What am I doing? I ask myself that question over and over as force my hands away from his scars and put them around him, pulling him close. He resists a little at first, then relaxes and slumps against me. The movie unrolls, Dori keeps forgetting where she is, and my throat closes.
How can I help you, Shane?
I cajole him until he curls up on the sofa, his head in my lap, and I run my fingers through his soft, long hair as he dozes. My heart swells with fondness. It’s like I want to wrap myself around him, keep him close always, keep him safe from harm, from the demons hounding him.
It scares me—I’ve never really been fond of a guy before—but not as much as the scars and the flashback. I need to know what happened to him. Need to understand, piece the picture together. Really know him.
There’s only one person I trust to have the answers—and I’ll get them out of Seth if I have to sell my soul in exchange.
Part II
Shane
Nine months ago the girl I’m crazy about kissed another guy. Now she’s kissing me, and I don’t know how the hell to keep her. I have no fucking clue…
How to not get the girl: A guide for boys
Be dark and silent and impenetrable. Don’t ever open up.
Don’t tell her you need her or that you love her. Big no-no.
Shove her against the wall and be a violent asshole instead of admitting you can’t live without her.
Have prettier hair than her. Use a good conditioner.
Don’t be afraid to be vulnerable for her—and that’s rule number one.
Chapter Seven
Shane
There’s a rock knocking about inside my head, trying to crack my skull open. When I lift my head off the pillow, it hurts so much I moan out loud.
Goddammit.
Can’t recall what nightmare woke me up this time. A faint image of a laughing face flashes through my mind, then is gone, leaving behind an aftertaste of fear.
I’m lying on my sofa, the TV playing on low—a kids’ show with marionettes. I blink at it stupidly, waiting for the pain in my head to go down a notch, let me think.
Let me remember.
My stomach twists dangerously, and I throw my legs off the couch, struggling to get up. The room spins and swirls as I lurch to my feet and cross the living room. The bathroom door is open. I hear
a voice calling my name, but I’m too focused on not puking on the floor. As it is, I barely make it, crashing to my knees in front of the toilet and lifting the lid just in time to toss my cookies.
Fuck this shit. Puking, throbbing head… Drinking. Downing so much Jack after a couple missed lunches obviously wasn’t my brightest of ideas. Why was I drinking?
Ocean. The bar.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand¸ the throb in my skull intensifying as I struggle to pull the threads of memory together to form a coherent story.
Ocean wanted to drown his sorrows, he said, and I went with him—to drown mine or to keep him from drowning himself, who the fuck knows.
Then Seth had shown up, and Cassie… Cassie, oh shit.
Kissing Cassie, pushing her against the wall, wanting her like nothing else in the world, and then… A blank, a black hole.
No, not entirely black. Snatches of memory blink in the back of my mind like ghosts. Images from prison, from the real nightmare, with Christoph and Marco, and the pain and screams and motherfucking fear—