But I guess I should be thankful that I managed to hold it all together until she turned eighteen. She may still have a couple months left of her senior year, but she’s an adult now. She can—
Oh God.
She’s an adult.
As in,she can be tried as an adult.
The monitor beside me erupts into shrill alarms.
“She’s spiking,” the paramedic’s brows knit. “I’m administering metoprolol.”
Hot tears slip from the corners of my eyes. If I die, what is Nix going to do? She can’t drag a body by herself. Let’s be real; I don’t think I could either. But together we could. Together, we could hide it. Bury it. Together, we’ve gotten through everything.
But I have to survive for there to be atogether.
“Please,” I croak, trying and failing to reach out and grab the paramedic.
“Just hold on,” he says, already prepping another syringe. “I’m going to give you something for the pain.”
I want to tell him that I don’t care about the pain, that I just need to live, but he’s already putting the syringe into the IV attached to my arm. Everything suddenly tilts, fades, and then goes black.
Fuck.
Chapter Two
Kira
Iknow instantly that I’m in a hospital. The scratchy gown and bright lights are annoyingly present. My body feels heavy, like someone has strapped bricks to my limbs, and my head is throbbing. But it’s nothing I can’t handle. I peel my eyes open against the brightness as best I can. My fingers fumble blindly around the edge of the bed until I find the button I’m looking for—the one that alerts someone I’m awake.
Because I lived.
Which is… great.
I think.
But now I need to get out of here.
Surviving just means I’m conscious enough to deal with the disaster waiting at home. How long have I been out? An hour? A day? Aweek? Oh, God. The body is probably already decomposing. The smell. Nix. She’s alone with a body. I hold the call button down until my knuckle turns white and force myself to sit up. Pain spears my chest, sharp and insistent, but I grit my teeth and ride it. I’ve pushed through worse with less reason.
“Whoa there, take it easy,” a plump nurse says as she bustles in, adjusting the rails like she expects me to fall. “Do you know where you are?”
“Yes,” I croak, my voice dry and raw. “Can you, uh…” I tug at the IV in my arm. “Can you take this out? I need to go.”
“Oh, no, dear. You won’t be going anywhere,” she speaks to me like I’m a child.
But I haven’t been a child for a very long time, and her tone grates on my nerves.
“Like fuck,” I scoff.
Her eyes go wide, jaw falling a bit, and a twinge of guilt hits me. She didn’t deserve that. She’s just trying to do her job. I get it. Ireallydo. How many times have I been cussed out because I had to cut someone off at the bar? But this isn’t just another round. I have shit to handle.
“Sorry.” I try to rein in my impatience. “Can you just take this out, please?”
She purses her lips, clearly unforgiving. “I’ll get the doctor.” Her tone is clipped now, and she roughly locks the guard rail back into place.
I groan as she turns her back on me. I’m really not trying to ruin this woman’s day, but I have a sister who needs me.
Once the door shuts, I try and fail to lower the rail myself, becoming winded almost instantly. A weakness I’ve never felt is heavy through my body, and I involuntarily slump back against the pillow, humiliated and furious.
