How Sinners Fight

by Eva Ashwood

  Gray throws one last look over his shoulder as he and the guys shuffle out, a flash of worry passing through his features. I give him a weak smile that’s supposed to be reassuring, although I don’t think it has the intended effect. If anything, he looks even more concerned as he closes the door behind them.

  As soon as the door clicks shut and there’s nothing else to keep my attention, the room around me starts becoming muddy. The clock above the door swirls and whirls around until it’s no more than a smudge of numbers and arrows, until the sterile hospital room slowly drifts away from me. With a deep sigh, I slip back into the dark, quiet world of sleep.

  Maybe I’ll remember when I wake up.

  2

  I wake up with a gasp.

  I’m clutching the damp sheet with both hands, and the bottom part of the fabric is wrapped around my legs, making me feel claustrophobic and trapped. My body is slick with sweat that begins to chill on my skin as I come out of a dream I don’t remember, my muscles shaking violently.

  It’s dark in the room. A little light streams through the window, but it’s not enough.

  Fuck.

  I’m not scared of the darkness around me, but I am afraid of this—of the feelings roiling in my chest. I was dreaming, but just like so many other goddamn things in my life, I can’t remember what it is I was dreaming about. All I know is that it was a nightmare, and either my body is trying to protect me from the demons that attacked me in my sleep by storing it away somewhere I can’t reach it, or I’m really starting to lose all of my memories.

  Jesus, Sophie. Get it the fuck together.

  I push aside the sheets that are wrapped around my legs, shoving them off the bed. Fear wracks my body, even though there’s nothing to be scared of, and I fucking hate it.

  Why can’t I just be a normal goddamn human being?

  Things were going well, or starting to, over the past few weeks. Once the Sinners made it clear they were unequivocally on my side, the bullying and stupid taunts calmed down. Gray finally told me about his sister, admitting why he’d been such a fucking asshole, and something seismic shifted between us. I could relate to his pain, his loss. Jared wasn’t my brother, but in the fucked up adolescence I had, he was the closest thing to one I’d ever get.

  And Declan and Elias. Things were changing between the three of us too. Becoming deeper, becoming… more.

  But then this happened. I fell down a fucking flight of stairs and now I can’t remember shit. I can’t even remember the dreams that haunted me mere minutes ago, can’t remember the images that cause the lingering fear, pumping through my body like adrenaline.

  I need my paints.

  My whole body shivers as I try to suck in deep breaths, try to calm myself.

  I need to paint.

  Art has always been my outlet, and I fucking need that right now. I need my paints to be able to channel the fear and the energy into color and darkness, into shapes and shadows. I need to put it down on a canvas, on a page—if for no other reason than to prove to myself that it is real, to remember what it is my subconscious is trying so hard to repress.

  I need my paints to let those fleeting memories become solid, real, tangible. I need the canvas to be able to get all the shit out of my head and onto a place where I can actually examine it, see it. Feel it.

  Swallowing, I press a hand to my racing heart. The contact, even if it’s my own skin, makes something inside me still a little bit.

  I can’t keep fucking doing this. I want Gray right now. Or Elias or Declan. Or all of them. It doesn’t matter. I just need someone.

  But you don’t have anyone, I remind myself, so suck it the fuck up.

  I never had anyone before, and I got through most of my life that way, which means I don’t need anyone now. Whatever the thing is between me and the Sinners, I don’t want to rely on it. I don’t want to need it.

  Because in my experience, needing something is the quickest way to make sure you lose it.

  Shifting my weight on the small, angled mattress, I carefully coach myself back to the state of numbness that has been my friend all these years, my comfort.

  The only problem is, once you start to feel, it’s hard to go back to being satisfied with feeling nothing.

  It’s late, and even though I can tell my body is still drained, I don’t feel tired. The room doesn’t spin around me like it did earlier after the guys left, and sleep doesn’t reach out of the darkness to drag me under again. I can’t read the clock in the shadows, but I can hear it ticking.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  Nothing happens.

