Mad Boys (Blue Ivy Prep, #2)(107)

She didn’t fight me, but she didn’t get up either. I’d seen people here before. It was that moment when reality just overwhelmed everything. Hell, I’d been there. Fight or flight wasn’t the only thing that kicked in when the stressors grew too much. Sometimes, you just shut down and closed out the world.

Sometimes, it was the only way to survive.

“I’m picking you up,” I said, giving her a minute. If I didn’t get any verbal responses out of her after I got her in and out of the rain, I’d call for the nurse. I didn’t know what happened, but I intended to find out. "Okay, Siren, hold on.”

I slid an arm under her legs and another around her waist as I lifted her right off the table. She weighed next to nothing, even soaking wet. The fact she just curled into me and buried her face against my shoulder wrecked me more than I was prepared for.

I’d seen this girl fair beyond measure, feisty, flashy, furious, and funny. This—this sobbing broken mess was not the girl—woman I’d gotten to know over the last couple of years. Every little broken-hearted sound made me want to do violence to whatever provoked this reaction.

Back at the dorm, I didn’t waste time taking her upstairs, I just carried her into my suite. Thankfully, Lachlan was still out, so I didn’t have to deal with him as well.

I carried her into the bathroom with the towels. When I tried to set her on the counter, she tightened her arms around me.

“Shh, Siren,” I whispered against her wet hair. “We need to get you out of these wet clothes and dried off. Okay?” That at least got her to lift her head.

She glanced around the bathroom, but I didn’t get the feeling she was seeing it at all. I used the distraction to set her on the counter.

Reaching down, I tugged off her shoes. Her feet were bare, leaving only her pale blue toenails to wink up at me. Even as I urged her jacket off, I reached over to nudge on the heat lamp. She was already shivering.

“Okay, I’m going to turn on the shower and get you something to change into. You get out of those clothes, then into the shower and warm up. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Her lack of responsiveness was really starting to worry me. I ducked back into my room, stripped off my wet clothes, and out of the shoes before I dragged on a dry t-shirt and sweats.

Back in the bathroom, she was still sitting on the counter, staring at the shower where the steam was starting to rise. In her hand, she white-knuckled her phone.

“C’mon, Siren,” I coaxed. “I need your help here. You need to get out of these wet things, you’re cold and you’re miserable already. I don’t want you to get sick.”

“I don’t care.” Three words came out in a raw, hoarse voice. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” I said, touching a finger to her chin and nudging her gaze up to look at me. “I don’t know what happened. You can tell me or not tell me, either is fine, for now. But you need out of those clothes and you need to warm up. Can you do that for me?”

She was trembling so violently. “Why do you care? You hate me. You all do—you think I’m some horrible stuck-up slut who doesn’t give a shit about anyone.” The edge of misery dipped into a sea of anger.

“No,” I said. “I don’t. Maybe I did—maybe I was an asshole about it. You know, no maybe, I was. But you are none of those things, Siren, and right now…all I want to do is help you. Can you let me do that?”

“Fine,” she huffed, more defeated than defiant. Sliding off the counter, she was already tugging off her tie and then her shirt.

Pivoting, I focused on the shower to give her some privacy. The slap of wet clothes hitting the tile sent a number of inappropriate thoughts dancing through my head and into my blood.

Not the fucking time.

A minute later, she walked around me and I moved so she could still have my back as she got into the shower. Crouching, I collected the soaking wet clothes then stood. Only when I did, I caught sight of her in the mirror. The lean, almost too lean, shape of her seemed so fragile as she stood, one hand pressed against the tile as the hot water poured over her.

The shake of her shoulders, and the near-silent sobbing drove the stakes into my soul deeper and deeper. All I wanted to do was make this better for her. Fix it somehow. Forcing myself to turn away, I left the bathroom and took the clothes into a bag for the laundry later.

When I came back, she was sitting on the floor in the shower. Goddammit, Siren…

Yanking the curtain back, I shut off the water then reached in to pull her out. She didn’t protest, just wrapped her arms around me. Soaking my clothes or not, she seemed desperate for contact or maybe just a hug.

That settled it for me, I wrapped her up then sat down in the bathroom with the heater on and wrapped her up in a towel as much as I could while cradling her. When she began shaking with sobs all over again, I stroked her wet hair back.

When she fisted my shirt, I pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Then another. Before I registered what she was doing, she tilted her tear-streaked face up to mine.

“What can I do, Siren?” I whispered. “Tell me how to make this right?”

“I don’t know,” she confessed, and I found myself cradling her face and swiping away the tears with my thumbs. “It just hurts.”

“What hurts?” If I could just fix this for her.