Back To Back - Cameron Chelsea M.. Страница 29

When we reach the hotel, I throw a wad of cash at the driver and I’m out the door. I call Cash.

“I’m here. What room?” He gives me the number and I bust through the lobby and search for the nearest elevator. There’s one person manning the front desk and a maintenance worker with a vacuum. I find the elevators and soon I’m on the floor. The closer I get to the room, the more my heart pounds.

I knock and the door flies open. I throw my bag at Cash and rush in to find Sylas sitting on the floor near the window, his knees pulled up and his face staring straight ahead. I crouch down and look into his eyes.

“He’s been like this for hours. I’ve literally tried everything.” Sylas’ hair is wet and I wonder if Cash dumped water on him.

“Sylas? Sylas, can you hear me?” No reaction. He barely even blinks and his breathing is shallow. I’ve never seen him look so empty. So… gone. He’s gone. Deep inside his head, to a safer place none of us can reach. I stroke the sides of his face.

“Come back to us. You’re going to be okay. It’s all going to be okay. We’re going to get you out of here and go home and everything is going to be okay.” I keep my voice even and soothing. Cash sits on the end of one of the twin beds and watches me.

I lock my eyes with Sylas, searching and looking for a way in. For a flicker that he’s coming back.

I slow my breathing and scoot a little bit closer. Carefully, I press my lips to his. Nothing.

“Come on, Sylas. I need you. Lizzy needs you. We love you and we’re here for you. You don’t have to do this alone. I love you so much. We can get through this together.” I keep skin contact with his face and don’t look away from him.

There it is. One shaky breath and then I see his hands clench and unclench.

“There you are. It’s okay. Come back, Sylas.” His fingers twitch and he blinks more rapidly. He inhales with a gasp, as if he’s coming up for air after being underwater.

“Cash, can you get me some water?” I say, taking my hands from Sylas’ face and rubbing his hands. They’re cold.

A glass of water appears in my peripheral vision and I take it and put Sylas’ hands around it. He looks down at it as if he’s never seen a glass of water before.

Slowly, I help him raise the glass to his lips and he takes a sip. Some dribbles out of his mouth and onto his shirt, but then he gets the hang of it. He finishes the glass and I take it away and ask Cash to refill it.

“Sylas? Can you say something?”

“Why are you here?” he rasps, each word sounding like it hurts to say. Each one is a knife in his throat.

“Why wouldn’t I be here?” I say. “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t… know,” he says. He’s still coming out of it. I’m still massaging his hands. He’s not so stiff anymore and I wonder if we can try to get him on his feet.

“Do you think you can stand?” I ask.

“N-no,” he says. “No.”

“Okay, that’s fine. We’ll just hang out here on the floor. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

His face screws up and then he starts sobbing. It’s a dry, wracking sound and he falls forward into my arms.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” he says over and over. I hear a door shut and I wonder if Cash left us alone together to give us some privacy. I’m sure Sylas wouldn’t want anyone to see him like this.

I hold him as he curls into my lap like a child. I keep rubbing his back and talking to him and telling him it’s going to be okay. That we’re going to go home and everything will be fine. I don’t talk about his father. I don’t want to throw him back into whatever state he just came out of.

One thing is for sure. He needs help. Professional help. A therapist or something. His anxiety is getting the best of him and I can’t watch as it controls his life anymore. It’s not healthy and it’s not safe. He never recovered from losing his mother, never grieved. Instead the pain has built up inside him, seeping into his veins and putrefying. It’s a black ugly thing and it’s got teeth. It’s not going to let him go unless he makes it.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” he chokes out, his body shaking so violently it’s hard to hold onto him. At last he wears himself out and then he’s still. I’m afraid he’s going to go catatonic on me again, so I turn his head and force him to look up at me.

“Sylas. You stay with me. Don’t go anywhere.”

“I can’t,” he says.

“I know. But it’s okay. It’s okay if you can’t.” I know what he’s saying “I can’t” to. He can’t kill his father. I’ll have to find out what happened from Cash, since I don’t think I’m going to get it out of Sylas right now.

“I love you,” I say. “I love you so much.” My broken, strong, infuriating, fascinating Sylas. He’s it for me. I know that, beyond the shadow of a doubt. Even if I don’t trust him. Even if I never trust him. This is it.

His eyes close and soon his breathing is even and slow. He’s fallen asleep. I don’t want to move him, so I get my phone and send Cash a text letting him know he can come back in.

The door opens quietly and he speaks in a whisper.

“How is he?”

“He’s asleep,” I say. “I’m afraid my legs are going to fall asleep, so do you think you could help me move him to the bed?” He nods and together we slowly get Sylas onto one of the twin beds. He’s so exhausted he doesn’t wake and I cover him with the blanket before stretching my back. My spine cracks loudly and I wince.

“Thank you for coming,” Cash says. This is the Cash I know. Serious and reserved. In control.

“What else were you going to do?” I say. I blink and it’s hard for me to open my eyes again.

“Are you okay? You’re weaving on your feet.” I have no idea what he’s talking about, but when I look down, I see that I’m weaving like a drunk.

“Tired,” I say. My body is starting to shut down from lack of sleep and too much emotional upheaval.

“Whoa,” he says and catches me as I lean over too far. “Let’s get you to bed too.” Before I know what’s happening, I’m horizontal on the other twin bed.

“Get some sleep and I’ll watch him. I’ll wake you if anything happens, okay? He’s fine now. You can rest.” I start to say something, but the words come out as mush and then my body takes over and hits the off switch.

When my eyes open, I panic for a moment. I’m in a hotel room. Why am I in a hotel room? I blink a few more times and wonder if I’m still dreaming. And then the night’s events crash down on me and I’m stumbling to my feet.

“Sylas?” I lurch toward the other bed, but he’s still asleep.

“He hasn’t moved,” a voice says from the corner of the room. I whirl around to find Cash reclined in the only chair in the room, his feet propped up on an ottoman. I sit back down on the bed and rub my eyes.

I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. My mouth is fuzzy and foul and my eyes feel like they have grains of sand in them. Every muscle is screaming in protest as I move.

Turning my head, I check out the clock. It’s six in the morning. So much for getting back in time to go to class. That’s definitely not happening. I’ll have to get on my phone to email my professors. I run my hands through my hair and the curls are all tangled together in knots.

“I’ll be right back,” I say and shuffle my way to the bathroom. It’s a struggle to stand up from the toilet once I’ve used it, but I get there eventually. I wash my hands and try to avoid my face in the mirror, but it’s impossible.

I look like I’ve been through hell and back. I guess I have.

When I come back out, Cash is on the hotel phone. He says something else and then hangs up.

“Room service,” he says. As soon as he mentions food, my hunger appears with a vengeance.

“Thanks,” I say, going to grab my bag and pull out the brush I hope I stashed in there. Yes. I did pack it. I start running it through my tangled hair and wince as it hits snags.