And that’s only in the last few hours.
There’ve been many more but they disappear as the new notifications bury them. I remember who they were though… Luke, D’Angelo, Wes.
Not to mention the barrage of text messages and voice mails.
I know I’m fucking up even more by not answering my phone. Especially with Blair. But I can’t bring myself to face her. I can’t bear to hear her shattered voice when it’s still so loud from the last time I did something that broke her heart.
I stare at the wall in front of me, the uncomfortable hospital bed making my ass numb. The doctor is talking to me but I tune him out the second he says, “You’re lucky to be alive.” Who the fuck says that to a survivor of a car accident when the other two people are dead? I’m well aware that I’m lucky. But I don’t need him to remind me of that little detail and all the guilt that comes with it.
He pats my shoulder and I flinch, his rushed apology barely registering in my ears.
When he’s done, I nod, thanking him for God knows what as my gaze follows him out the door.
And that’s when my world ends.
Blair’s standing on the threshold. Her hair a mess, her eyes bloodshot, her face marred with black tears.
She doesn’t speak. But I guess neither do I. I can’t. I don’t know what to say. Not anymore.
A murky darkness fills the space between us, and she takes a step forward, ripping my chest open as I struggle to breathe. I can’t face her. But I also can’t handle the thought of sending her away.
She pauses for a beat, shaking her head and stepping back, her shoulders dropping as someone calls her away.
“B,” I finally croak out as she turns to leave.
She pauses and her pained expression splits me in two. “I can’t,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “It hurts too much.”
Sitting up, I Inhale a ragged breath and bang my head against the hotel wall as my memory assaults me. But it’s not the worst of it. And when that worst comes to mind, I force myself to move, running to the bathroom as I dry retch.
Sierra. Sierra. Wake up. Come on. Come on. You have to wake up. Don’t you dare die on me. Sierra!
My stomach heaves as I fall to the cold tiles, tears in my eyes, my heart lodged in my throat.
I need you, S. And God, I need Blair.
I’m not sure how the fuck I got myself here, but after my breakdown in the hotel, my alarm went off again and I somehow managed to clean myself up, getting my ass to the station. Right on time.
Two officers greet me. The first one introduces himself as Holt. He’s an older man with a porn star mustache and light red hair shaved at the sides, his expression cocky. The second, a younger woman with smiling eyes and dark, slicked-back hair, introduces herself as Officer Nelson, her tone much more professional.
They escort me through the halls until we reach a dark room, and when the lights switch on, I’m not sure if it’s my vision or an interrogation technique, but it doesn’t get much brighter.
Officer Nelson gestures for me to sit, and I’ve barely lowered my ass when I’m hit with the words I was dreading.
“Mr. McKenna was pronounced dead yesterday morning. We’ve asked you here today to give your official statement over the incident that occurred on…” Mustache man, Holt, continues his rant but I zone out, trying to replay the events of that night, with my mind overflowing with all the fucked-up things I’ve done in my life.What if I’m wrong? What if my memory of that night is based on lies, conjured to protect myself. A way of ensuring I wouldn’t break down if it ever came to this.
Not that it helps if that’s true.
I want to believe it was self-defense, I do, but he fucking died. I slammed his head into the pavement so goddamn hard that hedied. Even if it was self-defense, it’s still my fault. I still killed another human. Making my number three.
“Mr. Fitzpatrick?”
“Sorry, yes.” I snap out of my head, my stomach rolling with nausea.
“Can you state your full name for the record, please?”
“Yes, it’s Zane William Fitzpatrick.”
“Thank you.”
