I feel cold. Shivers violently wrack my body as I try to not crumble into myself again. Deciding I can’t stand a second longer, I gently lower myself down into the unnecessary large pile of pillows on the bed and wait for the familiar beep to go off.
The sound of hushed voices stirs me to the land of the living, but the pounding in my head keeps my eyes glued shut. Days of dehydration, sleep deprivation, and a backhand across the face cries havoc on the body, not to mention everything else. I make work to speak but the sandpaper feel in my throat has me holding back.
“What do you think happened to her?” The voice is masculine and familiar, but I can’t make out who it belongs to in the haze of my mind.
“I don’t know. She didn’t tell me what she was doing over the weekend, just that she would be out of town and didn’t know exactly when she would be back.”
“She looks like hell. I’d be surprised if she can open that eye when she wakes up, it looks swollen shut. Did you see the dried blood under her nose? Whoever the gutless fuck is signed his own death certificate. Peyton, go get a warm washcloth. When did she get back?”
She scoffs at whoever ordered her around, but I hear her move around likely doing as asked. “How should I know? We all found her together not ten minutes ago, Jack. She’s not in a good way, she turned on the coffee machine but I don’t see a mug around. This girl pretty much has an IV drip set into her veins.”
“Do you think her gangbanger boyfriend did this? I looked in the bathroom, there’s blood and dirt everywhere. I had to throw out her old clothes because they weren’t salvageable. She’s been gone less than a week. What the fuck has happened to her in six fucking days?”
The feel of fingertips grazing against my face and gently pushing my hair back jolts me back and I can’t stop the groan of pain that slips from me. Then it’s replaced with a rough wetness against the tender spots on my face. I bolt upright at the unexpected contact and sprawling into the corner of the bed and wall. My eyes thick with sleep struggle to make out the figures in the room, but as it clears, I see the four pairs of wide eyes staring at me.
Peyton is sitting on a chair beside my bed, a washcloth in hand. She is unnaturally still as she continues to look at me before her face crumbles and she looks on the verge of tears She folds the cloth in her lap and closes her eyes, taking deep breaths.
My eyes remain focused on her. I don’t know when, but I started mimicking her breaths, taking deep inhales and long exhales. Having reopened her eyes, she offers me a weak smile before offering me a glass of water which she must have fabricated out of thin air because I didn’t see it moments ago. I guzzle it down in seconds and lick my lips in a nervous gesture before flicking my eyes over the guys standing behind her.
Jack is standing just behind Peyton, one hand clapped over her shoulder in a supportive gesture. His hair is all mussed up like he’s been running his fingers through it furiously. I think this is the most disheveled I’ve ever seen him, dressed in a pair of black shorts and loose steel-blue tank. He looks exactly two seconds from bursting a blood vessel with how mad he is, but when he swings those arctic eyes my way, they soften for a moment. He approaches slowly and relieves me of the empty cup before refilling it and giving it back to me.
Leo is leaning against the wall beside my bed with his leg kicked up behind him and arms folded across his broad chest. A scowl on his face firmly in place, but with the way his brows are furrowed, and his eyes are darting across my face, pausing on the bruise, and cut that I’m sure is prominent on my cheekbone, he almost looks worried. When he notices me looking, he quickly drops his gaze back to the floor, allowing his ashy curls to flop into view..
Nash, on the other hand, is sitting on the end of the bed like he has every right to be there. His arms bent over his knees in his usual fashion as he too looks at me with concern flitting over his features. I’ve noticed over the past couple of weeks that Nash, unlike the other two wears his emotions openly, others be damned. He feels what he feels and that’s all there is to it. It takes someone with a lot of courage to be so unapologetically themselves. It’s a trait that I’ve come to admire in him. I offer him a small smile, which he returns without hesitation.
Taking that as confirmation that I’m okay, Peyton and Jack start up on a tirade of questions, while Nash crawls up closer until he’s sitting so close beside me that our thighs are touching. I try to ignore the little flip in my chest at the feel of him beside me and dodge as many questions as possible about the weekend, sticking with half-truths when I can.
Their questions are simple enough. Where did I go? Camping in the wood. Was I alone? Yes, mostly. Why didn’t I answer any calls or messages? I forgot my phone, it’s in the room. They didn’t push on questions I didn’t answer, and refrained from asking the most obvious, which I appreciated. Leo who had been suspiciously quiet through this conversation finally stalked closer to me until he was perched on the bed just before me.
He lifted a hand to my face, ghosting his fingers over my eye still mostly closed with swelling, and lower over my busted lip. “Did your boyfriend do this to you?”
He went to pull his hand back and I don’t know what possessed me to do it, but my hand shot up and grasped his fingers halting his retreat. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Then why do you let everyone think he is?”
I don’t. You just don’t listen to me when I say otherwise, and up until today letting them believe what they want was safer. He offered me protection that I needed, and I thought with it came a sense of security. I was wrong. How does one explain that they dance with the devil to keep them safe? Instead, I offer a half shrug and say nothing else.
This is clearly the wrong response. Bawling his hands into fists, he tugs away from me, stomping over to the bathroom and slamming the door behind him. None of us say anything until we hear the hot water start up.
“Don’t worry about him.” Nash says nodding in the direction Leo retreated to. “He just needs time to cool off.”
I nod, not really having the capacity to offer more than that and fall back into the sea of pillows. My stomach chooses that time to growl gaining the attention of everyone in the room. Peyton tries to cover her laugh with her hand but fails miserably. I’m a little grateful for it, I missed the feel of laughter., and join in softly laughing myself. It’s been days since I’ve had proper food and I know that I’ve lost some weight even though no one comments on it.
Jack moves straight into the kitchen, despite my protests, and starts clanging pots and pans together. Nash scoots in closer on the bed, taking up my left side as Peyton throws herself at me. I grit my teeth against the pain as her arms lock tightly around mine, hugging me so tightly to her.
“You’re not allowed to leave again if you come back like this!” She whisper shouts at me. I lift a hand and pat her back, telling her I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, which does little to placate her, but she eases up on her death grip just a little.
Jack comes over placing a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and avocado toast in front of me, before nudging a mug in my direction. I look over it and see a generous amount of whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles layered on top of the coffee. This guy is going to have me a sobbing mess on the floor, I swear to God. I’m running on no sleep and his thoughtful gesture has me wanting to breakdown and bawl right her.
“I know you don’t like sweet food, but I’ve seen you drink that diabetic atrocity too many times to know that can’t resist a sweet drink.”
I swallow back all the blubbering I want to do and give him a choked up thank you before tucking into my food. The coffee is delicious, just as good as if I made it myself and, fuck me, if that doesn’t just soften my walls around him a little more. He blows so hot and cold, giving me these glimpses of his kind man, then turning around in the next second to tell me how pathetic I am. Jack must sense my thoughts because he starts to kneel until we’re at eye level, taking up the expanse of my vision so that all I see is him, once again.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. You’re being nice to me, I guess I’m just waiting for you to snark at me or bitch me out for something. I kind of feel like I should trip you, or something, to get a head start.”
His face falls for a moment like he’s genuinely pained, and I see his hand come up and rub at his chest. His brow furrows as he scowls down at the plate of eggs before he lifts his eyes back to mine. The grin he shoots me would have my panties dripping instantly if it weren’t for the fact that it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s not real. Then he speaks, placing his hand above mine for a too brief moment.