Collins and Riley.
My Stardust and Sweet Boy.
Ever since the day they were kidnapped, it’s like I’ve fallen into this never-ending haze of red mist that’s laced with rage and violence. It’s taken everything in me to not go on a rampage, torching this fucking planet city by city to find them and invoking every ounce of wrath I feel and leaving nothing but carnage in my wake until they’re in my arms again.
I’m not just pissed that they were kidnapped. No, my fury is also directed inward. Self-loathing swims like acid in my veins, eating away at my very essence, leaving me hollow and all-around fuckinglividat myself for the way I failed to protect Collins the way I swore to her that I would.
Every part of me is screaming to drown myself in either a bottle of tequila or bloody my fists against any motherfucker who dares to even blink too close to me. But I know self-destruction won’t bring them back. I need to keep a level head. Or… as level as it can be with my sanity hanging on by the barest of threads.
Fuck, maybe it’s already snapped, and I’m just delusional enough to think that I haven’t given in to the insanity yet. Maybe that’s why Asher looks at me like I’ve completely lost my mind every time I suggest arson as a means to find them.
I don’t know how the fuck my best friend has remained so level-headed for the last two weeks, knowing his little sister is who-the-fuck knows where with Riley. I can’t even think about what could be happening to them right now or I’ll destroy this fucking hotel room that Asher has stuffed me into. Again. Probably set the entire hotel on fire, too.
I’m standing in the middle of the bathroom in nothing but a towel after Asher strong-armed me into the shower and threatened me. Telling me to clean myself up and shave or he’d do it himself. I stare at my reflection through the fog, but I don’t recognize the face before me. Through the hazy distortion, what I see is nothing more than an empty vessel of a man, made up of flesh and bone, but lacking substance. Two lifeless eyes stare back at me. Lifeless, because I’m a man who lost both of his soulmates in one night, and now I’ve been caged by Asher to prevent me from tearing the world apart, brick by brick.
I tilt my head at my reflection. The man in the mirror looks like he’s fucking taunting me, mocking me for my failure. Before I can think it over or process my actions, my fist flies, and the mirror shatters into a thousand tiny pieces, blood staining the wall and shards of glass as they fall in a scattered heap onto the sink and floor around me.
Blood runs in a crimson stream down my arm. Two huge fragments protrude from the skin of my knuckles, but I make no move to dislodge them. I welcome the pain as I sink to my knees, the glass cutting into my skin. All I can do is stare at the mess I’ve made of myself.
A manic laugh breaks loose from the confines of my chest.
I laugh and laugh and I can’t. Fucking. Stop.
I’ve definitely lost my fucking mind.
Somewhere in the distance, through my unhinged laughter, I hear the faint pounding of footsteps. The bathroom door bangs open so hard that it bounces off the adjacent wall.
“What the fuck, Creed?” Rough hands land on either arm and jerk me back onto my ass, away from the glass. By some miracle, my towel stays in place as a blurry version of my best friend appears before me. He gets one good look at my face and swears, swiping a hand across the stubble on his jaw. I want to ask him what the fuck his problem is, but I think we both know the answer to that because it’s very much my problem, too.
“What’d you do, man?” he asks, reaching for my hand but struggling to grip my blood-slicked fingers. I’m now shaking uncontrollably.I’m not laughing anymore, so why the fuck am I shaking?
“Creed?”
I look up at the sound of Asher’s confused tone, but my cheeks are wet and he looks all watery and wobbly through my vision.The fuck is happening to me?
“I–” I try to speak, but my throat feels too tight; it’s choking all the words from me.Am I crying?
“Jesus Christ,” he curses quietly, thumbing the wetness from my cheeks before grabbing a hand towel from the shelf next to the shower as he chuckles. “I was wondering when you’d finally snap. About fuckin’ time, man.”
“This isn’t fucking funny, Asher,” I snap, but the asshole just smirks while carefully wrapping the cloth around the shards still protruding from my knuckles.
“I mean, it kind of is,” he deadpans back at me, the corner of his mouth turning upward so subtly that I almost miss it before it falls. When his eyes meet mine, I can see the pain that’s swallowing the deep blue of his irises whole.
He’s hurting, too.
Clearing his throat, he speaks softly as he grabs me under my arms and pulls until I’m standing before him. “I know it’s not funny. I’m sorry, brother. C’mon.” His voice is softer now as he pushes me backwards and away from the mess I made.
I feel like a piece of shit for making him feel bad when all he’s trying to do is create a light moment in the midst of this seemingly endless nightmare we’re living in. An apology sits on my tongue when we enter the room, but he walks away and rummages around in my bag until he finds a pair of shorts. I’m stunned when he kneels in front of me and holds them out and open for me to step into.
“I can dress myself,” I grumble, pride trying to keep its grip on me.
Asher just cocks a brow, continuing to hold the shorts out for me while glancing from the glass sticking out of my hand to my face.
“Just step into the fucking shorts, Creed. It’s not the first time I’ve had to help your injured ass get dressed.”
Now it’s my turn for my lip to curl from his words, but the sentiment is quickly snuffed out when the truth that hangs between us is so heavy. There is no fucking happiness, sunshine, or jokes to be made while Collins and Riley are missing.
The footage of them being carried, dragged, and thrown into their captor’s car that day flashes through my mind, threatening that red mist of anger to swallow my vision whole again.
