by K. L. Savage
“Macy…” My voice breaks, and I forget about being strong in front of Sunnie. She knows I’m a weak man; it’s why I’m in this building. If I were strong, if I were better, Sunnie wouldn’t know me at all.
I’ve made her life worse just by being here.
“I miss you, bubba.”
A hand slides into mine, and when I gather the courage, I look up to make sure it isn’t Macy.
“I’m not going anywhere, Patrick.” Sunnie squeezes my hand and smiles. “Is Macy here?”
I nod. “I’m going crazy, Sunnie. She’s not here, but I can feel her. She touched my cheek. I’m begging you, please, leave me alone.” Hot tears fill my eyes when the memory of what happened plays on a reel in the front of my mind. I wish I could forget, but I don’t deserve such a luxury.
“Bubba. Are you replacing me? Who is this?” Macy is standing next to Sunnie now, staring at her with angry eyes.
I squeeze my eyes shut and take deep breaths. “Not real. She isn’t real. It’s all in your head because you love rum so much. That’s all this is.”
“You hate me, bubba. It’s why you let that bad man get me! You wanted me to die.”
“No!” I scream and push Sunnie away. She tumbles back and slams against the wall. “I never wanted anything to happen to you, Macy.”
Sunnie runs to the side of the bed, a crazy chick glutton for damn punishment, and she grabs ahold of my hand again and lays her palm against my cheek. “It’s okay, Patrick. I’m not going to leave you alone. You did good trying to fight for Macy. You did good.”
This time, it’s me who squeezes her hand so tight I think I’m about to break it. It hits me that I don’t want her to let go. I haven’t had someone touch me because they care in a long time. I never allowed it. I’m afraid if Sunnie lets go, I’ll give up and play into Macy’s mirage. I’m afraid if I let go, I won’t ever be able to touch Sunnie again.
In my weakness of insanity, Sunnie is an anchor. When I gain clarity, it will be me weighing her down. She’s the only thing keeping me together right now, and she has no idea how easily I can ruin her and make her crumble.
I’m not the glue that holds people together. I’m the force that rips them apart. How can Sunnie not see this?
“You couldn’t save Macy, Patrick. You tried. Remember? You keep saying you’ve tried so hard. I’ve heard you over the last few days. You don’t have to convince yourself. You know.” Sunnie presses her forehead against mine, and the unexpected closeness has me inhaling a deep breath. “I’m sorry that this happened to you,” she says. Her whispered words are a tease against my lips. “I don’t know everything about your situation, but I’m so sorry.” I can hear the emotion in her voice, the little hitch in her throat that says she’s about to give up her happiness and cry for me.
I’m not worth the energy it takes for her to cry, let alone her actual tears.
I blink toward the ceiling and Macy is there, looking down on me. Macy has a shovel in her hand. “It should have been you that died.” She hits the shovel against the ceiling.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
I flinch every time the metal collides with the ceiling. “I know. It should have been me,” I admit, and Sunnie tightens her hand around mine, shaking her head.
“You need to be kinder to yourself,” she says, and her words caress my mouth in a languid breath. She lifts up and sits on the stool. Her cheeks are flushed with emotion, and her eyes are threatening wells, but she smiles through it.
That damn fucking smile. It pisses me off and gives me hope all at the same time.
“Why aren’t you trying to convince me Macy isn’t real?” I ask through clattering teeth.
She opens the romance novel again and puckers her lips as she thinks. “Because Macy was real. Your pain is real. Whoever says it isn’t, they haven’t lived what you have, have they?”
“Why are you here?”
“Are you asking me or Macy?”
“You,” I say. Macy is still in the room, but I find Sunnie’s presence is stronger. My focus is on her and not the guilt and the ghost lingering in the room.
“Your cries to die resonate with me.”
“I still want to die. You haven’t changed that by being here.” Macy’s ghost disappears, and my mind is alleviated from the pain she brings. I don’t know how long the relief will last, but I’m going to relish in it.
She doesn’t say anything, just hums and flips the page to her damn book. “Is Macy still here?”
