Page 19 of Santino (The Camboy Network #4)

CHAPTER

SEVENTEEN

HAYDEN

We were supposed to go to Rockefeller Center with Noel and Bellamy.

We were planning to go up to the observation deck on the Chrysler Building.

Santino was really excited about it and I kind of was too.

He hasn’t done a lot of touristy stuff in the city—mostly because of me—and I wanted to take him to do something fun.

But then the darkness started creeping in.

It never really went away, but the day after our shoot together, I almost couldn’t feel it at all. I almost felt like my old self again.

It didn’t last though. The darkness inched closer and closer with each passing day. The voice got louder and louder. I tried to keep it at bay. I tried to ignore it and focus on all the happy, joyful things I was doing with Santino. But the ache in my chest just wouldn’t let up.

I couldn’t stop thinking about what will happen after Santino finished the projects he’s working on. Is he going home? Is he staying? What if he doesn’t like me as much as I like him? What if he’s just humoring me because I’m giving him somewhere to crash?

The rational part of my brain understood that there was no point in obsessing over these questions. But the darkness didn’t care and the voice was more than loud enough to drown out all reason.

Of course, he’s leaving. If not for California, then at least to get away from you. Because you’re a pathetic waste of space. You’re a parasite. You’re worthless. It’s only a matter of time before all your so-called friends turn on you.

It was really bad when I got up this morning.

I could barely get out of bed. I felt like I was trapped under an invisible blanket made of lead.

I’m actually not sure how I managed to get up.

It’s a miracle I made it through the shoot and out of the bakery in one piece.

My hands were shaking and every time I had to adjust a camera, I held my breath I wouldn’t ruin the shot.

You totally did. Every single shot. None of it’s usable. Because you’re useless.

The ache felt like a pool of acid, eat, eat, eating away at my flesh, leaving a big, echoing cavern in its wake. I kept rubbing at my sternum where the pain was the worst and every time I did that, I wondered whether my fist would go right through the crumbling shell of my body.

The clincher was when we were shooting our mini-scene with the cake.

He fed the piece to me, then wiped the extra frosting off my lip.

I caught his hand and sucked his thumb into my mouth.

The dazed look he gave me as we stood there, like he was under some kind of trance, sent the voice into overdrive.

See what you’ve done to him? How you’ve manipulated him? Taken advantage of him? He would be much better off living his own life, but no, you’ve brainwashed him into thinking you’re worth a damn. You’re so selfish. Narcissistic.

There was no way I could make it through an afternoon of playing tourist with Santino. And as much as I wanted him to come home with me, he shouldn’t have to give up on a fun excursion just because of me. Haven’t I stolen enough from him? Haven’t I wasted enough of his time?

I mumbled some excuse to Sebastian and hightailed it out of there before anyone could stop me.

When I get home, I slam the door shut behind me and slide down to the floor, back against the wall. My heart is racing. Blood rushes past my ears. My lungs are burning.

You’re such a fraud. You think you’re cool enough to be one of the guys, but you’re not. They only let you hang around them because they pity you. They feel sorry for you. They’d much rather you were gone. They don’t really want you around.

I bang my head against the wall and shove the heels of my hands into my eyes. I know those are lies. I know I shouldn’t listen to them. But it just. Doesn’t. Go. Away.

You can’t get rid of me. I’m a part of you. How can I be lying to you when I am you? You’re the one doing the thinking. If you don’t believe what I’m saying, why are you thinking it?

The ache is all-consuming—not just around my chest, but extending from the top of my head to the bottoms of my feet. I feel like I’m disintegrating into a pile of nothing.

Because you are nothing.

I curl up into a ball by the front door. A haunting, wretched sound tears from my throat. It hurts. So much. So much.

I can’t take this anymore. I can’t stand it. It’s too much. It never stops. It never ends.

So end it.

My hands tear at my hair as another crying sob escapes.

Seriously. End it. If it hurts so much, there’s an easy way out. Unless you’re too much of a coward to do even that.

No, I don’t want to die.

It’s the perfect solution. You won’t be in pain anymore.

Your friends won’t have to pretend they like you anymore.

They can go on with their lives without you being a fucking stone around their necks.

They can be happy. You want them to be happy, don’t you?

