NOCTE (Nocte Trilogy #1)(55)

I’m not fine. I’m dying. I’m vomiting up every last vestige of food that I’ve consumed in the past four years. Of that, I am sure. And still I heave. Until there’s nothing left and then I heave some more.

Finally, I curl up on the floor, my face pressed against the cool tiles.

Nothing has ever felt better than this, I decide, loving each and every one of the cool porcelain tiles with a blinding and personal passion.

I close my eyes and keep them closed, even though I feel myself being moved. My pants are tugged off, though my shirt is left on and I’m floundering around like a rag doll. And better yet, I don’t care.

Cool sheets are pulled up around me, and I don’t bother opening my eyes. The only thing I know is that the sheets smell like Dare…woodsy and male. In this moment, that’s all that matters.

When I open my eyes again, it takes a minute to focus, but then I see the moonlight shining against the wall. It’s the middle of the night.

My mouth is dry, like wood or sawdust, and I swallow hard.

I’m in Dare’s bed.

Dare. DuBray’s. Bed.

It’s a thought that takes a minute to register, and then I register too, that unfortunately, Dare DuBray isn’t in his bed.

I scan the room, and he’s not in here at all.

So I get up, wrapping the sheet around me, and pad into his living room. He’s sprawled out on his couch, completely clothed and dead asleep.

In sleep, his face is vulnerable and bathed in moonlight. I stare at him for a long time, because when he’s awake, I don’t get this luxury. I only turn away when I start to feel dizzy again, when my head begins to pound and pound and I finally grasp what he meant when he said that I’d feel it tomorrow.

It’s not tomorrow yet, but I certainly feel it now.

I cross the room as something jackhammers the back of my head, and I dig through the cabinet over the stove to find more aspirin. I find them, take several, and wobble back to the living room.

I’m standing above Dare watching him again when he opens his eyes.

His beautiful onyx eyes.

“I don’t want to be alone,” I murmur.

He doesn’t say anything, he simply opens his arms.

I lay down in front of him and he closes his arms around me, shielding me from the night. This is how I fall asleep, cradled against his chest and listening to his heartbeat.

In the morning, the sunlight wakes me up while Dare still sleeps.

It takes me a second to remember where I am, how I’d gotten drunk last night, how I’d thrown myself at Dare and then thrown up in front of him.

I’m dying of humiliation as I glance up at the windows, at the door, and then I freeze.

Finn is staring inside, a look of horror on his tired face. He’s still dressed in the clothes he was wearing from yesterday, which make me believe he’s only just now getting in.

I’m sprawled in Dare’s arms, wrapped in a sheet, and I realize how it must look.

Finn has the entirely wrong idea.

I scramble up to tell him, I throw open the door, but he’s already gone.





30


TRIGENTA





I chase Finn up to my room where he’s waiting for me, sitting calmly on my bed, his shoes muddy from the beach.

“It’s not what it looked like,” I tell him quickly, although I still have Dare’s sheet wrapped around my waist because my shorts are in his bedroom.

Finn shakes his head and looks out the window. “I don’t care what you were doing with him, Cal. It’s not my business. I’m your brother, not your keeper.”

“But I’m your keeper,” I snap back. “And you went out alone yesterday. What the hell were you dong?”

“I needed some alone time,” he says quietly, still looking out the window. “After the cemetery, I mean.”

That causes me to pause, which was his intention. “I’m sorry,” I say simply, my hands still clutching the sheet. “I should’ve been there with you. I let you go alone. I’m so sorry, Finn.”

He shrugs with his skinny shoulders, his arms pale in the morning light. “It’s fine, Calla. You aren’t ready yet. I get it.”

“But I should still have gone for you,” I argue. “I’m sorry. Do you want to go back today? Because I will. If you need to go again, I will.”

Finn looks at me sadly. “You need to go for you, Cal. But you’re not ready. It’ll happen in layers… in order. I promise.”

He’s talking nonsense, which worries me. “You’re taking your meds, right?” I ask him worriedly. He nods.

“Please stop worrying about me, Cal. I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” I can’t help but take in his wrinkled clothes, pale skin, dark circles around his eyes. “You’re not sleeping again. Your hands are shaking. We’ve got to get you some help. I’m going to talk to dad.”

Finn’s arm snakes out faster than I can blink and grabs mine. “Don’t,” he says quickly. “Please. We’ll handle this on our own, Calla. You and me, just like always.”

And I want to tell him that it’s not fair to me, that this weight is too heavy, that it’s too much responsibility, but of course I don’t. Because we’re Calla-and-Finn and that’s how it’s always been, and that’s how it will always be.