Page 26 of Save Me

At some point, my tears stop, my breathing starts to level out, and I find myself closing my eyes, the cool floor comforting against my hot skin.

I’m roused by the sound of a door clicking shut and hushed voices filling the air around me, but I don’t open my eyes.

“What the fuck is she doing on the floor, Ryan?”

“You think I put her there? She woke up and freaked out, Jax. I have never seen her like this before.”

“It could be the pain meds…” Jax’s voice trails off.

“She was terrified of me,” Ryan cuts in, his whispers rushed. “I touched her hand and she flinched, actually flinched, fromme.”

I hear a heavy sigh and open my eyes slightly to see Jax looking towards me. He looks as if he has aged since I last saw him—dark circles outline tired eyes, eyes that are filled with both exhaustion and anger, as if he’s fighting his own silent battle.

“Hello, love,” he says softly, meeting my gaze.

Ryan’s head snaps towards me and neither of them move, seeming suddenly unsure in my presence.

“You’ve been asleep for a while,” Ryan says softly. “I wanted to move you back onto the bed but…” He trails off.

I look between him and Jax, my hands moving from my knees and onto the cold floor. I brush a tear away and take a deep breath, focusing on everything around me. The room looks the same, warm and cold all at once, just like Jax standing before me.

“He said you didn’t want me anymore. Said you couldn’t be bothered coming to get me,” I start, remembering Rhett’s words.

A pained look crosses both of their faces before being replaced by barely contained anger. Ryan looks to Jax, shifting nervously.

“I swear on my life that I’ve done nothing but look for you for the past two weeks,” he vows. His voice is gravelly, his words laced with an unspoken pain.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, as I sink into myself, unsure of what else to say, trying to untangle the truth from a web of lies.

I swear again under my breath, looking at both of them, blurry through my tears.

Jax takes a few tentative steps towards me as Ryan remains unmoving.

“Ryan said you jumped off the bed,” he says softly, switching the topic as he moves towards me, as if I’m some wild animal he’s trying not to scare. “I just want to make sure you didn’t rip any of your stitches. Can I look at your back?”

I take a moment to process what he’s saying, realizing I have no memory of getting stitches, no memory of being brought here.

I nod silently.

His feet move against the floor quietly as he approaches before kneeling in front of me. I close my eyes in his presence, finally feeling as though I am home.

I hear him take a shaky breath and I open my eyes to find his eyes searching mine, as if assessing for any damage that hecan’t see. I can feel the tension in his body, as if he is using every ounce of control to keep the space between us.

He reaches his hand to me, and after only a split second of hesitation, I take it, throwing myself into him as if I am a moth and he is the flame.

I’m consumed by him, his hands on either side of my face, our foreheads pressed together. He closes his eyes and exhales shakily. “You’re alive. You are here. You are everything to me.” His lips find my forehead, gently kissing me before wrapping his arms around me, careful to avoid touching my back.

I let him pull me into his chest, the warmth grounding me amidst the inner turmoil wreaking havoc on my body. For a minute, just a minute, everything feels like it’s going to be okay, and I let myself melt into him.

CHAPTER 13

‡

One week later

Ifind solacein the shower as the hot water pours down my front, as I try to keep my back as dry as possible. Everything is healing well, and out of the dozens of cuts that marred my back, most were shallow enough that they healed on their own, the new skin various shades of red and pink. The laceration just under my ribs was a different story and is healing slowly despite the stitches and care provided by the doctor. I’m told a wedge of glass had lodged into my left side, deep enough that Jax didn’t dare risk pulling it out on his own when he found me as thick blood oozed slowly around it and showed no signs of stopping. Seventeen stitches later and I’m under strict instructions to limit any physical movement that could risk slowing down the healing time. The doctor told me that despite his best effort, I’ll be left with a scar. In all honesty, I don’t mind, and a part of me likes the idea of scarring. I lather more soap between my hands, grimacing as I realize just how fucked up that sounds.

I want it to leave a scar.

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