I survey the room and find it empty. That’s been the shortest hallucination so far, so that has to be a good sign. “No, she’s gone.”
“Maybe you just needed a friend to take your mind off her.”
“You don’t now anything about me or about what I need.”
Sunnie scoffs and grips the bedrails, lowering herself until her nose touches mine and her breasts brush against my chest. “I know detox isn’t a fun day at the park. It’s a rollercoaster ride with ups and downs. You puke, you bitch, you complain, you’re scared and you’re angry. I’ve been there. I’ve been where you are. I haven’t hallucinated, and I can’t image what that does to the mind. I might not know a thing about you, but I do know what you need because every person that has to walk through this door needs it.”
“And what’s that?” I ask, doing my best not to think about how close her mouth is to mine. I might be half out of it and craving rum, but I would have to be a dead man not to notice how beautiful she is. Her lips are red, the color of rose petals mid-bloom. It’s been years since I’ve seen a beautiful flower and appreciated it. I bet if I allow myself to get to know her, she’s a botanical garden full of gorgeous blossoms and poisonous plants.
The best women are the perfect combination of both, seductively deadly.
“You need someone to save you because you sure as hell can’t save yourself,” she says, and it’s the biggest kick in the balls I’ve ever received.
Sunnie smiles again because she knows she’s right. She sits on the stool, legs crossed and book in hand.
But it’s been too long since I’ve gotten the last word. “I don’t want to save myself, Sunnie. No matter the amount of sunshine you want to cast down on me, it isn’t enough to erase so many years of being in the dark. So…” I cough and settle my body in the bed to get comfortable before I drift off to sleep. “Why don’t you go? Get out of here.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Patrick.”
“God, you’re annoying.”
“And you smell. We all have our vices, don’t we?”
“I don’t smell.” When she looks down at the book, I lift my arm and sniff. Jesus Christ. Oh, that’s ripe. That’s fucking disgusting.
“Now, where were we before Macy interrupted us?” She clicks her tongue.
I know no matter what I say, Sunnie isn’t going to leave. My right arm twitches when her hand finds mine again. She’s warm and comforting, like a day spent outside in the heat. I don’t want to like her so much. Sunnie is pushy, too damn positive, bright and annoying.
So fucking annoying.
But instead of pulling away like I should, my fingers hold onto hers. Tomorrow is another day. I can enjoy this small comfort for one night. Sunnie has this power to keep the sickness at bay.
Right now, I need a break from my tormentor. I’m too tired to argue. “Are you going to read or just fucking sit there? I’m tired.”
“Go to sleep then. No one is stopping you.”
Where I have a bite to my tone, her reply is soft.
Her kindness has my jaw clenching.
“I don’t have long before Gale comes back. I’ll stay until she kicks me out and lectures me.”
“You like pushing people,” I say. “That’s going to get you in trouble one day.”
She laughs. “How do you think I got here? Pushing people is what I do best.”
I do something involuntary. It’s like I don’t have control of my body anymore when sh
e’s around, and she’s only been around for an hour—I tighten our hands together.
“Go to sleep, Patrick. Don’t worry, I won’t be here when you wake up.”
Yeah, that’s what bothers me. I know what her company feels like now, and I like it. Damn it, can’t a man ever be at peace? If it isn’t one thing, it’s another.
My MC brothers couldn’t let me die, and I have a feeling Sunnie isn’t going to let me either.
So much for death being easy.
CHAPTER FOUR
SUNNIE
I lay in bed the next day, the morning light peeking through the bars of the window, and the only thing on my mind is Patrick. He’s a tortured soul. A man I have no reason to want to keep on seeing. He’s rude, an alcoholic, and he’s still hallucinating. He has made it clear he doesn’t like me around, but I’m going to keep showing up anyway.
I’m an acquired taste.
He’ll get used to me.
I turn to my side and stare at the wall, remembering what his face looked like when he saw his sister. I didn’t know what else to do but to hold his hand through it and be there for him. The rage in his eyes transitioned to fear and sorrow. The gray irises darkened to storm clouds when he spoke his sister’s name. His grief tore at my soul.
