Page 117 of Limbo

I purse my lips, contemplating all the parts of Callista I want to shed. “She always stops drinking after a decent buzz.Neverloses control. In fact, she’s kind of a lightweight. Two drinks are plenty for her. And she has rules for guys. No cocky assholes for starters.”

“Hallelujah,” he says, holding a hand to the sky.

We turn the corner, and I stop, taking in the giant courtyard between the buildings. A fountain in the middle and flower boxes and students everywhere. Suddenly, I’m more capable of breathing than I’ve ever been before.

The last three years have been a constant mess with everything spiraling out of control. The past few months have been better with a light at the end of the tunnel. I’ve learned from my mistakes, and I know that’s not the life I want. It’s not who I want tobe, and in two hundred and ninety-five days, when I turn eighteen, I won’t have to be. I’ll leave it all behind and never look back.

Finally free.

Being here, I get my first taste of what that will feel like.

“Does she go to Easton University?” Trey asks.

I smile and nod, deciding she will. “Do you want to know the best part, Trey?”

“Sure do,” he says, hooking his arm around my neck. “What’s the best part?”

“She’s happy.”

He looks down at me and smiles. “You sound like a fucking amazing person, Callie.”

Trey starts bothering me again. Lifting my eyelid and blinding me with his flashlight. He switches to the other side. I want to slap his hands away, but my arms are too heavy, so I clamp my eyes shut until he mumbles something and leaves me alone. My head pounds, and I don’t think I could wake up right now if I tried.

What feels like seconds later, someone begins tapping their finger against my hand. Someone almost always being Jordan Waters. His rhythmic fidgeting is relaxing, and it almost lulls me back to sleep. But then it stops, and everything moves backward in slow motion. Trey talking and the light shining in my eyes and his thumbs forcing open my eyelids. The pressure in my lungs, ready to burst, and the agonizing weight on my neck. It crushes down, heavier and heavier until I open my eyes.

Graham.

I can’t breathe, his hands clamped down around my throat. I frantically grab at them in one last attempt to stop him, but they’re not there.He’snot there. Air sucks into my lungs in hungry gasps, my body unable to get enough. My eyes search for him. The room is dim with white walls and soft pillows.

Where the fuck am I?

“You’re safe, Callie,” Jordan says, dragging my hand away. “You’re okay.”

It hurts my neck to turn to see him beside me. He sits in a chair, and I’m in a bed. Our eyes meet, and the rest fills in. The attack and the pain and Trey showing up. The memories and emotions are raw as every second replays in my mind. Jordan wipes away the tears spilling from the corners of my eyes, and I try to calm my breaths.

Graham almost killed me.

“I’ll go get someone,” he says.

I tighten my hold on his hand and lock eyes with him. He’s not fucking leaving me alone. I don’t care if I am in the hospital and Graham’s not here. Seeming to get the message, he reaches over to hit a button and brings his hand back to my face. His thumb brushes over my cheek. Nothing’s ever felt better, even though the rest of me hurts to varying degrees.

I’m vaguely aware of the cast on my left arm and the stabbing in my side if I take too deep of a breath. My left eye feels heavy, not willing to open much. And when I try to swallow, it feels like razor blades are slashing their way down my throat. I have to close my eyes until the pain becomes manageable, but the gaze waiting for me when I open them again helps me block it all out.

Jordan looks away when a nurse rushes in, and the discomfort returns front and center to my mind. She asks him to step into the hall. As much as I want him to stay, I carefully nod and give him permission to go. I watch him until he disappears out the door. The nurse tells me the doctor’s on his way and gives me a sip of cold water.

Frozen razor blades.

A smiley man whistles his way in the door. According to the clock, it’s not even seven in the morning, so he loses points for being too chipper. “Dr. Gregory,” he says. “Welcome back, Miss Henders.”

The next few minutes blur together as he asks about my pain and what I remember. I answer, my voice weak and raspy. My vocal cords feel shredded, so any attempt to talk above a whisper proves to be a challenge. He assures me that Graham’s been arrested and I’m safe, and then he rattles off my injuries. A fractured wrist, broken ribs, severe concussion, persistent swelling in my throat, and various other cuts and bruises.

Dr. Gregory clicks on a small flashlight. “May I?”

I nod, and he tenderly lifts my lid to shine the light in my swollen eye. It stings, but he swiftly switches sides.

“You weren’t a fan of this earlier,” he says, turning the light off. “Kept trying to close your eyes.”

I force a swallow. “I thought you were my cousin,” I whisper. “He did the same thing to wake me up to go fishing.”

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