  I can’t fall asleep, not when I know that the dark places in my unconscious mind are so much more fucking dangerous than my own thoughts.

  At least those I can control.

  Whether because of the drugs or because of sheer exhaustion, I eventually fall asleep again. I don’t remember it stealing over me, but the next thing I know, I’m opening my eyes to see warm California sunlight pouring through the window.

  As I scrub a hand over my face, I pick up the muffled sounds of activity outside my room. The eerie silence from the middle of the night is gone. Now that it’s morning again, the hospital is awake and bustling, full of people coming and going.

  A few nurses come and go from my room, offering me breakfast and checking my vitals.

  I chose to ignore their stares. I get it—they’re probably not used to dealing with patients who have blue hair and tattoos, but that’s their problem, not mine. If they want to use their fancy degree to help fancy rich people who have great access to health care, then that’s fine. Their choice.

  Not saying there are better places to be helping, because everyone needs health care, but still. Can’t imagine very many rich people needing emergency surgeries after a drive-by shooting, needing immediate attention after a drug overdose, or an emergency delivery for a woman who’s been assaulted and unable to afford prenatal care.

  Rich people live in a bubble where they never have to worry about that kind of shit.

  I might be part of this world of wealth and privilege temporarily, but I don’t belong here, and the understated elegance of the hospital room only drives that point home.

  My heart lurches in my chest suddenly as a new thought takes root.

  Oh, fuck.

  How the hell am I supposed to pay for this?

  As I look around the room again, instead of seeing a nice suite with a pretty view of a rooftop garden below, I see dollar signs coming out of everything.

  The IV. The night—nights?—I’ve spent here, in this bed in a private room. The meds. The food. The people who come and check on me every five minutes now that it’s not nighttime anymore.

  Fuck.

  This is going to cost a whole hell of a lot more than the measly stipend I’m getting from Hawthorne U, probably even more than the several grand I still have stashed under my bed from winning Gray’s bet.

  Yeah, I’m fucked.

  I’ve got to get out of here this second before they add anything else to my bill. As it is, I’ll probably be paying for this little hospital stay for the rest of my damn life.

  Not wanting to waste another second, I slide off the bed. There are a pair of slippers near the foot of the bed, and I slip them on. I don’t see my clothes anywhere, but I’m prepared to walk out of here in my hospital gown if I have to.

  I’m still connected to an IV hookup, and although it’s on a little stand that wheels around easily so I can get to the bathroom and stuff, I can’t leave with it still attached. I glance down at the IV and wince. I’ve always hated needles, and I’m glad I wasn’t awake when they put it in me. But there’s no help for it now.

  I suck in a breath and peel off the tape that holds it close to my skin, then close my eyes as I—

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Blue?”

  The door swings open and Elias walks in, his eyes going wide as he looks at me.

  “I can’t pay for any of th
is.” My voice is still rough, although it’s easier to speak than it was yesterday. And there’s a note of panic in my tone as I grab the needle again. “Gotta get out before it gets too bad—”

  Fuck. I really do hate needles. I can’t even stand the sight of the little fucker poking into my skin, and a wave of nausea washes over me at the thought of yanking it out.

  “Blue.” Elias steps forward quickly and grabs onto my forearm, giving it a gentle tug. He forces me to look at him, and when I finally tear my gaze away from the needle, I catch a smile as bright and disarming as the sun outside my window. “It’s okay. You’re not paying anything for this, I promise. We all have access to our family’s money, and we’re covering this one. The three of us, not you.”

  He puts emphasis on the last two words, as if he’s trying to cut off any argument before I can make it.

  My mouth falls open. I snap it shut, but my jaw drops again and just sort of hangs there as if all the muscles in my face have gone slack. My heart is crashing against my ribs, and my stomach is tying itself into knots for an entirely different reason now.

