Broken Compass

Chapter Thirty-Nine

West

“West. West, wake up.”

The voice is distant through the ocean of blood I’m sinking into. A woman’s voice.

Della is calling for me, trying to tell me something, but I know she’s dead, and I’m sure I’m dying, so why can’t she wait a little? I mean, there are more important matters at hand.

I can’t fucking breathe. I struggle, and look for the surface, but I’m in too deep, and it’s so fucking dark.

No light.

No air.

“Dammit, dude, come on.” Another voice, a guy this time. “It’s a dream. Snap out of it.”

Need to move. Can’t move. Can’t speak. Can’t fucking scream. Hands on me, pushing me, rolling me, and I fight them to sit up.

Holy shit. Whoa. I gasp and sputter and suck in sweet oxygen as I push everyone away.

“It’s okay. Okay, look. No touching.” Nate lifts his hands. “You sounded like you were dying, man. Got worried.”

“Then let me die in peace, goddammit.”

Syd draws a sharp breath and scoots closer to nestle against my side. “Shh.”

“Not even as a joke, man,” Nate mutters, turning away, shoulders stiff. “Not even as a goddamn joke, do you hear me? I’m not losing another one of us.”

It takes me a long moment to gather my wits. I can still see Della’s face as it was in my dream, superimposed on the image etched in my mind of the last time I saw her, lying dead on the floor.

And the time before, when I thought I’d killed her, when my stupidity had almost gotten her there. My mother.

My stomach churns. Sourness fills my mouth.

Ah fuck.

Wrenching myself away from Sydney, I practically fall off the bed and stumble across the room and into the bathroom, where I toss my cookies in the toilet.

I heave until there’s nothing left, and then I flush, unable to move from the spot, my arms folded over the toilet top.

My fault. My fault again.

And I never got a chance to ask her why. Why she never told me the truth, why she let me think she was my sister. To ask if she ever loved me, if she ever wanted me.

If I really ruined her life.

Sydney comes in with a wet cloth and wipes at my mouth, my face. It feels good against my heated skin. Her big eyes are full of worry. “What do you need?”

“Nothing.” I take the cloth from her hand and pass it behind my neck. “Just bad dreams.”

“They’re making you sick.” She huffs, kneeling on the cold tiles, buck-naked. Cute. Sexy. “You haven’t been eating, or sleeping much, ever since before Kash left.”

“None of us have. Stop worrying.” Not over someone like me. But I don’t say it, only tug on her curls, the floral scent of her shampoo comforting. “Maybe I caught a bug.”

She gives me a dubious, unconvinced look that still manages to get my dick interested. Even after this nightmare from hell, my body knows what my mind is slowly coming to recognize: I’m in love with this girl. I’ve fallen for her.

So damn hard.