I can’t lend even an iota of my bandwidth to his comfort.
When I turn back to Ty, the paramedics have lifted the stretcher to full height and are rolling him toward the back of the vehicle. I stride after them, falling in step beside the older paramedic.
Once Ty is lifted into the vehicle, I shift closer, intent on climbing in after him.
“Ma’am—”
I swallow down a wave of emotion and blink away the tears gathering in my eyes, then I hold my head high and declare, “I’m going with you. I’m his wife.”
Chapter six
Mercer
Ipress my nails into the tops of my thighs, digging in hard enough to make my nailbeds ache. If only the clawing was sharp enough to elicit the sting I crave through my pants. I dig at the fabric methodically, head hung low, jostling with each pothole Noah hits on our way to the hospital.
I deserve the pain. It will be the first of many punishments.
My self-loathing is the tip of an iceberg I’m only beginning to understand the magnitude of.
I hold my breath for seconds at a time, only inhaling and exhaling enough to keep myself from passing out. I welcome the burning sensation in the hollow of my chest each time I hold inthe stale air. I want nothing more than to burn from the inside out in repentance for what I’ve done.
Even if I didn’t want to inflict harm on myself, I couldn’t inhale fully. I tried as we were pulling out of the parking lot and was assaulted by the sweet apple and warm cinnamon scent that belongs to the woman I just lost by my own hand.
I don’t deserve to savor her scent. I don’t deserve to breathe at all.
I have to remind myself to swallow.
To blink.
Every bodily function takes thought and concerted effort.
Bitter acid erupts in my throat, the contents of my stomach threatening to spill out all over the front seat of Noah’s truck.
“Nope,” my best friend snaps, the single word shocking me out of my stupor.
He engages my window, and as it lowers, cold air slams into me.
“Stick your head out there and get some fresh air. If you really think you’re gonna yak, tell me to pull over. You arenotpuking in my truck.”
Eyes closed, I slam my head back and finally inhale deeply. I swallow down the bile gathered in the back of my mouth.
I will not puke in this vehicle.
If I do, the odor will erase Sawyer’s sweet and spicy scent. More proof that I ruin everything.
Another wave of nausea rolls through me.
Noah grasps my hand, startling me out of my spiraling thoughts. Head whipping his way, I pull back and glare. I don’t deserve tenderness. I’m not worthy of comfort.
“Don’t do that.” He tips his chin toward the hand he can’t reach. The hand, I realize, that’s still clawing into my leg, threatening to send me backsliding after fourteen years of not self-harming.
I ball my hands into fists to resist the urge to hurt myself.
“We’ll be at the hospital soon.” He blows out a long breath, focusing on the road again. “But Merce…”
He grips the steering wheel tighter and inhales deeply.
“If being there isn’t what’s in your best interest, then we’re not doing this,” he says, his voice quiet. “I’ll turn this car around right now. We’ll go home and we’ll regroup. There’s not much we can do at the hospital anyway. If this will cause more harm to you than good for her, I choose you in this moment. You’re my priority.”