  Why would they… why would they do that for me?

  I’m thankful, I really am. I want to tell him, want to show him, but I can’t. There’s a lump in my throat, and gratitude wars with panic inside me. I’m not used to being taken care of by anyone. I’m not used to having people care about me at all.

  To my surprise, Elias just laughs when he sees the freaked out look on my face.

  “What’d you think we’d do, Blue?” he says, pulling me back to the bed. He lifts me up easily, setting me back down on top of the sheets. “Leave you to pay for it yourself? Let you spend the rest of your life in debt because of a fucking accident? We’re doing this because we want to help you.”

  He leans up against the edge of the bed, watching me closely. My heart picks up speed, racing in my chest as I try to process everything that’s happened in the last five minutes, the rollercoaster of emotions I’ve been through.

  A fucking rollercoaster. That’s what it’s been like not just today, but for the past couple of months that I’ve known the Sinners.

  “You can say thank you if you want.” Elias’s lopsided grin is teasing.

  “Thanks,” I mutter. I know I don’t sound that thankful, but he gets the point. He knows me well enough by now to know I’m not great with touchy-feely emotions—and honestly, even the fact that he understands me that well is a little terrifying.

  Silence falls between us for a long moment, and I think he can tell I’m still on the verge of losing my shit, because he moves a little closer.

  “You know,” he says slowly, the tips of his fingers brushing against the back of my hand, “last time I was in a hospital was when I got hurt.”

  His eyes flicker up to meet mine, and I have a feeling I know what he’s talking about. I’ve heard the story before, just not from him. And I didn’t get a lot of details, just a basic outline of what happened.

  “Yeah?” I ask, holding his gaze. Focusing on him instead of on me helps clear my thoughts, and I get the sense he doesn’t talk about this often. So if he’s sharing it with me now, that means something.

  “Yeah. I got hurt pretty bad playing football my senior year of high school.” He lets out a breath, tilting his head. The sunlight catches his blond hair, making the highlights in it shine like gold. “Thought it was going to kill me. Not the injury, just knowing I wouldn’t be able to play the same again.”

  “That sucks.” I wince. “It was a bad injury?”

  “Yeah. Shredded my ACL. Took two surgeries and a lot of rehab to get me fixed up. I can still walk on it,” he says, “thank goodness for that. I just can’t play the way I want to anymore.”

  I don’t know shit about football, but I do remember him at the game—the serious way he watched every play, the intensity in his posture that not even all of the players on the field had. And even though Elias’s voice is steady and casual, I catch the lingering frustration in his tone.

  It meant a lot to him, the game. Which means that by telling me about it, by letting me see his loss… he’s trusting me, just a little bit. Sharing a small part of himself.

  “I know it’s not the same thing you’re dealing with,” Elias finishes, shaking his head. “But I can understand some of what you’re going through, and it fucking sucks. At least with my leg, my parents’ insurance covered pretty much everything. None of us guys wanted you to have to worry about paying for the medical bills on top of getting better. I can’t imagine that.”

  I turn my palm over beneath his touch, threading my fingers through his. Even that small physical contact makes little sparks dance up my arm.

  “Thank you,” I murmur. This time, it sounds a little more honest, a little more raw. “I mean it.”

  It’s hard to accept such generosity. I don’t like charity. I never have. I grew up in foster care, and I learned pretty quickly not to accept favors or kindness from anyone. For one thing, most favors come with a million hidden strings attached—another lesson I learned the hard way.

  And even if it’s offered with no expectations, accepting help makes you weak, dependent on other people when the only person you should be dependent on is yourself. That way, the only person who can let you down is yourself. You’re more in control that way.

  But I’d be a moron not to let the Sinners do this for me if they want to. I swallow my pride just enough to let myself accept this favor, just once.

  Elias nods, his light brown eyes warming. He looks pleased, not so much by the fact that I said thanks, but by the fact that I’m not shoving his offered help back in his face. I’m not shutting him out.

