Page 83 of Almost Rotten

A person. No, two people. Warmth and kindness, wit and competence. Two people who want me. Who cherish me. Who wouldnevermake me feel this way.

Chapter thirty-one

Sawyer

Iwant to go home.

The words repeat in my mind as I white-knuckle my way through the intense downpour, my wipers set at max speed.

Each time I blink, fresh tears follow the path of the ones that came before them, creating a perpetual flow of sorrow.

I want to go home.

My head hurts. My eyes hurt. My body and my soul ache. I’m battered from the inside out, and so much of the hurt is self-inflicted. I let this go too far. I played along because though I didn’t want to admit it to myself, I wanted it to be true. I’ve always wanted Tytus to love me out loud, to claim me, toconsume me. So I played into his delusions. I indulged the secret fantasy I’d clung to for years.

Only that fantasy is more of a toxic, twisted alternate reality.

I want to go home.

Even if it’s too late. Even if they turn me away. Even if there’s no longer anyone who wants me there. At the very least, I have to try.

The rain makes it impossible to identify landmarks in the parking lot. It doesn’t matter. My car is the only one here. I’m well and truly alone.

I park and climb out of the vehicle, then slowly, somberly, make my way up the familiar path. Despite the rain, I can’t move any faster. As if the life force has been sapped from me completely.

I was soaked before I got in the car anyway. I can’t get any wetter. The chill that’s seeped into my bones barely registers.

My limbs are heavy. My thoughts, my heart, my soul.

Painfully, tragically heavy.

Every step takes longer than the one before it as I trudge through the quagmire of my own misery.

My foot slips on the first stair.

There’s a moment, a second, no more, where I hope I’ll fall. Where I will my legs to give out and my head to hit the ground. Hard. It would be fast. I’d quickly, quietly, peacefully crumple to the ground and let the rain wash me away.

I’d blend in with the leaves.

Sink into the dirt, every inch of me fading into the soil until my essence has been transformed into fertile earth where wildflowers might grow.

By the time I clear the top stair, I’m breathless. Useless. Utterly without hope.

By some miracle, I find the strength to rap out four sharp knocks on the pale-yellow door.

I’m close to giving in to the weight of the night and curling up on the stoop when the door swings open.

Blue-gray eyes look right through me, their crystal clarity fogging with concern as we stand across from each other on opposite sides of the threshold.

“Sawyer?”

At the sound of his voice, I shrink in on myself.

Noah surges forward and catches me under the arms, taking my weight.

One large hand anchors the back of my head. The other slots in place on my low back, holding me tightly.

With a gasp, I croak, “I didn’t know where else to go.” Then I burst into a fresh round of tears.