With trembling fingers, I brush the sweat-soaked hair off his forehead. “Please, Ty,” I plead, bringing my lips to his clammy, overheated skin. “Don’t leave me. You have to be okay. We have to be okay.”
Every word escapes with a hiccup, my plea punctuated by a painful breath.
You have to be okay.
We have to be okay.
The stain continues to grow, the blood bright against the cream color of his T-shirt. So similar to the blood pooling around my mom on the kitchen floor.
I hate blood.
There’s so much blood.
Ty coughs, sputtering, wheezing.
When the coughing finally subsides, I sit up and survey him once more.
He’s covered in blood, spatters of it all over his light-colored shirt, trails running out of his mouth and down his chin.
There’s blood everywhere.
I soothe him as best as I can, holding him to me as if I can stop the bleeding with sheer willpower.
He starts to shake.
He doesn’t stop.
I silently sob as he trembles in my arms.
“Help is on the way,” I hear someone say.
Who? I don’t know. Nor do I care.
Ty stops shaking, his body going limp in my arms.
My heart shatters into tiny fractals around us.
Is he—
No.
I refuse to even think it.
Anything but Tytus being okay is unfathomable.
My chest aches as I gasp for breath, arms straining as I try to hold him tighter.
Vision fading in and out, I whip my head around and search the space for Mercer.
He did this.
With intention.
He put Tytus in a cage, locked the door, and let him hurt himself so badly he’s now lifeless in my arms.
When I finally find Mercer with his hands on his knees in a corner, I choke back a sob. That snags his attention. I feel his eyes on me. Even through the dark, I hold his gaze, ensuring he feels the depth of my ire.
“I willneverfucking forgive you for this.”