24
Haven
I'm staringout the window, looking right at Raine who's waiting for me to open the door. In truth, I had no intentions of sleeping tonight, not on an unmade bed with condom wrappers freshly tossed into the trashcan less than four feet from me. I was going to keep a watch out the window and make sure no one attempts to break in—not that I have a plan if someone were to do that.
I release the deadbolt and the chain-link from the door, opening it enough for Raine to come inside. "I'm sleeping on that chair," he points over to the corner of the room. "And you're going to sleep on the bed." He walks past me and over to the chair he just claimed. "Furthermore, I need you to stop putting yourself in dumb situations."Why did he even come back?
"I'm not being stupid, Raine. God. I have no one. Can't you see that? I know I have two parents that are physically alive, but I don't want to be anywhere near them. That's half the reason I ran into Bennett's arms during my junior year of college. I couldn't fathom the thought of graduating and being forced to go home to those assholes."
"That's not my point," he says. "You aren't thinking things through, Haven."
"When did you become so self-righteous and a know-it-all?" I retort. "I was suffocating in a relationship, and despite whatever you may think, I didn't leave Bennett because of you." Well, maybe a little because of him, but it wasn't because he was being released from prison the same week.
Raine drops down into the chair and slouches into it, making himself comfortable. "It's late," he says, closing his eyes.
"If you hate me so much, why are you here?" I ask, folding my arms over my chest. "Why do you want to keep helping me. I don't get it, and it's hurting my head."
"I just worked all night, and I'm not in the mood to argue," he mutters.
"I didn't exactly start an argument." I can’t help feeling a bit defensive about the way he's acting. In response, Raine slaps his hands down on the armrests of the chair and props himself back up. His eyes flash open and glares right at me while releasing a loud, exaggerated breath. "What is your problem? Why did you even come back here?"
"I feel sorry for you," he says.
Each word feels like an intentional punch to my gut. I don't know what my face looks like right now, but if it represents even the slightest bit of what I’m feeling, he should be aware of how much his comment hurt. "You should leave," I tell him. "I don't want you to feel sorry for me." I tried to convince myself that prison wouldn't damage him further, but I always knew it was a strong possibility. It was a more substantial possibility that he would never want to see or talk to me again too, but here he is.
"You're not staying here in this place, alone tonight," he says, without so much of an apologetic intonation to his words.
"I'd rather deal with whatever loser breaks into my room than your cruel words."
I walk over to the door, ready to open it up for him, but he lashes back. "My cruel words?" he repeats, calmly. "Those words are the truth. Idofeel sorry for you, for the life you were brought up in. It was so shitty that you have unknowingly put yourself in ridiculous situations, leading you here tonight. My statements aren't entirely meant to piss you off. They are intended to make you understand that Igetit."
"You only get you. You don't get me," I argue, knowing everything I'm saying is pointless. Raine will hear what he wants to hear. He's made that clear these last couple of days.
"So you think," he says, relaxing back into the chair.
"Oh my God. Get the hell out of here. Honest to God, you are not the person I once knew. You're a jerk who wants retaliation against me. You think saying every cruel thing that comes to mind is going make me feel worse for what I did to you? It's not, Raine. So, stop trying," I shout.
He isn't moving from that chair, and as a result, I'm becoming more enraged by the second. Who the hell does he think he is? "I don't want retaliation against you," he says. "I'm tired, and you're pissy. We should just go to sleep and talk about this in the morning." His eyes begin to close again, and I'm about ready to have a full-blown screaming fit.
"I'm not sleeping in that bed," I tell him.
"Fine, want the chair?" he asks with indignation.
"Actually, I do," I snap back.
He sluggishly hoists himself out of the chair and practically throws himself down onto the bed. He doesn't seem to care about the fact that the sheets aren't clean; although, he may not know since he didn't see the comforter already pulled down like I did when I walked in.
Knowing this argument isn't going much further tonight, I drop down into the chair with a remnant of warmth left over from his butt. I pull my legs into my chest and position myself to be as comfortable as possible, which isn't much, but at least the chair can't be as dirty as those sheets. I hope.
I try to close my eyes, needing to erase every memory of the last twenty minutes, and the entire day for that matter, but my mind feels like it's spinning a mile a minute as I listen to soft breaths spilling out of Raine's perfect lips. The sound is soothing, and it pulls me a little closer to contentment. Without fully reaching a state of sleep, I snap out of my dark haze, finding Raine convulsing on the bed. The memory of this happening years ago floods back to me. He never did say much about it other than it being a random seizure—or so he made it sound. If I remember correctly, he shooed me away from the topic completely.
I jump out of the chair and clamber on top of him, placing my hands on the side of his face. "Raine," I mutter, hoping not to startle him from whatever he's going through. It looks like he's definitely having some kind of seizure. He isn't snapping out of it, so I call his name a little louder, watching as foam bubbles in the corners of his lips. I've gone from worried to scared out of my mind in a matter of seconds. The convulsions are growing more severe, and it sounds as if his body is stealing each breath he tries to take. His eyes are rolling into the back of his head, and blood is trickling from his lip now as it looks like he might have just bitten down on it.
Furiously, I look around the room for the phone so I can call 9-1-1, and at the same moment I find it, Raine's body relaxes into the bed. I turn back to him, hoping whatever was happening is over, but he's looking around the room with what appears to be confusion. He's gripping at his chest and trying to catch his breath as if he just ran a marathon. "Raine, can you hear me?" I sit down on the bed and run the back of my hand up and down his flushed cheek. His eyes struggle to focus, but after a few long seconds, he stops looking around and stares at the ceiling. "Raine?"
He opens his mouth, and more blood drips over his lip, so I jump up from the bed and run into the bathroom for some tissues. As I return, he's groaning, but his focus is still on the paneled ceiling. "I'm calling an ambulance," I tell him as I press the tissue down onto his lip.
While I try to stand back up to move closer to the phone, he gently grabs my arm. "Don't," he says weakly and under his breath.
