I force myself to crawl, inches at a time. The tile is disgusting and I don't care. My hands slide through something I don't want to identify. Probably my own sweat. Maybe vomit I missed.
My fingers close around the phone.
Eli's name on the screen.
I answer. Can't get words out. Just breathe into the phone, harsh and ragged.
"Drake?" Eli's voice sounds tight. Controlled. Like how he gets when he's trying not to panic. "Drake, are you there?"
"Yeah." The word comes out slurred.
"Jesus. You sound terrible. Are you sick?"
"Bond break."
Silence on the other end. Long enough that I wonder if the call dropped.
"How bad?" Eli asks finally. His voice has that clinical edge now. Doctor mode.
"Bad."
"Drake, you need to go to the hospital. Now. Before this becomes life-threatening."
"Can't."
"Yes, you can. Where are you? I'll come get you."
Thunder rolls outside. The motel windows rattle in their frames.
"Doesn't matter," I say. Words thick in my mouth. "Only thing that matters is Vee."
"Vee is safe," Eli says firmly. "And she wouldn't want you to die, not like this."
"Don't care." The words slur together. "What's the point?"
The truth of it sits in my chest like a boulder. Heavy and final.
I spent five years with Vee. Five years of her in my kitchen at two in the morning baking away her anxiety. Five years of terrible jokes that made her laugh when she was spiraling. Fiveyears of her vanilla and wildflower scent wrapping around me like home.
And I threw it away.
I threw her away.
For Marie. For biology. For a scent match that felt like destiny but turned out to be a cage in disguise.
Eli sighs, long and heavy. The sound carries everything he's not saying.
"I know where she is."
My head lifts off the floor. "What?"
"I know where Vee is," Eli repeats, each word deliberate. "I'll tell you, but you have to promise me something first."
"Anything."
"You get help after. Hospital if you need it. IV fluids. Whatever it takes to keep you alive. You don't just collapse and die on her doorstep."
"Eli—"
