Page 127 of It's Always Been You
Once Brandon sees I’m awake and responsive, he sits me up and reaches over to turn the water off.
The sudden silence is deafening.
Neither of us speak. I’m shivering so hard my teeth are chattering.
I can’t believe this is happening.
“This isn’t what it looks like,” I say, shaking as the chill creeps into my bones.
Brandon says nothing, just grabs the towel hanging from the hook. He wraps me up before hoisting me out of the tub bridal style. His jaw is tight with tension as he carries me from the bathroom, down the hall, and into my old bedroom. He kicks the door open with his foot, and I flinch, realizing he’s upset with me.
He has every right to be.This is bad. Bad, bad, bad . . .
Shocked by the emptiness of the room, Brandon pauses in the doorway. The only things the movers haven’t removed yet are the bed and nightstand. Most of my belongings have been packed up and put in storage for the time being. Everything except my collection of stuffed animals, that is.
I donated that.
Brandon gently lowers me onto the bed. “This isn’t what it looks like,” I whisper.
His glare could smite a villain. “Like you were unconscious on the shower floor?”
“I swear, I wasn’t trying to hurt myself. I swear.” Growing up, Brandon was the only one who believed me when I insisted that I wasn’t suicidal.
Will he believe me now?
I shake like a leaf caught in the wind as he towers over me, his normally light blue eyes as dark and tempestuous as a summer storm. He sinks down next to me on the bed and lowers his face into his hands. “I thought the worst, Evie. I thought you’d hurt yourself. Thought you were”—his voice breaks—“I thought you were dead for a second.” He grits his teeth. “Worst second of my life.”
“Well, I’m not,” I say, stroking his hair. “I’m okay.”
He groans into his hands.
I wait patiently for his fear and adrenaline to subside before breaking the silence. “What are—” My throat feels raw. I pause and clear the gravel from my voice. “What are you doing here?”
He lifts his face. “The better question is what were you doing passed out in the shower?”
“I had too much to drink,” I admit as I touch a sore spot on my forehead. “I must have slipped and hit my head.”
Brandon struggles to keep the outrage out of his voice. “You could have died, Evie.”
My gaze sinks to the floor. “But I didn’t.”
He sinks to his knees in front of me, ducking his face into my line of vision. I tighten the towel around my body, embarrassed by my nakedness. I feel so exposed. In more ways than one. “I didn’t like the way we left things,” he confesses. “I was going to give you some time to cool off, but I had this feeling . . . that I should come check on you. I’m glad I did.”
“I’m sorry.” Sniffling, I avoid his eyes. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I was just upset, and I didn’t want to—”
“Harm yourself?” he guesses. I nod curtly, ashamed. “So your solution was toget drunkinstead?”
“Look, cut me some slack,” I clap back, feeling defensive. “I’mtryingto get my act together, okay? But it’s surprisingly difficult, alright?”
His eyes soften.
I look down at my hands. I came to Grandma’s house to cool off after our conversation. I tried journaling about it, but it wasn’t taking the edge off. Sometimes, only the blade can do that. But I promised myself I was done with that. Promised my therapist, too. So when I found a stray bottle of whiskey in Grandma’s basement, well . . .
Brandon sighs again. “Oh, Evie. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
A shiver rips through me, and Brandon hastily removes his coat and wraps it around my shoulders. I burrow into it, luxuriating in its warmth. “Shouldn’t have done what?”
“Fired you.”