You don’t want them to be miserable because of you, do you?

Why do you have to contaminate them with your misery? Why can’t you just let them be free?

Tears pour from my eyes. I’m being gutted. Everything hurts. I hate this. I hate myself. I hate the world. I hate everything.

You know what you need to do.

I lie on the floor, adrift in a sea of agony. Drowning. I can’t get up. I can’t move. I can’t do anything but feel hurt and more hurt and more hurt.

At some point, I pass out. Exhausted. Drained. Shriveled up and dried out. A ball of unconscious flesh and bone in the front hall of the apartment. I don’t know how long I’m there for. It could be ten minutes. It could be five hours.

When I come to again, every single muscle in my body is sore. Every joint has been frozen into one position. Sharp, stabbing pain shoots through me as I try to unfold myself. I have to use the wall to stand up. My feet have gone numb. My head is throbbing. My eyes are swollen half shut.

I’m a shell of a human being. The ache in my chest is gone. So is the deep, abiding sense of hate. But I don’t feel happy or light or carefree. I feel empty. Hollow. Dead on the inside. A ghost.

Somehow, I stumble my way to my bedroom and into bed.

I don’t change or even take off my clothes.

I just climb in, pull the covers over my head, and bury my face into a pillow.

I slip in and out of consciousness, willing myself back to sleep when it looks like I might be waking up.

I don’t want to be awake. Things are bad when I’m awake.

The voice is too loud. It says things I don’t want to hear. Things that hurt.

Far in the distance, there are sounds of movement. A door opening. Someone's calling my name. Footsteps that draw closer and closer. Then a knock.

“Hayden? You in there?”

The doorknob turns. The slight scent of cinnamon wafts toward me. I hold my breath and pretend to sleep. I don’t want him to see me like this. Pathetic and broken and defective. I’m ashamed of myself. I’m ashamed of thinking I could ever be good enough for Santino.

He moves closer, feet padding on the floor. “Hayden?” he whispers, bending over me.

I don’t move. Not an inch. Even though my heart is racing furiously in my chest.

You’re more inept than I thought. You can’t even face him. You can’t accept the truth you’re good for nothing, you don’t deserve him, you’re a poor excuse for a human being.

Just as quietly as he entered, Santino slips out. The door closes with a light snick. I suck in a breath as the ache returns in full force, a monster tearing me apart from the inside out.

Panic seizes me and my heart lurches like it’s trying to chase after Santino. Don’t leave. Come back. I don’t want to be alone. Please. I don’t want to be alone.

But you’re better off alone. You’re better off dead and gone.

I clutch a pillow to my chest, as if I can stuff it inside me to fill the enormous empty cavern. Fresh tears spring to my eyes, gathering on my lashes. I turn my face into my pillow and let the pillowcase soak up the moisture.

A muffled moan escapes my throat. I can’t let him hear. I can’t let him know just how weak and pathetic and stupid I am.

I struggle to breathe, the darkness doing a better job of smothering me than the pillow. It’s seeping into every crack and crevice of my body, expanding and growing inside me, blocking up my airway, choking me. It’s consuming me, this ugliness, thick and heavy and greasy.

The door opens again. This time without any warning. I try to swallow down the anguish, but instead, I make a gasping, strangled sound. I try to be still, but I can’t stop my body from shaking.

The door closes and a moment later, the bed dips. Santino climbs over the covers, scoots in close, and lies down behind me. He wraps himself around me with an arm and a leg thrown over my body.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t try to ask me what’s wrong. Doesn’t try to tell me everything will be okay. Doesn’t even say my name. He just holds me. Tight.

A solid weight. Real. Grounding. Sure.

The tears return and so do the sobs. They flow like some dam inside me has burst, the hurt and pain pouring out of me in sweet, terrible relief.

I’m not alone. Santino’s with me. He saw me when I didn’t want him to see. He came when I tried to push him away. I don’t deserve him, but I want him. I shouldn’t have him, but I don’t want to let him go.

Santino holds me as I cry, as I empty myself in wrenching, heaving sobs. The pillow is soaked through with my tears and snot and spit, and not once does he pull away. If anything, he holds me tighter and squeezes me harder. He stays until I sink back into unconsciousness.