Page 58 of Drowning

"What are those?" Eli asks, stepping over Damon's body as he walks over.

I quickly stand up and drop the picture, trying to keep him back so he doesn't see his baby sister like that. "No, Eli. Trust me, you don't need to see them."

His nostrils flare, his sharp jaw clenches, and for a moment, it feels like he's about to fight me over the pictures. But he relaxes eventually, turning back around to look at Damon and letting out a chillingly dark chuckle that makes my nerves uneasy.

"She fucking killed him, Seven. She killed him, and she didn't want us to find out." He takes his gun out and cocks it, then fires, the sound of recoil echoing loudly in my ears. He doesn't stop, either. Eli stands steady and empties the clip into Damon's corpse, getting his revenge even though his sister beat him to it.

But I don't stop him. He needs this, mostly to feel like he's protecting his sister, even though, by the looks of it, she doesn't need it.

And then he breaks down, his strong exterior crumbling as he collapses against me, thinking about the horror and torture Emerson went through. I hold him and let him sob, trying to hold back tears of my own, but I can't.

I glance up at Ace, who has managed to compose himself in the doorway, still pale and on the verge of barfing. He nods at me, his eyes filled with a mix of sympathy and understanding. With Eli still leaning on me for support, we eventually leave the apartment, knowing that the nightmare is far from over.

Getting home well after two am, Ace goes right upstairs to his room, desperate to shower, hoping it'll wash away the stench of death still clinging to him—to us. Eli is still silent, not knowing what to say or how to process the horrific scene seared into our minds.

He walks like a zombie to the dark kitchen, his shoulders slumped, a distant look consuming his murderous eyes, obsessively fixated on a bottle of Jägermeister that he snatches off the top of the refrigerator. Without speaking, he walks straight out the back door, taking the entire bottle with him.

The quiet tapping of footsteps descending the stairs grabs my attention, and I turn around to see Stone coming toward me, rubbing his bloodshot, tired eyes with a grim expression on his face.

"How is she?" I whisper, glancing up at the top of the stairs, making sure Emerson didn't follow him.

He shakes his head and walks into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, chugging half of it before he speaks. "Not good. She's struggling, but still won't open up just yet."

"I'm not surprised," I admit, shaking my head as I stare blankly out the kitchen window at the waves, bile rising in my throat. "She fucking killed him."

He chokes on the water, looking at me with bulging eyes and his mouth slightly ajar. "Wait, what?"

"Yeah, we found him mutilated on the floor of some apartment, lying in a pool of dried blood." I shudder just thinking about it as the images from the pictures flash in my mind. "He put her through hell, so I don't blame her."

"Fuck, I don't even know what to say." Stone just stares at me, almost as if he's waiting for me to say, 'Just kidding'. But those words never come out of my mouth.

"She's afraid to face us, and I don't blame her," I whisper, bowing my head as I squeeze the bridge of my nose, trying to hold back the onslaught of emotions overwhelming me. "Eli's about to hit a very dark place."

Stone nods, a grim understanding overshadowing his face with dark, hooded eyes. "We're all in one, grim company, but he and Emerson are facing the worst of it."

"Yeah, and all we can do is be there for them. But we need to clean ourselves up and figure out what's next. We can't live in this fucking mess forever," I scoff, still trying to grasp the severity of the situation.

He reaches into the drawer, pulling out two cigarettes that he lights, handing one to me before puffing on the other himself. "She's going to need all the help and support she can get."

"We're all going to need a lot more than that," I mutter, realizing that this was only the beginning of something we never saw coming our way.

thirty-four

Lingering Nightmares

E m e r s o n

Bloody, brutal nightmares tortured me all fucking night, making me fear sleep every time I tried to close my eyes. I knew I was safe at the beach house—safe with the guys—but I couldn't handle the flashbacks, nor could I forget what had happened to me. It had only been less than twenty-four hours since I killed Damon and managed to escape his house of horrors, but I wanted to be fixed right away.

I wanted to forget. But I couldn't, no matter how much I smoked or how many Xanax or Ambien I took. Even having Stone sleep in bed with me didn't help, but fuck, did I want it to. While he slept, I stayed awake, staring into the darkness that surrounded me, flinching at every little noise I heard.

I was becoming paranoid, and for no fucking reason either. Damon couldn't hurt me anymore. I fucking made sure of it, but the traumatic memories of what he did to me lingered long after I slit his throat.

I needed to find a way to move on—to heal from the trauma that was consuming me. Stone tried to comfort me, but I could see the worry in his eyes. I didn't want to burden him with my demons, but I knew I couldn't face them alone. The nightmares had left me exhausted, and I longed for a sense of normalcy that seemed to be so fucking far out of reach.

But I felt a glimmer of hope in the darkness. I knew I needed to talk to someone who could guide me through the pain and help me find my way back to myself. The thought of opening up to my brother or any of the guys was daunting, but I knew I couldn't continue to suffer in silence. Still, I refused to tell them what Damon did to me, even more than what I did to him. I didn't want their pity or for them to look at me differently. I wanted to spend the rest of my time here having fun, exploring each new relationship I had gained with the guys, and focusing on moving forward. I was determined as fuck to make all of that happen.

So, I felt that if I could keep it from them for as long as I could, living with myself would become easier, and I'd eventually move on one way or another.