“Erik!” Larkin called, worry lacing her voice. She held me down, attempting to still me, but the pain became overwhelming and I knocked her away before throwing up over the edge of the bed. A physical expulsion of everything that churned inside.
Multiple hands grabbed me, shifting my body into a comfortable position again. I tried to focus on my breaths while they hovered around me, unsure of what to say or do. Something inside was unravelling at an alarming rate. For a moment, I wondered if it was a heart attack. Had I finally reached my threshold? I’d read books and papers about how the body would store trauma. Was it finally paying me back for years of neglect?
The sweat beaded on my forehead and I clenched my jaw so tight that I grew worried that I might break my teeth. I shut my eyes, ignoring the probing questions and the footsteps. I couldn’t bear to focus on anything other than my next breath.
“Erik,” I called quietly in a moment of relief that finally came.
Sloan had long left to take care of her children and somewhere along the way, Larkin had also slipped from the room. Life continued around me while I figured out if there was a way out of the mess I’d made of mine.
Bouquets of peonies were dotted around the room. It was Sloan’s way of making me feel welcome. The pastel pale colours stood out against the ivory walls. Erik stood by the window, staring out into the garden. I wondered what went through his head. How much he regretted ever admitting the truth to Gray about our bond.
When he turned to look at me, I noted the faint purple circles under his eyes. They were stark against his porcelain skin. He attempted a weak smile. “How are you feeling?”
The silence sat between us.
When you grew accustomed to Gray, to the chaos and heaviness he carried around with him, you learned to appreciate the lightness that Erik offered. He was skilled in small talk and could lift the moods swiftly. Erik’s very being emanated love and affection in such vivid waves that you couldn’t help but be swept into it. But as Erik struggled, I couldn’t bring myself to play along. I was suddenly immune to his usual infectious nature.
“Quentin,” he began. “Grayson, he tried…”
“Please.”
“He…”
Erik didn’t finish the sentence because, what was there to say?
Grayson did more than break my heart.
He shattered our bond.
He told me I was unwanted and that he wished he’d never laid eyes on me.
I wondered if he thought it would have been better if I had died that night the car hit me.
My stomach rolled at the thought.
I was on my own now.
No backup from Gray.
Whatever happened next, I could only rely on myself.
Isolation was something I chose as days and nights became indistinguishable. Food held no appeal, and I pretended to be asleep when any of the others ventured into the room. Whether they believed I was in a peaceful slumber was up for debate, but no one disturbed my ruse. What was I meant to say to them? Confirm everything that Erik had probably already told them? Deal with the pitying looks and platitudes? I couldn’t deal with any of that.
Most of my thoughts revolved around my stupidity in agreeing to work on the E.L.I. project. The unravelling of my life began the moment I signed the contract. I should have taken a postdoctoral research position in some far-flung corner of the globe and things would have been so different now.
These Gods, Gods I didn’t even believe in, had destroyed my life piece by piece. They had taken what I had never offered and left me in ruin.
And yet, I didn’t fully believe that.
My lack of faith had been shaken by the kindness that wrapped its arms around me in the form of Erik and Sloan.It had been splintered by bellyaching laughter provided by Ig. Uprooted and cast out by the pure, intense, and unconditional love Grayson offered.
Grayson.
In all the silence that reigned through my days, I replayed the events that led to my predicament. When I grew tired from the anger, I slowed the memories down and analysed them with precision, falling back into old habits that had served me well.
Grayson was a being who was built on rage, and he rarely had control over it. Vicious and vile, these were traits he displayed without shame. But there was another side of him I couldn’t ignore. A loving and caring side that was dialled by the same intensity as everything else in his life. And the more I thought about it, the less I believed it was nothing more than a show he put on. No one could fake love like that, could they? It was impossible. Despite the vitriol he spewed when I saw him in the cells, some, possibly foolish, part of me became less certain about how much truth was behind the words.
Hope was a dangerous thing. It began as nothing more than a spark that could rapidly grow into something all-consuming. And it was what pushed me to get showered and dressed for the first time in days. I was clearing away the fog in order to make my next move.