  He opens his mouth as if to add something, but then closes it again. The room is quiet, and I can barely hear the sounds of activity in the hallways outside anymore. It all seems to fade away.

  Suddenly, all I’m really aware of is how close to the bed he’s standing, leaning up against it as he holds my hand. The way his fingers interlace with mine, and the heat that’s trapped between our palms.

  I haven’t kissed Elias since the night when my paintings were destroyed, but I sure as hell haven’t forgotten it. I haven’t forgotten how his mouth felt on mine, how his kiss was different than Gray’s or Declan’s. The way he touched me and looked at me, and how fucking perfect it felt.

  I know I pulled away after that, purposefully. I wasn’t sure how to handle the things I was feeling for all of them. I thought maybe it was just my imagination, that I was talking myself into believing they felt the same things I did. That the intensity of the connection between me and Gray was mirrored by my growing connection to Elias and Declan.

  But as time goes on, as they do shit like visit me in the hospital and offer to pay for my medical bills and look at me the way Elias is looking at me right now? It’s getting harder and harder to deny it, even to myself.

  There’s something here.

  It’s real.

  And it’s not going away.

  It may have been Gray that found me first, but I’m beginning to realize that it’s all of them that I have feelings for. Whatever those feelings might mean—whether it’s physical or emotional, I feel something for all of them that goes way past a flirtatious friendship.

  Elias’s gaze is steady as he leans forward, brushing the strands of blue and blonde hair away from my face. His touch is gentle, impossibly tender, barely a skim of his fingertips against my skin, but it leaves fire in its wake.

  I may not remember the party where I got hurt, but I remember what it felt like to kiss Elias, and I think he remembers how it felt too.

  His gaze drags to my lips, his exhale fanning against my cheek as he leans in, fingers brushing along my jawline.

  Just as I tilt my chin up, my lips about to brush his, the door bursts open. Elias and I break apart, the tension between us dissipating as we both glance toward the door. I can’t tell if I’m sad or relieved that we were interrupted before we could take that mom
ent any further.

  Ah, who the fuck am I kidding?

  My body is still aching, hungry for what it was denied. Maybe the smarter thing is to keep my walls up around the Sinners, but that’s getting harder and harder. It’ll slip over into impossible any day now.

  But at least the person who interrupted us is someone I’m happy to see.

  “Oh hey, Max.” Elias grins at my best friend, the only other scholarship student admitted to Hawthorne this year. “What’s up?”

  Max’s eyes flicker from me to Elias, then back to me. I don’t know if she saw how close our faces were when she walked in, but she doesn’t seem surprised if she did notice it. She cocks her head at Elias, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. “You’re here early.” She grins. “What, did you drug Declan and Gray so they’d sleep in and give you guys a little alone time?”

  “Hey, if they can’t be bothered to get up on time, that’s on them,” Elias jokes.

  I glance between the two of them, a little surprised by their easy banter. Not that Max dislikes the guys, at least not anymore. She hated them when they were being assholes to me, but as things improved between me and the Sinners, she lightened up her death glares toward them.

  Now though, they seem positively chummy.

  “Well, it’s my turn to claim her.” Max walks into the room, letting the door shut behind her. “You guys were all here when she woke up yesterday, and I wasn’t. So I’m calling in best friend privileges.”

  “Yeah, yeah. All right, fine.” Elias rolls his eyes, but releases his grip on my hand before bending to kiss my temple. “Catch you later, Blue.”

  He gives me a small wink as he leaves the room.

  Max doesn’t waste a second, hurrying over to my bedside as soon as the spot opens up. “God, it’s good to see you awake, Sophie. I’ve been here a couple times, but you’ve always been asleep. And I just missed you yesterday. I would’ve come back, but by the time Gray texted me that you’d woken up, he said you were out again and needed rest.”