Page 55 of Teach Me To Sin
I tuck the paperwork under one arm and help him up with the other. Both of us tense when his fingers grip my arm, our first skin to skin contact since the fire, and once he’s standing upright he leans into my chest. I want to withdraw, to hate him, because hate is easy. But all I can think about is how afraid I was that I’d never get to touch him again. I gently rub my hand up and down the back of his neck as he presses his forehead against my shoulder. “Hey, I’m here.”
“You don’t have to forgive me, but please say you don’t hate me,” he whispers. “Please. I’ll do anything.”
Tilting my head, I press my nose against his ear. His family used him up and then abandoned him, scared and completely alone. “I never hated you. You could tear me to pieces and I still don’t think I’d be capable of hating you. Which makes me a fool, I guess.”
When my hand slides down his unhurt arm, our fingers weave together and he squeezes so hard it hurts. “Alek…”
“Listen.” I rest my cheek in his unkempt hair. I’m so tired he’s holding me up even while I hold him up. “I can’t talk about this. I’m a wreck; I can barely see straight. Let’s get some rest and we can figure things out tomorrow.”
I feel him nod, but he won’t let go of my hand as we head for the elevator. My body cries with relief at the realization that I’m about to lie down in a soft bed and go to sleep for as long as I need.
Everything starts out well enough. The room is clean and cool, with a huge, soft bed and a separate living and kitchen space. I give Benji all the pain and cough medications listed on his sheet, then make a wedge of pillows for him and bundle him in blankets. I strip and take a quick shower, then climb into bed next to him, setting an alarm for six the next morning, when he needs more medications and a dressing change. This isn’t how I dreamed we’d share a bed again. I lie there awkwardly without touching him, but it doesn’t matter because within two minutes we’re both sound asleep.
I wake up to raw, full-throated screaming, like someone’s being murdered. My heart thundering in my ears, I fumble on the bedside light to see Benji sitting upright, clawing at his eye bandages. “Hey, hey. Benji! You’re okay.” I need to touch him, anything to get him to stop, but I’m too disoriented to remember what parts of him are hurt. Finally, I grab his wrist and pull his hand away from his face. “Stop, don’t touch your bandages.”
“I can’t breathe,” he chokes out, shaking and coughing. “I can’t see. Everything hurts. Please make it stop.”
I don’t know what to say or do, so I just sit there and hold his hand until his panic subsides enough for him to breathe normally. When we finally slide back into sleep, I have no idea that it’s going to be one of the most hellish nights of my life. Every hour I’m torn awake by sobbing or hyperventilating or another scream. I struggle to communicate with him, to understand if he’s in pain or just scared. Once I finally get him to tell me what part hurts, I have to stagger to the table and try to dig through pages of instructions and bottles of medication that all look the same.
Around four, when he says his eyes feel like sandpaper, I have to lift the bandage and force drops into them when I can barely open my own eyes or hold the bottle. I’m so wrecked that I can’t form words. At some point I give up and leave him there crying, while I curl up with my back to him and my head under a pillow, mentally begging him to shut up. I hate him, I hate myself, I hate that I’m alive. I hate that I’m trapped between this misery or giving him back to his fucking family.
As the sun rises outside, he finally cries himself to sleep, pale and drenched in sweat with the sheets tangled around him. After twenty more minutes of staring at the wall, I stumble out of bed. Now that I get a chance to sleep, my body won’t let me take it. Wondering how long you can stay awake before you just fall over dead, I stumble out of the suite bedroom and push the door shut. The kitchen has a fancy coffee maker with a selection of grounds in a decorative basket. I pick the one that saysextra bold, but even after I put coffee and water into what seems like all the right compartments and push all the buttons, nothing happens.
Collapsing onto a bar stool, I rest my face against the tiled countertop and wish I could steal Benji’s painkillers to make my head stop hurting. I don’t know how long I sit there when a knock on the door makes me jump. My heart clambers into my throat, because my body’s too tired to regulate my adrenaline anymore. I glance at the bedroom door, listening for any sign of Benji waking up, but it’s silent.
I should be careful. It could be hotel staff, one of my friends, or some member of Benji’s batshit insane family. Right now, I’m ready to behead anyone who so much as looks at me, and I don’t give a shit what the consequences are. I wrench the heavy, metal door open. “What thefuckis–”
Colson’s eyebrows pull together as he takes in every sleep-deprived, borderline hysterical inch of me. “My god. Are you alright?”
“Are you…real?” I croak nonsensically, blinking like the shape of him might change into someone else.
“I was looking for you. Tate told me where you took Benji.”
“Why are you here?” I feel like I’m stuck on a merry-go-round, about to puke. “Did you want to tell me you’re leaving again? In case I didn’t understand the first three times?”
Guilt flickers across his face. “No. I can fly and meet my ship later in the journey if I need to. I wanted to make sure you were both okay first.”
“Are we both…” I snort, then break down into unhinged laughter, dropping my forehead against the door frame. “Do I look okay, Colson?”
After an awkward pause, he says, “No. Can I come in?”
Not sure what else to do, I push the door open and move aside. As he enters, I notice the plastic bag hanging from his fingers. He holds it up. “I didn’t know what you needed, but I grabbed some clothes for both of you, some instant meals, and I thought Benji might want some sports drinks or something.”
I open my mouth to ask whether it was Tate, Ethan, or Gray who told him what to buy, but one look at his face tells me he did it all himself. He’s trying his best, just like the rest of us. I swallow the knot in my throat and rub my gritty eyes. “I think you should go in and see him.”
He takes a deep breath, like he’s going to refuse, then lets it out again. “Okay.”
Benji’s awake when I open the door to the bedroom, and he twitches at the creak of the hinges. Colson’s jaw tightens when he sees the bandages and cast, and his hand flexes at his side like he wants to hurt someone.
“Alek?” Benji struggles to sit up, his voice trembling a little.
“I’m here.”
“Did someone come? I heard voices.” The terror that infuses every part of him–his voice, his face, his posture–whenever he thinks his family has come for him makes me feel sick.
Colson clears his throat. “Hey, little fish.”
At the sound of his voice, Benji freezes, then makes a small, choked sound. “You– Is it–”