Shane (Damage Control 4)

As I turn blindly around to go, my hand closing around the handle of the apartment door, a crash reverberates through the apartment, jerking me out of my self-pity party.

I whirl around, my heart in my throat. “Shane?”

He’s drunk—the kiss is proof of that. What if he fell and hurt himself?

Waiting at the door, I strain to listen. It’s quiet. Maybe he dropped something. Nothing important. I should be on my way.

Another crash rings through the apartment, and I start toward his bedroom before I even know I’ve made up my mind to check on him. I hurry across the living room, past the bathroom, and pound on his bedroom door. “Shane. What’s going on?”

When he doesn’t reply, I push it open and walk inside. The light is dim, the bulb overhead weak, so that I squint as I take another step, trying to make sense of what my eyes see.

An overturned chair. A lamp in pieces by the bed. Shane’s jacket thrown on the mattress.

Shane sprawled on the floor, his long hair fanning around his head like a pool of ink. His hands scrabble on the beige carpet, and he’s muttering something under his breath, his eyes wide and staring up at the ceiling.

“Shane?”

He hisses as if in pain, his back arching off the floor.

Holy shit. A thousand possibilities flash through my mind as I try to figure this out. An epileptic fit? He fell and broke a bone? He hit his head?

“Hey.” I approach slowly, carefully, crouch beside him. “You okay? Shall I—?”

“Please,” that one word from his mouth comes out loud and clear as he struggles for breath. “Please.”

This is no epileptic fit, that much is clear. His face is pale, sweat shimmering on his brow and cheeks, running down his neck in shiny trails. A vein in his jaw ticks rapidly.

“What’s wrong?” I lean over him. “What happened?”

His eyes flick in my direction, and he jerks away, hitting his head on the floor with a thump that makes me wince. He doesn’t seem to notice, though, scrambling to shift away from me, those dark eyes so wide his pupils are black pinpoints in the white.

It’s as if he’s afraid of me.

Jesus. This isn’t normal, right? Never happened before. Of course, I’ve always seen Shane in Halo or at parties. Never on his own turf.

“Say something,” I whisper, my breath catching when he cries out and throws himself sideways, crashing into the bed. “Shit. Talk to me.”

Yeah, this shit isn’t normal, and my presence isn’t helping. I’m so out of my depth here. So frigging scared for him, and no clue what’s happening.

“Shane.” I draw breath to say something more, to ask again, but nothing comes out.

He curls up on the floor, muttering again. I lean closer to hear.

“Stop,” he’s saying, over and over. “Please stop.”

“Stop what?” I put a hand on his shoulder, shake him a little.

He thrashes, knocking against the side of the bed again, his breathing coming in shallow gasps.

God. He’s breaking my heart.

“What happened to you?” I whisper, because it’s obvious he can’t really hear me. He’s caught in a terrifying daydream, and I’m making things worse.

I should call someone.

Seth. I should call Seth. He’ll know what to do.

But I don’t move, because somewhere deep inside my mind, inside my memory box, something is stirring. A nudge, a poke. Something feels familiar about this, but I don’t know what. I only know it makes me scared and sad and desperate.