My mouth tingles as it numbs. I can’t swallow. Don’t swallow.
Seeing the hole; his insides open to the world…so dark where it pooled…so dark it was almost black…so black…
“Jules?” Dax sounds distant. “It’s okay. It’s all okay. You did great. You were brave. Breathe, sweetheart.”
He speaks through buzzing ears and a mist of blackness, and he calls mesweetheart. Of everything he says, that is the clearest.Sweetheart. No one has ever called me that before. Not my dad, or ex-boyfriend, or even my mum. I know the term is just aninstinctual thing, a kind way to calm me, but the word sticks to me and burrows deep to rest in a part of myself that I tend to ignore; a sad place where I wish someone would call me sweetheart and really mean it.
I hate that version of myself as much as I grieve for her. She is the victim, the lonely, hollow part of myself that I refuse to be. Not because she’s fake, but because she is every truth I can’t bear facing. I know if I give into her, I’ll never escape. I’ll become her fully and be stuck. More than anything, I don’t want to stay in this life, so I lock her up tight and put on a brave face. I am the stronger version of myself, the one who can handle anything and survive it.
I am stronger than a little bloodstain.
I push back at the blackness. The ring of light before my eyes expands and the interior of the room swims slowly into focus again with my world tilted on its side. The buzzing dies away in my ears, but I’m immobilised.
“Are you back?” Dax asks. I try to sit up but the restriction around my arms tightens until I lay still again.
“Did I go somewhere?” I ask lamely.
“You fainted.” His fingers dance across my face from somewhere above, pulling my hair back and sliding it behind my ear. His skin warms mine where he touches, and I discover the world isn’t tilted.
I am.
Stretched out across Dax’s lap, with his arms holding me in place, he watches my realisation dawn. I twist to look up at him, my eyes flaring wide as the truth sinks in. He winks and I jerk to a sitting position, pulling myself roughly from his grasp.
“Shit, I amsosorry.”
“Whoa, take it slow!” Dax’s hands sail up to reach for me but it’s too late, a wave of dizziness consumes me. My stomach churns and my temperature plummets with the clammy coldness that creeps over my skin. Before the blackness swells again, I clamp my eyes shut, stick my head firmly between my knees and suck in sharp, shallow bursts of air.
“Slow down. Too much oxygen and you will feel a lot worse. Just breathe slow. You’ll be fine.” His large hand strokes my back in a steady sweeping motion that really doesn’t help to calm me. The opposite in fact; the longer he keeps physical contact with me, the more nervous I become.
His connection to me, the physical weight of his hand sweeping back and forth, sparks a craving. I want more than a friendly hand. I want to be wrapped in powerful arms, secure and hidden from everything and everyone. I want sanctuary from this night and every night that came before it. I want another human being to offer me a physical lifeline.
I want a goddamned hug.
I’m the saddest idiot I know.
An ear-splitting bang rebounds around the room, bringing with it a wave of disinfected air, this time laced with something floral. I glance up from between my knees and see the door wide and the handle wedged into the wall from the force of the hit. Eclipsing the hallway is a woman, a little younger than me from the soft set of her features. In a pretty white floral dress—which starkly contrasts against her jet-black hair—she storms into the room on three-inch heels and slams her matching white handbag on the nearest chair while relentlessly hissing curses at a second person—someone I hoped never to see again.
My whole body stiffens. I drop my head lower and just listen.
His footsteps squeak a beat after each of hers clack into the room. They argue back and forth at each other, so consumed in their dispute that neither pay any attention to us until Dax clears his throat and makes us the main attraction.
“Who’sshe?” The girl’s voice is sharp. Her words carry accusations.
“Sheis the girl that saved Tom’s life. You need to watch your tone, Sylvie,” Dax snaps at her. Her heel scrapes the floor as she moves away.
The man speaks next. He’s just as waspish; except I understandhisreservations. “She’s the one that found him? I thought you said she’d run away?” His voice is unmistakable, I’d have recognised him without needing to look.
He is the other guy from the Tower’s stairs.Mr Glacial-blue-eyes.
I don’t know how clearly he saw my face earlier, but I’m betting he’ll figure me out soon enough and if he does…what then? He knows what happened on the stairs in the Tower tonight. He has the answers. So why is Dax questioning me? Unless he doesn’t know the man standing in front of us is the same one that was with Tom. If that’s the case, then this guy hasn’t come clean. Why keep it a secret? Why hide his involvement unless he’s guilty? I lower my head further, allowing my hair to fall in a dirty blonde curtain obscuring me from view.
“She did and now she’s back. Jules, this is Sylvie and Ben. Friends of Tom.” I grind my teeth. I don’t want to know his name and I certainly don’t need him knowing mine.
“You can do better than that, Dean,” the girl teases, her sharp tone replaced with a little girl voice. The shift from irate bitch to demure princess puts my back up. I’m betting she’s a practised manipulator and clearly has some kind of relationship with Dax. She even called him Dean. Assuming that’s his real name, she has to be pretty important to even know it.
And let’s not forget she wants me to know she knows it.
“We have more important things to worry about than how I introduce you, don’t you think?” he snaps.
