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I take a hesitant step toward him. He snarls, but I slowly raise my palms up, hoping he’ll see me as no threat.
“Do you feel suicidal today?” Lori hisses.
But I ignore him and take another step. Steady and slow. I glance at the knife stuck into his thigh. It looks painful, but he doesn’t seem to sense it. Another step. And another. Rague’s alert eyes never waver from mine. There’s only a few inches between us now. I’m still showing him my hands, which are slightly shaking, not for fear of him, but of failing him.
The smell of pennies is strong; it covers his usual musky scent. His aggressive, continuous growling sounds like a warning I’m very stupidly ignoring. I tentatively push my right palm forward until my fingers lightly brush his pec. He stiffens but doesn’t flinch. His nostrils flare again, his eyes narrowing on my face.
“Rague. Shhh. It’s okay.” I move the palm little by little over the hard muscle while I make soothing noises.
The fabric under my fingers is damp, but I don’t care. I’m used to blood. I just hope it’s not all his. His body is rigid, shaking with what looks like uncontrollable anger. I can feel his heart beating furiously and also the warmth radiating from his skin. He continues to snarl at intervals, like a wary animal ready to attack. And although a primal, scared shitless part of me is screaming to run, I stay put and don’t show him any fear.
We stay like that for a few minutes, facing each other, the only point of contact my hand over his heart. His chest is moving against my fingers with every heavy, loud breath he takes.
“Rague.” My voice breaks. I don’t know if he’s listening to me. There’s no evidence of understanding on his face. But I keep talking. “It’s me. Your kitty. It’s—it’s me. I’m here.” Same as he’s been for me when I needed him. “I don’t know what kind of demons you’ve been fighting against, but I’ll wait with you until you find yourself again. As long as it takes.” I won’t let him struggle alone. I’ll stand right by his side.
Something abruptly changes in him. He utters a long, unbearable, grievous howl, and I have a glimpse at what’s hidden behind all that anger: it’s a world of agonizing pain.
It’s gone with my next blink, but I can hear my heart breaking. I’m gutted by the brief peek at his excruciating torment. Absolutely devastated by the suffering he’s enduring.
His breath falters, and his eyes seem to clear and quickly fill with regret and hopelessness. A tear drips down his cheek, and then the shaking starts. Rague’s body is suddenly hit by wild shivers. His eyes roll back, and he folds in on himself, starting to drop to the floor. I instinctively try to keep him up, pulling him on top of me.Bad idea.
“Fuck!” I hear Lori’s voice right next to me. But even with his help, Rague’s body is too heavy, and we fall hard on the old carpeted floor in a tangle of limbs—with a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound giant. His huge chest cushions my fall, but my knees get all the brunt of it.
“Ollie,” Lori’s wheezing makes me open my eyes.
“Shit! Are you okay?” I ask him. My hands are cupping Rague’s head. I must have automatically tried to protect it. I’m so fucking glad I did.
Lori nods, removing Rague’s big arm from his shoulder. “I have a newfound admiration for you.” He takes a big breath and sits up. “You’re fucking brave for risking your life every time you let him fuck you. Death by rockslide isn’t that hot.”
“Because dying can be hot?” I retort with irritation.
I place Rague’s head delicately on the floor and try to wipe some of the blood from his forehead. I can’t believe he harmed himself like this.
He’s unconscious but still breathing. I’m out of my fucking mind with worry. He’s shaking and drool is rolling out the corner of his mouth.
“What happened?” My brother’s panicky voice cuts through, and my head snaps toward him. What the fuck is he doing here? He looks pale as a ghost.
“I told you to stay in the car!”
Sully takes a couple of steps on the fallen door and trips on the doorknob almost falling on Lori.
“He’s convulsing!” He points at Rague, ignoring my scowling. And fuck, he’s right. His body is arching toward the ceiling like electricity is running through it.
“What’s wrong with him?” Lori chokes out.
“I don’t know.” Fuck, what should I do? “What should I do?”
My worked-up tone seems to push my brother into action. “Clear the space around him of anything sharp or hard, so he doesn’t injure himself. I took a very basic EMT class at school, looks like he’s having seizures.”
Sully kneels near Rague’s leg where the knife is still sticking out.
I do as he says while I’m fighting with myself. I don’t want my brother to be here, I want to shield him from all this horror, it’s an innate urge.
“We need to call an ambulance,” Lori states. “Fuck! I must have dropped my phone.”
“Mine is in my bedroom. Backpack,” I tell him, not wanting to leave Rague’s side. The seizures have stopped, but he’s shaking again.
“The wound in his leg stopped bleeding, which means that the blade missed the femoral artery. Hold his thigh down. I’ll take the knife out.” I breathe with a little relief; my brother is used to patching me up. He’s good at this.
