Page 54 of My Best Friend Is Broken

“Liam?” I call through the door. “You okay in there?”

Nothing.

“Liam, can you answer me, please? I’m starting to worry.”

Still nothing, and the knot in my chest turns to ice.

I try the door handle, already knowing what I’ll find. Locked.

“Liam, I need you to open the door or say something. Anything. Just let me know you’re alive in there.”

The silence that follows is the most terrifying sound I’ve ever heard.

I don’t think. Don’t hesitate. Don’t waste time looking for tools or trying to jimmy the lock. I just step back and kick the door as hard as I can, the wood splintering around the frame with a crash that echoes through the apartment.

Liam is standing in front of the bathroom mirror, perfectly still, holding a small brown bottle in his hands. The bottle that should be in the medicine cabinet, the one with his name on it and warnings about not exceeding the recommended dose.

The bottle that’s now open, its contents scattered across the white porcelain of the sink.

“Did you take any?” I ask, my voice coming out rougher than I intended.

He looks at me with those blank, glassy eyes and doesn’t answer.

I cross the space between us in two strides and knock the bottle from his hands, pills scattering across the tile floor like tiny white raindrops.

“Did you take any?” I demand again, grabbing his shoulders.

Still nothing. Just that horrible, empty stare.

Panic takes over. I force his mouth open with my fingers, ignoring the way he tries to pull away, and shove them down his throat as far as they’ll go. He gags and tries tofight me, but I hold him over the toilet until he retches up everything in his stomach.

It’s mostly just bile and the remains of this morning’s breakfast, but mixed in are several white tablets that make my knees go weak with relief.

He took some. But not many. Maybe not enough to…

He starts pushing against me, trying to get away from my grip, and suddenly we’re struggling. Not fighting exactly, but not cooperating either. He’s weak from throwing up and shaky from whatever the pills have done to him, but desperation gives him strength.

I don’t mean to be rough with him. Don’t mean to use my size and weight against him. But he’s trying to get away and I can’t let him, can’t risk him finding more pills or another way to hurt himself, so I do what comes naturally.

I slam him against the bathroom wall, face first, and pin him there with my body.

The position is unmistakable. Intimate. Predatory. Everything I swore I’d never do to him.

“Yes!” Liam gasps against the tile. “Make me yours!”

The words hit me like a physical blow, rage exploding in my chest like a bomb going off.

He thinks this is what I want. He thinks I’m pinning him against the wall because I’m some animal who can’t control himself, some predator who takes what he wants without caring about consent or gentleness or love.

He thinks I’m just like that asshole we left with Dante.

“Why would I bother to make you mine,” I snarl, my voice coming out harsh and ugly, “when you’re just going to leave me?”

I kick the empty pill bottle for emphasis, and it skitters across the floor like an accusation.

“I won’t,” he pants, his cheek pressed against the wall.

“The bridge? The pills?” I can hear my own voice breaking, all the fear and terror from the last few hours finally finding an outlet. “Every time something goes wrong, you try to fucking leave me!”