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TRIGGER WARNING
MY FOOT IS FLAT AGAINST THE pedal, the engine growling beneath me like it’s feeling what I am-panic, fury, helplessness all crammed into one heartbeat that just won’t slow down. The streetlights blur past me like they’re nothing but ghosts.
When Cal called, I didn’t know what to expect. But Carmen at some dodgy party in my area with fucking Dylan?
I grip the wheel tighter. That name alone makes my blood boil. I remember Dylan from TSS—arrogant twat with a permanent smirk and not an ounce of respect for anyone.
Always pushing boundaries. Always sniffing around girls who didn’t want him near. And now he’s with Carmen?
No. No way. She shouldn’t be anywhere near someone like that. Not Carmen.
Not my Carmen.
I turn the corner too sharp and the tyres screech, but I don’t care. I spot the house-lights flashing, people spilling out onto the lawn like ants after rain. My heart kicks harder. The second I throw the car into park, I’m out, slamming the door without even bothering to lock it. I shove past some bloke trying to offer me a drink, eyes searching for someone, anyone—
“Connie!”
I look up. Cal’s at the top of the stairs, panic all over his face. “He’s locked the door!”
And just like that, something in my chest cracks wide open. I bolt up the stairs two steps at a time, fists already clenched and my jaw tight. I don’t knock. I don’t speak.
Instead, I slam into the door with my shoulder. It bursts open on the first hit—splintering wood and all—and the moment I step inside, something in me shatters.
Carmen.
She’s sprawled across the bed, her arm dangling off the edge, eyes half-lidded like she’s barely hanging on. Her skin is pale—sickly pale—drenched in sweat. It feels like my heart has been ripped clean out of my chest.
And Dylan—that prick—is standing over her, hands on his belt buckle. Once he sees me, that smug little smile melts clean off his face.
I don’t think. I launch. My fist connects with his face and I hear it—a crack. His nose, maybe my knuckles, maybe both, but I don’t stop. Another punch, and another, until he’s on the floor, blood pouring from his face like he’s a scene out of a horror film.
But I’m not done. I grab him by the collar and drag him up like a rag doll, slamming his head into the wall so hard it leaves a dent.
It’s wrong. But what I just walked in on? That’s worse. He deserves it.
“What the fuck were you trying to do?” I grit out, my chest heaving.
He gasps, blood bubbling out of his mouth. “I—I didn’t—”
I change my mind, I don’t want to hear his fuck ass voice. “Shut your mouth.” I slam him again, harder and in response, a scream of pain escapes him.
“You’re a weak little bitch, aren’t you?” I hiss, eyes burning. “You only touch girls who can’t fight back, yeah? That makes you feel strong?”
“Connie!”
I look back over my shoulder. Jude’s there now, brows furrowed, eyes flicking to the bed—to her. His face changes.
“I’ll deal with this dickhead,” he says, calm but firm. “Go get your girl.”
My girl.
I throw Dylan onto the floor. He lands hard, letting out a groan of pain while his blood smears on the wall like paint.
I move to Carmen, hovering over her. Her curls are stuck to her forehead, damp with sweat. I brush them back carefully, like she’s made of glass.
“Hey, blondie,” I whisper, hands cradling her cheeks. Her skin’s clammy, too warm, too cold—it’s all wrong.
“Aaron?” she murmurs, her voice barely there. Fuck.
“I’m gonna get you out of here, alright?” I whisper, voice cracking. “I’ve got you.”
“I fucking told everyone not to sell to her.” Jude’s voice cuts in, sharp. “So if you don’t want a broken arm, tell me what you gave her. Now.”
“Only heroin,” Dylan mutters. Only?
I spin around. “Only? You absolute fucking-“
“Oi,” Cal grabs my shoulder. “Get her out. We’ve got him.”
I nod, barely registering them anymore. All I can think about is Carmen. Her in this room. All alone with him.
I scoop her up, and she curls into my chest, her breath shallow and shaky, making my heart beat faster by the second. Her lips barely move as she mumbles nonsense under her breath.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I walk down the stairs, each step heavier than the last. Everyone’s staring mouths hanging open like they want to get their asses beat.
“The fuck are all of you looking at?” I snap, and heads drop like dominos.
I carry her out, open the back door, and lay her down as gently as I can. I tuck a curl behind her ear, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. I’ve never seen her like this-so vulnerable, so broken. It kills me. It actually kills me.
I close the door and run to the driver’s seat. My hands are shaking as I start the car. I drive faster than I should, but still safely. I can’t afford to mess this up but my mind’s spiralling. Is she gonna be okay? Am I too late? What the hell did that bastard do to her?
I pull up to mine and kill the engine. I lift her again—she’s dead weight now, barely conscious, murmuring things I can’t make out. I carry her inside, thankful my dad’s a deep sleeper. He could sleep through a hurricane. Cora however, I’m begging she won’t step out of her room anytime soon.
