Page 108 of Not Made to Last

I grab the nearest metal chair and yell, “Move!”

“Dad?” Rhys’s sister cries, and Mr. Garrett moves out of the way just in time to miss the chair I throw at the door. Glass shatters so fast, yet so slow… and I jump through the opening and rush toward Rhys, dropping to my knees and pushing the gun away. “Rhys.” I hold his head in my hands, force him to look at me.

His shoulders shake, his chest rising and falling, but his gaze is so far in the distance, there’s no way he can see me. “I can’t— I can’t?—”

“Breathe,” I cry, and he shakes his head.

Tiny breaths, spurts of it, like hiccups… “Liv…”

“Where the hell did he get a gun?” his dad asks, and I don’t know who he’s talking to.

“Rhys…” A light flicks on, followed by Mrs. Garrett’s gasp. “I need you to look at me, baby.”

He can’t see me. Can’t feel me here with him. I look around, not sure for what, and then I get to my feet while his mother drops to her knees beside him.

I round the island and find a mixing bowl, then open the fridge to detach the ice container from the dispenser. I dump all the ice into the bowl, then fill it with water, never once stopping to wipe the flood of tears pouring out of me. “Grab a chair,” I tell Mr. Garrett. “Put it in front of him.” He rushes to do as I say, and I place the bowl on the chair. Then I kneel beside Rhys again, help him up just enough so I can guide his face into the water.

Bubbles of oxygen float to the surface of the bowl while I count to three, then pull him back by his shoulders. “Again,” I whisper, unable to take a full breath through the strength of my cries. “One more time.”

61

Rhys

I get curious about death.

Not the finality of death or even the act of dying. More like… what would happen if?

I can’t see her.

But I canfeelher with me.

I can hear her voice.

Feel her touch.

Feel her eyes on me as she wipes away the ice-cold water from my face, only to lead me to it again. Every time she does it, I feel my entire body turn to ice, feel my heart slow, feel my lungs expand… even while I feel like I’m drowning.

But I can’t drown, I remind myself.

Every breath I take is for her.

And the more breaths I take, the more I get to float.

I can barely keep my head up, but she’s here, stopping me from falling into the liquid darkness.

She’shere.

And so am I. “I made you a promise,” I try to tell her, but my throat’s closed in on itself, and nothing comes out.

“What?” She holds my face again—cold, wet hands keeping me steady. Keeping me safe. “What did you say?”

“I made you a promise,” I croak, my words finally audible. “You breathe,Ibreathe.”

62

Olivia

There was a stillness in the air during the aftermath of my grandparents’ death. It felt like it was instant, though I’m sure it wasn’t. One second there were flashing lights and people everywhere, and once they’d taken the bodies away, there was just me.

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