I press my palms against my eyes and try to breathe. The pressure helps. Just barely. Just enough to keep me from screaming.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
It doesn't help.
Nothing helps.
I'm alone.
I've always been alone.
And Bane's right.
I'm going to stay that way.
Chapter 12
The headache doesn't stop.
If anything, it gets worse.
By the next morning, I can barely open my eyes without the light stabbing through my skull. Even the thin gray light seeping through my curtains is too much. Every photon a needle driving into my optic nerve. I try to lift my head from the pillow and immediately regret it—the room spins, the ceiling blurs into the walls, the walls blur into the floor, my stomach lurches, and I have to press my face back into the mattress and breathe through the nausea.
The pillowcase is damp with sweat. When did I start sweating? My t-shirt clings to my back, cold and uncomfortable.
My entire body aches. Feverish. Wrong. My muscles feel like they've been stretched too tight and left to snap. My bones ache. Even my teeth hurt. Like I'm coming down with the flu, except it's not the flu. It's something else. Something deeper. Something that's crawling through my veins and setting every nerve ending on fire.
I curl into a ball, knees to chest, and try to make myself smaller. Try to compress the pain into something manageable.
I know what it is.
I just won't let myself think it.
I call into work around nine. My phone screen is too bright even on the lowest setting. I squint against it, fumbling through contacts with fingers that won't cooperate. My manager picks up on the third ring.
"Cornerstone Books, this is Dan."
"Hey." My voice sounds like gravel. Rough and broken. Like I've been screaming. Have I been screaming? "It's Max. I can't come in today."
"You okay, Max?" He sounds concerned. His voice is tinny through the phone speaker. Too loud. I hold it away from my ear. Dan's good like that. Actually gives a shit about his employees.
"Just a migraine. I'll be fine by my next shift."
The lie tastes bitter.
"Take care of yourself. Feel better."
"Thanks."
I hang up and drop the phone on the bed. It bounces once. The sound echoes in my skull.
Liar. Liar. Liar.
