Page 123 of For Wrath and Redemption
“Jonah.” Claire leans into the back seat and gives me a concerned, confused glance. “What is going on? This has been on the calendar for weeks.”
I rest my head on the seat back and try to calm my breathing. I squeeze my eyes shut and grit my teeth, trying to force away the visions.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I didn’t check the calendar. I should have. I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”
Another pause. I drop my head between my knees and jam my hands into my hair. I pull. I should have kept the pills. I should have read the calendar. I’d have been prepared. I should have kept the pills.
“Okay. Just let me make a couple calls, and then we can go back to the suite.”
I don’t answer. The car door shuts. I hear the hum of her voice as she talks on the phone. I count backwards from one thousand and pick at my thumb.I should have kept the pills.
The car door opens, and she slides back in.
“Okay, Sav and Mabel are coming to fill in. If anyone asks, you have food poisoning. Hey.” She grabs my hand again, halting my picking. “Stop it. You’re bleeding.”
I ignore her and start on the other thumb.I should have kept the pills.
“Jonah, stop.” She grabs my other hand. Both of mine are in hers. Then she’s so close, I can feel her breath when she speaks. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”
I shake my head. “I can’t be here. I’m sorry.” My heart is beating so loud. I can hear my blood rushing through my veins. I might have a heart attack. My chest is going to burst. “I can’t be here. I can’t be here.”
“We’re going back to the hotel now.” She brings my hands to her lips and kisses them. “We’re going back. Just breathe, okay?” She inhales,then exhales slowly, her breath dancing across my knuckles, cooling and warming. Calming. “Breathe with me. Just breathe.”
I do. Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus on Claire’s hands wrapped around mine. On her body beside me. On her scent.
She’s here.
She’s here, but she’s not mine. Theo’s dead. I’ve fucked everything up.
I should have kept the pills.
I jolt upright, my chest heaving.
I rub at my eyes, but I still see him. I still see him dead and gray in that hospital bed. Head shaved. Face swollen. My mom’s voice echoes in my ears. The sound is so real, she might as well be standing beside my bed.
It should have been you. It should have been you.
It should have been me.
I press my palms into my eyes until I see white, but the images don’t leave. They mold and blend, adding Claire. Claire laughing. Claire crying. Claire dead. Claire fucking my father. Claire standing over my dead brother’s body. Claire’s voice chanting over and over.
It should have been you.
I fist my hair and yank on it. The voices just get louder. The images get brighter.
I roll out of bed and, on instinct, go for my stashes.
I rip through my clothes. I check every pocket. Every pair of socks.Nothing. I unzip the liner of my suitcase.Nothing. I tear open the liner of my guitar case.Nothing. I dig through my toiletry bag. I dump out every ibuprofen bottle I have.Nothing. I lift the mattress. I pull back the sheets. I take the cases off the pillows.Nothing. The drawer in the bedside table.Nothing.
I check every one of my usual hiding places, and I come up empty.
I’ll call a friend. I’ll text the roadie. I grab my phone and head out of the bedroom, but I halt at the foot of Claire’s bed.
Claire.
I scan her side of the room in the darkness, zeroing in quickly on her suitcase. I rush to it and rummage through it. When my fingers wraparound an orange prescription bottle, my body almost collapses with relief.
“Jonah?”
