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“Come on.” Blake’s hands are on mine, gently trying to pry me away. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
My clothes are stiff with dried blood, crusted beneath my fingernails, and smeared across my arms.
“She’s gone,” I whisper. “She’s really gone.”
“I know, babe.” Her voice is gentle, but her hands are firm as she finally manages to separate me from my mother’s body. “I’m so sorry.”
The loss of contact snaps something inside me. I start to shake, violent tremors wracking my body. “I can’t, I can’t.”
“Shh, I’ve got you.” She pulls me against her chest, not caring about the blood transfer. “I’ve got you.”
I clutch at her shirt, burying my face in her neck. She smells like cigarettes and expensive perfume.
“It’s okay.” Her hand strokes my hair. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
I stare at the wall, my mind blank. Empty. The same spot I’ve been staring at for… hours? Days? Time stopped making sense after the police questioned me, Dad’s breakdown on the phone, and Mykel’s broken voice. No, it couldn’t have been that long.
I just came home.
Blake’s thumb traces circles on my hand. She hasn’t left my side since she found me.
“You need to eat something,” she says.
Food is the last thing I can handle right now.
The doorbell rings.
She squeezes my hand before getting up.
Seconds later, Brandon bursts in and drops to his knees in front of me, hands hovering like he’s afraid to touch. “I’m here.”
I don’t want him here.
I’m not ready.
TWENTY-FOUR
BRANDON
Ireach for Naomi, but she flinches away, curling in on herself. My hands drop uselessly to my sides.
“Cupcake,” I try again, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”
Her eyes, red-rimmed and vacant, flick to mine before darting away. She looks… fuck, like someone reached inside and hollowed her out, leaving nothing but an empty shell behind.
I want to hold her. To wrap her in my arms and shield her from all this shit. But the way she’s huddled on the couch, arms wrapped tightly around herself, screams ‘don’t touch me.’ So I don’t.
Instead, I settle for sitting on the coffee table across from her, close enough to reach out if she needs me, but far enough to give her space.
“Do you need anything?” I ask, hating how fucking useless the question sounds. What could she possibly need right now? Her mother back? A time machine? “I’m here, okay? I’m right here with you.”
Naomi doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even look at me. Just keeps staring at some spot on the wall.
No response. Not even a blink.
What do I do? What the fuck am I supposed to do?
I want to grab her, shake her, yell at her to snap out of it. I want to hunt down Lydia’s ghost and make her pay for doing this to her own daughter.