Tears wet my knees.
“No one’s gonna hurt you, Emmett.”
He pulls away the strength I have left, leaving nothing but a pile of shaking pain-filled bones and too-weak muscles falling into him.
I become one with the cries that work their way past my clogged throat, with every tear track that lines my hot cheeks and drips down my chin onto Tristen’s pant leg.
“I-I’m sorry,” I sob onto his thigh.
He holds me tighter.
“Just let it out.”
I cry harder.
“You’re safe, Emmett. I got you.”
My mouth sticks wide open, no sounds escaping as I grip at whatever I can reach.
I cling to the promises in Tristen’s words. I know they’re fake. They won’t last. It’s just to bring me down and stop the tears.
Men don’t cry, Emmett.
I turn into Tristen.
Filthy little boys do.
I claw at his hoodie. Grab hold of anything that’ll fit in my hands.
“I got you.”
The pain escapes on a sound that I bury, muffle as best I can.
It takes everything in me to suck back my next breath and it’s all sage and leather. Rich and earthy.
Too much.
No, it’s notenough. To calm the raging voices screaming in my ears. The violent thoughts of dying on bathroom floors.
It’s not enough to stop the deep-rootedneedto be someone else.
If I’d been someone else …
I could have been stronger.
I could have been better.
But I’m not.
Chapter 14
Tristen
The firehouse in BarrenRidge is an old building.
Cinderblock sides wrap around it, the once brightly painted station name, number four, is now faded from the abuse of direct sunlight. Bay doors big enough to pass a ladder truck are the color of rust. Windows set high up in the concrete are covered in a layer of God knows what and barely lets out the light illuminating from within.
There are even a few scars on the old place that I’d bet my paycheck were from gun shots that never got filled in.
