If You Stay (Beautifully Broken, #1)(5)

At that realization, mine feels like it stops as well.

I don’t know why. I don’t even know him. But being thrown into this intense situation makes me feel connected to him. It’s a stupid notion, but I can’t help feeling it. Even though the only thing I really know about him is his name.

Pax.

I can hear the sickening sound of his bones cracking and bending while the paramedics thrust hard against his chest, trying to force his heart into beating again. It makes me cringe and I look away, trying to tune it out. It’s at this moment, while my eyes are squeezed shut, that a police officer approaches me and asks me some questions.

Do I know him?

What was I doing here?

How did I find him?

Was he alone?

DoyouknowhowlonghewashereDoyouknowwhathetookDoyouknowhowmuchhedrank?

The cop’s monotone runs together and I answer as best as I can.

By the time he is done, the EMTs are loading Pax into the ambulance. They run to the front and jump in, their tires squealing as they lurch from the parking lot and onto the road leading to town. Their siren and lights are on.

That’s got to be a good thing.

That means he is still alive.

Right?

I’m frozen in place and shaky as I stare at the car, as I watch the policeman search through it. He puts some items into plastic baggies and shakes his head.

“I don’t know why I bother. His dad will get him off, just like he did last time.”

The cop is muttering and I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or to himself. So I ask.

He smiles grimly. “Either of us, I guess. The situation is just frustrating. Here’s a kid who could have the world on a string, but he seems to be dead set on f*cking himself up. Pardon my language, miss. But he needs to land himself in jail or rehab, in order to straighten himself out. But he comes from money and his father is some big shot attorney in Chicago, so he always gets a pass. One of these times, though, someone’s gonna take him away in a body bag. He’s just lucky that you found him in time tonight or today would have been the day.”

Lucky.

I picture the orange foam that erupted from his mouth as Pax had convulsed on the rough pavement in front of me and I’m not so sure that I’d use that word. Whatever he is, lucky doesn’t seem to be it.

I’m shaken now as I head to my car and drop onto the seat. I am covered in vomit and my mouth tastes like an ashtray from the seediest bar in the world. I grab a bottle of water and gulp at it, swishing it around inside my mouth and then spitting it out on the ground.

What the hell just happened? I had come here to get some shots of the beautiful, tranquil full moon and had ended up saving someone’s life.

Unless he dies.

And in that case, then I guess I ended up doing nothing at all…except acquiring a horrible taste of someone else’s vomit in my mouth and seeing images that I am sure will haunt my dreams for some time to come.

I take another shaky drink of water and turn the key in my ignition.

I hope he doesn’t die.

I really do.





[page]Chapter Three


Pax



I feel the light threatening to seep into my closed eyelids, so I squeeze them tighter. I’m not quite ready to wake up yet. Fuck you, world. You can wait.

Stubbornly refusing to open my eyes, I reach for my vial, which should be next to me on the nightstand along with a pack of smokes, a lighter and razor blade.

My fingers grope awkwardly, but the bed stand isn’t where it should be.

Muttering under my breath, I decide that if my f*cking housekeeper keeps moving shit, I’m going to fire her.

But as my consciousness returns, bit by bit, I realize that I’m not where I should be, either. The bed beneath me is hard and small and it crinkles like plastic when I move.

What the f*ck?

I open my eyes to find that I’m in what seems to be a hospital room. I have an IV needle taped to my hand and I’m wearing a thin hospital gown. There is a blanket folded over my feet and there are plastic guardrails on the bed.

What.

The.

Fuck.

I gaze around quickly and find that I’m alone. The walls are bare and white, but for a dry-erase board that has Your nurse today is Susan scrawled across it and a clock that is ticking away the time. Tick, tick, tick. The noise is annoying. Its black hands tell me that it is 3:07.

How long have I been here? I see a plastic sack with my name written on it in black marker propped in a nearby chair and my boots sitting on the floor below it.

That’s it.

I’m alone in a hospital room and I have no memory of how I got here.

It’s disorienting.

I focus, trying to remain calm as I attempt to recall the last place I remember being.

A swirly, foggy memory emerges; a crashing sound, a moonlit night. Sand. Stars.

The beach. I was at the beach with that bar whore, Jill. She’s always willing to do anything for a few snorts of coke. And since I was in the mood for a blow job, I called her up. I don’t really remember much else, though.

I have a few hazy memories of Jill walking away. I think she was yelling.

And that’s it.

And now I’m here.

Fffuuuuccccckkkk.

I groan. As I do, a nurse bustles through the door in faded blue scrubs, wearing a tired expression and a stethoscope wrapped around her neck. She must be Susan. And Susan’s eyes glimmer for a moment when she sees me conscious.