Page 7 of Cry Madness

Her boldness is both surprising and amusing as she grips my biceps, attempting to pull me toward the door. “Leave, or I’ll call security to remove you.”

I flick my gaze from her hand back to her face. “How about this instead? You remove your hand, or I’ll remove it for you.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Take it however you want, but I suggest you do the smart thing and unwrap those little digits from my arm.” I reach into my back pocket, pull out the worn leather wallet, and peel off a crisp hundred-dollar bill. “Go grab yourself a cup of coffee,” I offer, my tone layered with hints of menace and persuasion. Without any hesitation, I give her another hundred. “Better yet, indulge yourself in a nice, long lunch, my treat.”

Relinquishing her grip and with a defiant spark in her brown eyes, she rejects my offer with an unwavering determination. “I’m not afraid of you,” she declares, punctuating her words with an exaggerated uplift of her chin. Yet, beneath her bravado, I hear the undercurrent of fear in her voice—a healthy and proper fear everyone has of me.

Leaning low, I close the distance until my lips almost brush her ear. “I’m trying to behave today,” I murmur, my voice low and laced with malice. “But believe me, it’s not easy. Now, I’m asking for ten minutes. Ten.” I gently pressed the money into her hand, emphasizing my plea with a soft, “Please.”

After all, Alice had a knack for calling me out whenever I edged toward being a bully instead of acting like a gentleman.

Nurse Lory—the laminated badge dangling from the lanyard around her neck shows that she was a bottle blonde before she was brunette—closes her fingers around the cash. She shoves the crumpled bills into the deep pocket of her scrubs, the fabric rustling softly. “Fine. Ten minutes,” she declares, her voice firm as she holds up both hands, fingers fanned wide as if counting down an impending storm, a countdown that brings both relief and dread. “Not one second longer.”

“Ten,” I reply, my voice resolute, as I nod in agreement. With a deliberate motion, I pull out my pocket watch, its gold surface warm from the tension of my grasp. I note the minutes, althoughthe analog wall clock above the television ticks steadily, serving as a relentless reminder of our fleeting time. “Much appreciated.”

“Don’t eventhinkabout agitating her. Got it?” She warns me, her tone low, a thread of urgency weaving through her words.

I make a solemn gesture, tracing a cross over my heart. “Promise.”

She mouths ‘ten minutes’ one last time as she leaves, her glare lingering like a protective guardian against dark forces unseen. Dark forces that emanate from me. The door clicks shut behind her, leaving Alice and me alone in the silence. My heart pounds in a steady beat of both dread and hope within my chest.

This dismal room is so saturated with the acrid scent of disinfectant that it’s disorienting. Every muscle in my body feels coiled too tightly, like wound springs ready to snap. My gaze is locked on Alice, her fragile form lying far too still beneath the white sheet. The spectral reminder of mortality grips my throat like a vise, with the essence of her frailty a haunting phantom.

I shuffle toward the bed, my palms damp and heart racing as I extend my hand to smooth Alice’s tangled hair away from her face. But just as quickly, I pull back, the urge to awaken her clashing violently with the desperate need to see her captivating blue eyes.

Again, the question swirls in my mind in a loud riot of confusion and despair.

Why, why, why?

Why did Alice shut down and shut me out? Why did she wall herself away from me, from everyone? I want to understand; truly, I do, but beneath that desire simmers a well of anger, and I clench my fist in frustration, itching to punch something. To punish someone. To purge this overpowering sense of helplessness that gnaws at my insides, because howdareshe do this?

To herself. To her friends.

Tome.

Get it together. This isn’t about me. It’s about Alice. I’m here for her. She’s the only thing that matters. She’s all that ever mattered to me.

I stow the anger deep within, focusing instead on the steady rise and fall of Alice’s chest, on the incessant beeping of the machine beside the bed. Else told me that, along with a shot of Narcan, the paramedics had performed CPR on her. No doubt, she bears the marks of their desperate attempts beneath that gray hospital gown. Her ribs and throat likely ache fiercely, too. But through it all, one truth lingers.

She’s alive.

That simple truth does little to calm the storm within me. “It’s only the two of us now,” I breathe, my voice barely above a whisper and heavy with silent fears. Alice remains unmoved, enveloped in a serene slumber, her chest rising and falling with each gentle breath as if she hadn’t danced precariously close to the edge of oblivion. “Not gonna lie, Malice. I’m hell-damned pissed at you. Don’t you understand how much I need you?” My legs tremble beneath me, and I crouch low, seeking a moment’s reprieve, a chance to steady my breath. I rub the bridge of my nose, attempting to dissolve the tight band of tension that has gripped my brow, before pushing myself upright again. “Can’t you grasp that I’d rather endure a thousand lifetimes in a world where you ignore me than spend even one fleeting second in a world without you?”

A suffocating silence descends, pressing heavily against my chest until, after what feels like an eternity, Alice’s soft, husky voice pierces through the quiet. “You shouldn’t have threatened Nurse Lory. She’s nice.”

My heart leaps violently in response, almost escaping my ribcage, and breathless with relief, I murmur, “There you are, Malice. You gave me quite the scare for a moment.”

Her gaze is bleary and bloodshot, and I find myself longing for the sweet melody of her laughter, the radiant glow of her smile that could light up even the darkest days. “I didn’t mean to.”

Her voice is thin, choked. When a solitary tear slips from the corner of her eye, tracing a path down her cheek before disappearing into her hair, I suppress the urge to wipe away that wetness. Erase the sorrow festering inside her. “I know,” I reply, though my heart clenches with uncertainty.

But I don’t because Alice, while right here, might as well be a million miles away from me. She’s a stranger, someone who perceives me as a contagion.

She chokes on a soft sob, her voice trembling. “I… I wanted the pain to stop.”

I position myself on the edge of the bed, hating the way she stiffens and the way pain flickers across her features as she tries to turn away and escape. Just two months ago, she craved my touch. Now, she can barely tolerate my existence. What gnaws at me the most is the fact that I haven’t done a damn thing to merit this shift.