Grief is a funny thing. It’s an ocean, and the waves are constantly trying to tear you down and suck you under until all the fight is gone. Grief can be cathartic. I know if I cry enough, eventually I’ll feel better. If I talk it out, punch, scream, the weight lifts, and I can breathe again.
There’s a balance. Either you sink or you fight and live.
Not everyone wins.
Not everyone dies either.
I’ve never met someone who wanted to die as badly as Patrick. I also don’t think he has ever fought for his life. He’s only ever wanted death, and now he’s getting further from what he wants. Patrick gets stronger every day he is here, and that interferes with his plans. He’s given up.
It’s sad.
“Time to take your medicine, Sunnie.”
I curl my lip at Lundon and sit up in bed. My bare feet touch the floor as he rolls the silver cart in. There are small plastic cups of pills for all the patients along with a cup of water. When his eyes land on me, they rake me from head to toe. I immediately throw my hair into a messy bun and stay exactly where I’m in the middle of the bed.
I don’t want to give him the opportunity to look at my body.
“Are you going to be a good girl and take your pills? Or do I have to strap you down and force them down your throat? That could be fun.” He picks up the cup and shakes it, the pills hitting the sides at a rapid pace. He’s mocking me.
I hold out my hand and keep my mouth shut.
“Aw, but you’re so chatty with everyone else and happy. Why can’t you flash that pretty smile toward me?” He crooks his mouth to the left. Lundon has the typical frat boy look to him. He has blond hair that’s perfectly parted to the left, and his work shirt is tucked into his khaki shorts. He wears too much cologne too. It’s suffocating.
I’ll have to keep my door open all day now to air the room out.
“You might be able fool everyone else with your happy go-lucky bullshit, but I know better. You’re just a whore with a drug problem. If I waved heroin in front of you, you’d jump on it and suck it into your veins, wouldn’t you?” He squats down to my level and tilts the cup against my hand, filling my palm with pills. “Bottoms up. Let’s see how good you can swallow.”
“How about I kick your fucking ass for talking to her like that?” Patrick’s voice surprises me. I look toward his voice and find him leaning against the wall. His skin is pale and clammy, and his shirt is soaked with sweat. He has dark bags under his eyes, and there are bruises around his wrists from fighting the restraints for so many days. I’m not sure how he got out of them. The last thing he needs to be doing right now is walking around.
I jolt from my sitting position and sprint over to him. I don’t care about his sweat. I lay my palms against his chest and push him out the door. “What are you doing here? You need to be resting.”
“I went twelve hours without hallucinating, so Gale took off my restraints. I’m a free man. Kind of. I wasn’t supposed to leave my room, but I can’t see those four walls anymore. I need to stretch my legs. I heard him talking to you as I was doing a lap around the floor.” He closes his eyes and gasps from saying so much. His chest rises and falls in rapid beats, faster and faster. A bead of sweats drips off his chin.
I need to get him to his room.
Lundon creeps up on us and places his shoulder against the wall. “Drunkie, I think you need to be in your room, don’t you? Sunnie still needs to take her medication. I hope you understand.”
“No, I don’t understand.” Patrick stares Lundon down, and I take a step away. This isn’t the same man from last night who shivered in his sleep and grasped my hand. “I don’t understand how a man like you is supposed to work here and make people feel safe. You don’t want to fuck with her, do you understand me? She’s under my protection.”
I appreciate the threat, but right now, Lundon has the upper hand. He isn’t fighting withdrawal. His body isn’t betraying itself.
“Oh, a weak drunk like you. I’m scared,” Lundon says, shaking his hands in the air; he’s clearly not impressed.
Patrick kicks off the wall and stumbles forward. Damn, he looks rough. His hair is hanging in his face, and sweat drips from the ends. “It isn’t me that you need to be afraid of. When I tell my MC brothers how big of a dick you are, maybe you’ll get the picture when my buddy Tongue gets ahold of you.”
