I’ve lost her.The thought hits me again, fresh and devastating, like learning it for the first time.
I’ve lost Marley.
And I don’t know how to get her back.
I don’t even know if I deserve to try.
My legs feel heavy as I dismount my hog and walk through the front doors, each step an effort. Paige is at the front desk, and her warm smile falters when she sees my face.
“Nitro?” Her voice is gentle, concerned. “Honey, are you okay?”
“Is Queenie in her room?”
She nods slowly, her eyes tracking over my face as if she is cataloging all the ways I’m falling apart. “She is. Go on up.”
The hallway stretches before me, fluorescent lights humming overhead, the faint smell of lavender and antiseptic hanging in the air. Residents peek out from doorways as I pass, some offering waves, others watching with curious eyes.
I barely register any of it.
All I can think about is the look on Marley’s face when she realized I’d been lying to her. The way her voice broke when she said my name. The way she gathered her things with shaking hands and walked out without looking back.
I head upstairs, and Queenie’s door is partially open, warm light spilling into the hallway. I knock softly, and her voice calls out immediately.
“Come in, dear!”
I push the door open and step inside.
She’s sitting in her favorite armchair by the window, a book open in her lap, reading glasses perched on her nose. The evening sun streams through the glass, turning her white hair into a halo, and for a moment, she looks exactly like she did when I was a kid, reading to me before bed.
Then she looks up, and the second she sees my face, her expression softens in that way that destroys me.
“Oh, sweetheart.” She closes the book and sets it aside. “What happened?”
That’s all it takes. The dam, already cracked, finally gives.
My knees hit the floor before I consciously decide to move. The impact jostles through me, but I barely register it. My back hits the wall, hard, and the sound seems to echo inside my skull. Then everything starts collapsing inward, the anxiety and panic hitting me with full atomic force. My breath jerks out of me in a harsh, animal-like sound. The next inhale is worse, thin and sharp, as if trying to drag air through a straw.
My hands fly to my face, fingers digging into my scalp, because it feels like my skull might split open from the pressure building behind my eyes. My chest tightens so suddenly and viciously, I gasp, clawing at my club cut as though I might be able to tear space enough to breathe.
But I can’t.
I can’t get air.
I can’t think.
I can’t stop shaking.
My heart is jackhammering, too fast, too loud, slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision. My stomach lurches, flipping so violently that bile claws up my throat.
Sweat floods across my skin, cold, icy, wrong.
My fingers are numb.
My legs tremble uncontrollably.
Somewhere far away, too far to reach, I hear Queenie’s chair scrape, hear the soft pat of her slippers on the floor as she kneels as close as she physically can. “Nitro.” Her voice is like a drone, a buzz against my ear, muffled as my head swarms with dizziness.
Her hand finds my shoulder, steady, warm, real, and the contrast against the chaos ripping through me nearly breaks what’s left of my control. “Honey, look at me. Breathe with me.”
