Fifteen

Jay

There was a fleeting moment of one hundred percent certainty that, in Jay’s mind, Addy was dead.

She was there, by his feet, back up against the wall of a putrid-green colored bathroom stall, a shard of broken glass in one hand and deep, red gashes on her arm. Her eyes were closed, skin white, blood staining her jeans and the front of her shirt. For a few seconds, he could only stare at her, his eyes on her face, wondering why it was suddenly so hard for him to breathe. An elephant was sitting on his chest, crushing his windpipe, and threatening his life. His knees were shaking as he dropped down to the floor beside her, his hand reaching out unsteadily to feel for a pulse on her cold skin.

“Addy?” he said. Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at him. A whoosh of relief flooded through his chest, and Jay let his hands fall into his lap, struggling to compose himself. She was clutching the piece of mirror with desperate strength, unwilling to let it go. “Don’t do this. Don’t let Ryan make you feel like this.”

He took a deep breath, shuddering, and then leaned in toward her. “He’s not worth it.”

Reaching forward carefully, he pried the jagged glass from Addy’s hand and tossed it aside. Her blood stained his fingers, and he felt sick like he might throw up all over the cold cement ground.

She was alive. That’s what mattered.

“Jesus Fucking Christ,” he mumbled. His fingers trembled as he yanked his shirt off and tore the fabric into multiple white strips. He pulled Addy’s limp body into him, working quickly as he tied the strips of fabric around the open gashes up and down her arm. He was horrified to see the crimson liquid still seeping from the deep wounds. She had lost a lot of blood already, and it still hadn’t clotted off. As he worked, her eyes followed his. Her lips were blue—too blue in contrast to her pale skin. He knew then, with every fiber of his being, that had Ryan been anywhere around them, Jay would have killed him.

“Why did you do that?” he yelled. “Don’t you see that he’s not worth it?”

She didn’t answer, only looked away, allowing the tears to come freely.

“You could have killed yourself,” he said. And for some horrible, confusing reason, he cared.

Jay carried Addy back to the car, cradling her to his chest, wondering if he’d be able to pull himself together, for her sake.

Addy stirred, her breathing coming out in tiny, weak gasps as Jay opened the car door and set her gently down in the seat. Her skin was so cold, taking on a pale, clammy complexion. The blood was drying on her clothes and skin. Jay soaked a dirty shirt with a bottle of water before sitting down in the driver’s seat next to her, dabbing at the cuts in her skin. Addy grimaced, fighting the pain, and her eyes fluttered open again.

“I need to take you to the hospital,” Jay said.

“No. No hospitals.”

“You could have killed yourself.” He tried to sound stern, but his tone was laced with worry.

“Would you have cared?” The color was returning to her cheeks as Addy sat up, propping her seat into a sitting position. She moved slowly, stiff in her muscles.

“I—” Jay faltered, wondering how he could answer that without everything falling apart around them. Of course, he cared. The moment he’d seen her lying there in the bathroom covered in blood, her skin chalky white, his heart had nearly stopped beating. And now, here she was, alive and taunting him, and he had nothing to say—nothing he could say. “Wrap this shirt around your arm,” he said instead. “I think the bleeding has stopped for the most part.”

“I know,” Addy said. She took the soaking wet T-shirt he handed to her and secured the fabric around her injured arm.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Jay asked. Addy nodded, but she didn’t look at him.

“I’m pre-med, Jay. I just got accepted into WSMS.”

Jay leaned back against the inside of the door, allowing her to take control. He had to focus on something else, avert his terror away from the blood down the front of her jacket.

“Have you always wanted to be a doctor?” he asked. He felt stupid asking something like that given the situation, but he had to slow his heart rate, even just a little bit.

“Always,” Addy said. She secured the shirt even tighter around her arm and applied pressure with her free hand.

“What does your man toy think of that?”

“Honestly? He thinks I should be a nurse. He doesn’t believe that women should be doctors.”

“What a little bitch,” Jay muttered.

Addy looked over, meeting his gaze, and she was grinning slightly. “That’s what I thought, too.”