MC brothers? What the hell is a tongue?
“You’re full of shit,” Lundon spouts. He turns around and grabs the cart from my room and wheels away. “I’ll see you around, Sunnie.” Lundon winks at me. “Be a good girl and take your medication. I’d hate to have to come back.” His tone implies he’d like nothing more than to turn his cart around and lock himself in the room with me. I hate him as much as I hate my father. Lundon gives a wave with his fingers as he turns the corner and vanishes down the hall.
“I don’t like that guy,” Patrick wheezes and sags against the wall.
“No one does. What are you doing out of your room? You think because your hallucinations are over, you can run a marathon now? You’re still healing, recovering, resting, and for all we know, you’ll have a hallucination now because you’ve overexerted yourself.”
“Do you ever shut up?” he groans.
I grin, not letting his negativity keep me down. “Nope. Now, come on. Let’s get you back to your room, big guy.” I wrap an arm around him and wince when his wet shirt sticks to my skin, and a waft of his body odor hits my nose. “Maybe instead of going AWOL, you can take a shower.”
“Sure, don’t thank me for saving you from that creep. Just insult me.”
“I didn’t need saving. I handled him before you got here, and I’ll handle him after you leave. I’m no damsel in distress, and you’re not a knight in shining armor. I’m capable of taking care of myself.”
“You have yourself on a pretty high horse.”
“The higher I am, the better. It means no one can reach me.”
“And you’re right.” He grunts as we turn the corner. His shoes screech against the floor creating a high-pitch noise that’s similar to nails on a chalkboard. “I’m no knight. I’m the drunken idiot who passes out in the ditch. I’m not trying to save anyone. I don’t even want to save myself.” His shoulder smacks against the wall and he stops walking, taking a short break.
“I don’t believe that,” I say, sliding my fingers under his sweaty chin and urging him to look at me. His eyes are thunder with exhaustion. I’ve never seen a rainbow in a hurricane before. Patrick is a wicked storm, and all he believes in is his destruction. He wants to dissipate into nothing, just like the clouds after a heavy rain. I bet if he stops to look behind him every once in a while, he’ll see that sometimes
rain and sun can collide and create something beautiful. “I think you want to save yourself; you’re just too afraid of what comes after you do.”
He yanks out of my grip, and his left foot catches behind his right. Patrick tumbles to the ground and shouts when he lands on his hand.
I gasp and bend down to help him up, but he pulls himself away from me. “Don’t touch me. You don’t fucking know me, okay? Do you get that? You can paint the sky with your pretty fucking picture of whatever you think of me, but don’t waste your hope on me; you got it? I don’t need your goddamn sympathy or pity party. If I wanted to save myself, don’t you think I’d have been in a place like this a long time ago?” Patrick laughs, but it isn’t because what he says is funny. “God, you’re naïve, aren’t you?” He waves his hand in my face and then up and down my body. “You’re all pretty smiles with your ‘nothing can bring me down’ attitude. What do you know about life?”
I squat and pinch his shirt, then squeeze it. Sweat drips freely, and I lift my eyes from his chest to his face. “I know it’s worth living, which is more than you know. Also, I’m not sitting in a pile of my own stench, unlike you. You can cut me down all you want, Patrick, but we both know who the lesser of the two is right now, and it sure as hell isn’t me. You’re good with your snide talk and bad outlook toward life itself, but you want to know what I think?” I inch closer to him, invading his space to piss him off.
“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway.”
I snag his chin in my hand and dig my nails into his flesh. “I think you would have killed yourself a long time ago if you really wanted to die. Spare me the sad story. You’re too afraid to die, or you would have already.” I let go of his chin with a slight shove, and the back of his skull hits the wall. “Now”—I take a deep breath and slap a smile on my face—“stop acting like you’re too good for help and let me help you up.” I hold out my hand, and the annoyance has his jaw ticking.
I like the jaw tic. It’s sexy, but I’m not going to tell him that. I’ll piss him off if it means I can see the sharp ridge flex with muscle.