I’m afraid to open my eyes when I hear the familiar shuffle of Tristen’s feet.
Gayyyygaygaygay.
Does he know what he’s done?
My stomach rolls violently enough that I gasp against the pain.
“Bubbles, hey.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, the sound of his voice too loud.
“What did you do?”
Not waiting for an answer, not really expecting one, I roll and tuck my knees beneath me, my head buried in the mattress. Palming my temples feels better, until it doesn’t.
“You need to eat, baby. It’s been days.”
Days?
DAYS?!
I shoot up so fast, the room spins. My mouth goes dry.
“Gonna puke.”
I heave, the echo of my retching surrounding my head, but nothing comes up.
Nothing but yellow acid that burns its way through my gut and into the bucket propped in front of my face.
“Days?” I choke out, fighting another wave of nausea back enough to catch a glimpse of Tristen’s thigh curled next to me.
“I … I’m so sorry, Emmett. I tried to wake you up but you just … wouldn’t.” The crack on his voice hurts, but the pain of realization hurts worse.
Ripping my gaze away from the swirls of yellow in the bucket, I find tears gathered in Tristen’s eyes.
But behind where he’s perched on the edge of my bed?
A suit.
Hanging from the door in black and white.
“I missed her funeral.”
An ache like none I’ve ever felt before claims me, pulling me back down to the mattress with a sob so violent, it’ssilent.
Not even my lungs dare to move.
My rolling stomach takes up home in my throat, and my eyes leak.
And leak.
Tristen’s doesn’t even try to console me. He’s just there, on standby, as my world keeps falling apart in front of him.
I hate him for it.
Just as much as I love him for it.
“Please,” I finally whimper, though I have no idea what I’m asking for. “Please.”
