Page 154 of Fault Lines
He tried to hit me, but he was too far gone. I pinned him to the fridge, using every ounce of what I had left.
“You need to leave,” I said, low and deadly. “Right now.”
He didn’t fight. He just sagged, crying into his hands, and then he was gone—out the door, down the hall, echoing footsteps fading away. I wanted to go after him. I wanted to kill him. But I had to take care of her first.
I went back to Livi. Her eyes were open, but glassy. I couldn’t tell if she was still bleeding, or if I was just making it worse. I called 911, gave them the address, and held her until the sirens got closer.
She didn’t say anything until the paramedics were loading her onto the gurney.
“Don’t let him come,” she whispered. “Please.”
“I won’t,” I said, and meant it.
∞∞∞
The hospital was a blur of bright lights, antiseptic, and paperwork. I’d never hated a place more in my life.
They took her straight back, stapled her head, and ran a battery of scans. I stayed in the waiting room, clutching a Styrofoam cup of bad coffee and staring at the clock, counting every second like it might buy her a better future. I called Rachel again, left another message. I called Jackson. I even tried Nate’s number, just to scream at him, but it rang and rang and finally died.
When they let me see her, she was in a curtained-off bay, IV taped to her wrist, hair matted with blood.
She looked at me, and I saw the shame before she could hide it.
“Don’t,” I said, pulling up a chair. “None of this is on you.”
She started to cry, soft and silent. I took her hand, careful of the needles.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I never meant to—”
“Stop,” I said, voice thick. “None of this is your fault. He’s a fucking psycho. If I could kill him, I would.”
She squeezed my hand, and for a while we just sat there, the hum of machines and the hush of night the only company.
After a long silence, she said, “He was good, once. Or he tried to be. I thought I could help him. I always think I can help.”
I shook my head. “You don’t have to fix anyone. Least of all him.”
She nodded, but her eyes stayed on the wall.
“He said I’d never get over you,” she said, barely above a whisper.
I flinched, but didn’t let go. “Is that true?”
She took a long time to answer. “I don’t know,” she said, finally.
I wanted to believe it. I wanted to be the person she needed, not the one who’d ruined her.
Rachel and Jackson showed up an hour later. Rachel went straight for Livi, wrapped her in a hug that looked like it might break both of them. Jackson stood back, hands in pockets, and gave me a look that said, We did our best, man, but none of us saw this coming.
They talked, quietly, for a while. I stepped out into the hall, called the police again, made sure there was a report. I called the lawyer they suggested, told him to get a restraining order. I did everything I could think of to make it right, knowing none of it would matter.
When I came back, Livi was sitting up, bandaged and pale, but more herself.
Rachel said, “You can come stay with me. As long as you need.”
But I shook my head. “She’s coming home with me. For now.”
Livi looked at me, surprised. “You don’t have to—”
