I flushed the toilet again for him, grimacing as I looked at the mess he’d left behind. He’d done his best to contain it, but it wasn’t like throwing up was ever graceful or pretty. I’d have to clean it up after I got him into bed…
Fuck, what was wrong with me? Maybe I just wanted him to have to helplessly watch me leave, knowing he couldn’t do anything about it. Maybe I wanted him to think I was going to stay so I could drive the knife deeper, devastate him more.
I didn’t think so.
“C’mon,” I told him, doing my best to help him to his feet. He was much bigger than I was, though, much heavier, and there wasn’t a whole lot I could do beyond steadying him a little.
I helped him out of the bathroom and into his room, into his bed, and he collapsed heavily on the sheets. I watched him for a moment, then slowly pulled the blankets up and around him.
“Get some sleep,” I said, smoothing his damp hair from his forehead.
“Toby…”
“Hush.”
I didn’t want him to ask why. I didn’t want to try to figure it out and come up empty again.
Nothing with him made sense.
I needed to lie to myself before I drove myself crazy, and I justified it as fear of what he might do if he caught me.
It was easier that way.
This time, though, I did go to the closet, and I thought I might have finally bolstered myself enough to make a run for it. I pulled out one of his shirts and put it on, feeling ridiculous because of how large it was on me. I eyed his pants, knowing perfectly well they’d never fit me, and I sighed.
I could hear him moving in the bed, probably turning to face me and figure out what I was doing.
I sighed and turned, still wearing the shirt as I closed the closet door. I was still there.
I was still there, and none of the excuses I made to myself made any sense at all.
I traipsed to the door, ignoring his whimpers, and let myself out of his bedroom. Once there, I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, taking a moment to gather myself. I caught myself trying to make sense of this yet again and firmly stopped those thoughts in their tracks before they could even coalesce into something greater.
I took a deep breath then shook my head, starting toward the kitchen.
It felt huge without him there with me, and I faltered for a moment as I looked in the direction of the front door. I could leave. I could bolt. I could?—
I went to the cabinet instead, getting a cup then going to the fridge to get cool water. Instead of going to the door, I went back to his room, where he was still lying there, looking utterly miserable.
“Here,” I told him, holding out the glass. I helped him sit up, and he sipped from it before grimacing, shaking his head and refusing more of it. “Okay,” I said. “I’m going to put this right here. Okay?” I set the cup down on his bedside table, and he collapsed back down onto the bed.
“Please don’t leave me,” he whispered.
My heart threatened to break.
“I won’t,” I whispered back. I leaned down, kissing his forehead. “Now get some sleep.”
18
GRIFFIN
Time passed like I was in a dream.
I slept, and I woke to visit the bathroom again, stumbling there and back with Toby at my side. My only waking thought waswhy, because he’d had every opportunity to flee… but he’d stayed.
I wanted to believe he stayed because he wanted to — because of me — but I knew better. He might have smiled for me, might have played with me, but that wasn’t enough to keep him there.
But he stayed anyway.