I open my bedroom door and kick it shut from behind me. Gently, I lay her on my bed, her hair sprawled on my dark grey pillow.
“Don’t fall asleep on me, Carmen,” I whisper, tapping her cheek softly.
“I don’t feel good,” she croaks.
“I know, darlin’,” I say, kneeling beside her. “But you’re gonna be alright, okay?”
I move fast. Put the CD player on—her CD. The one she gave me. Fade Into You by Mazzy Star turns on, the volume low but just loud enough so that Cora won’t hear Carmen.
I dart to the bathroom, grab a towel, run it under cold water. Back to her, I press it to her forehead, grab the bin, place it beside the bed. I roll her on her side—she needs to be able to throw up. Can’t risk her choking. Can’t risk her… fuck, I can’t even say it.
The next thing I know, she’s jerking out of bed. I hold the bin steady, my other hand stroking her back, pushing her hair out of her face as she throws up.
This hurts. It feels like someone is crushing my heart with a hammer repeatedly. That’s what seeing her like this feels.
When she’s done, she slumps back onto the pillow. I grab a tissue off the bedside table and gently wipe her lips.
“Aaron, is that you?” she mumbles, her voice confused and lost.
“It’s me, darlin’,” I whisper, barely holding it together.
“No.” She flinches away from my touch. “You can’t see me like this.”
I swallow hard. “It’s okay.”
“No.” She tries to sit up but manages to throw up again, all in the bin thankfully but that’s the least of my worries. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, shaking her head.
No. No. No.
She doesn’t need to apologise. She doesn’t need to carry that kind of shame. I’m the one who’s sorry. So fucking sorry I didn’t get to her sooner. I should’ve come straight to her the second I realised something was wrong. I shouldn’t have waited. Shouldn’t have convinced myself she’d reply eventually. Shouldn’t have listened to that voice that told me to give her space when every part of me was screaming to go find her.
She needed someone. And I let her down.
“Don’t apologise,” I whisper. My voice cracks a little, but I don’t care. She leans into me, trembling, and I wrap my arms around her like I can hold the shaking still. Like I can protect her from everything she’s already been through.
She’s freezing. Without a word, I peel off my hoodie and gently slip it over her head. She doesn’t resist. Just lets me take care of her, eyes lowered, breath shallow. I spot the bobble on her wrist and slowly pull it off, gathering her hair with clumsy fingers, trying to twist it into something like a bun. It’s a mess. I know it is. But it gets her hair off her face so it does the job.
I tuck the blanket over her and sit down on the floor, my back against the side of the bed, my body heavy with all the emotions I’ve been swallowing since I walked into the bathroom and found her like that.
I can’t sleep. I won’t. Not while she’s like this.
What if she throws up again? What if she stops breathing? What if she slips too far into whatever dark place she’s been hiding in, and I’m not fast enough to pull her back?
What if I lose her?
My heart’s beating too fast, and it feels like the walls are closing in. But I keep still. I stay grounded. For her. Only for her.
After a long while, I turn my head and look at her. She’s still now, finally still. Her chest rises and falls slowly, and I hope that means she’s sleeping. I hope that means she’s okay—at least for now.
I reach for her hand. It’s limp at first, but I cradle it gently, running my thumb over her knuckles, tracing the cool metal of her rings.
She wears gold. Always gold.
“I really like you, Carmen,” I whisper. The words are small, fragile things, like if I say them too loud they’ll shatter. “For a while now. You’ve had me hooked since the first day we met.”
My throat tightens, but I keep going. “Every time I said you were something, what I meant was… you’re different. Special. You make everything feel louder. Brighter. Realer. When I’m with you, I never want to leave, and when I’m not, it’s like I’m missing something. Like I’ve left a part of myself behind.”
I pause, swiping at my cheek before the tear can fall. “I’ve never felt this way before. Not about anyone. But I’m glad it’s you.”
The silence wraps around us like a second blanket. Outside, the world keeps turning, but in here, it feels like time has stopped—just for this moment. Just for her.
I stare at her face, memorising every line, every freckle, every soft curve.
And then it hits me. Not all at once, not like some cheesy movie, but slowly. Quietly. Like it’s been growing inside me this whole time, waiting for me to notice.
I was wrong. I don’t just like her.
I love her.
God, I love her.
Not in the simple, easy way you love someone who makes you laugh or look good in pictures. I love her in the way that makes my chest ache and my hands shake. In the way that keeps me up at night wondering if she’s okay. In the way that makes me want to fight her demons for her, even when I’m terrified of my own.
I love her in the way that feels permanent.
And I’m scared. So fucking scared.
Because she’s lying right there—wrapped in my hoodie, curled up in my bed—but she still feels a million miles away. And I don’t know if I’ll ever be close enough to really reach her.
I press her hand to my lips and close my eyes. “Please be okay,” I whisper. My voice is so faint it barely exists. “Please.”
Because I don’t know who I am without her anymore. And I don’t want to find out.
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