fun, like old times.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” I said. “My head…” is fine. “Hurts.”