Page 102 of Shrapnel

Don’t look! The bleeding will stop soon, ok? Just hug Mr. Smiley and I’ll clean this up. It won’t hurt too bad.

Don’t leave me! Please!

Jamie fell to his knees and vomited. His stomach cramped and he wasn’t sure if his eyes were closed or open. All he could see was that sightless fox.Mr. Smiley.He had forgotten its damned name. It smelled like nicotine and whiskey from that one time his father ripped it from him and tried to set it on fire with his cigarette. It didn’t matter. Jamie still clung to it every night until he left. Until the flames took it.

No. No. There was no way that…that stuffed toy was dead. Crumbled ash in the wind. It couldn’t…

Jamie vomited again, tears running down his cheeks even though he wasn’t crying. Or was he? He couldn’t stop.

Blue and gold labels.

Cascarones.

Mr. Smiley’s sightless black eyes.

Oh god…

“It’s me…” he rasped, clawing at his aching throat.

Elijah was shouting, clutching his shoulders and shaking him. “Jamie! Jamie, you have to breathe! Open your mouth!”

Fingers pinched his cheeks and his lips parted. Someone hit him on the back and he finally took in a breath. Stars exploded in front of his eyes, and he caught himself in the grass.

Elijah tackled him, arms wrapping around him and holding him tightly. Jamie was wheezing—big, ugly, rasping breaths that did nothing to alleviate the pain in his chest. His hands were moving, scratching at Elijah’s clothes. He couldn’t stop them. Everything hurt. He needed to move, to run, to hide. Something. Anything.

The arms around him wouldn’t let him. He kicked and flailed but Elijah held fast.

“Jamie stop, please. Just breathe. Breathe. Talk to me!”

Someone approached but Elijah screamed at them to get away. Jamie finally settled, dropping his head onto Elijah’s shoulders. He smelled good. Like the soap in their shower. The shower in their apartment. Jamie focused on that. Elijah bought it because it had something in it. Cocoa butter? Jamie didn’t know what that was. It smelled good. Made his skin soft. Elijah bought it at the same place he bought their cheap shower curtain, the clear one that Jamie hated. In the bathroom across the hall from his bedroom. With the locks and his stashes. His stashes were safe.

He was safe.

Breathe.

Jamie’s lungs were on fire. They felt like wet paper towels collapsing in on themselves. His throat ached and his limbs were heavy. He was half laying across Elijah, head burrowed in his shoulder. Saliva and snot had soaked through his jacket.

“…fine…” he groaned, pushing back languidly.

“Fuck that shit,” Noah snapped. He was standing on the other side of the SUV, arms crossed. “Try again.”

“Noah,” Elijah admonished, his voice strained. “Please.”

Noah looked like his eyes were wet. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I’ll get the car.”

He left and Jamie knew he had to say something. Sitting splayed out on the grass, his useless legs in front of him, he knew he had finally hit bottom. His past hadn’t burnt out behind him. It had been stalking him. Jamie hadn’t noticed the signs. He thought they were all dead, consumed by the fire that refused him. The only reason he had been able to sleep, to breathe, to survive was knowing they were all buried beneath piles of ash and smoldering ruins.

“You said ‘It’s me’. What did you mean?”

“Don’t tell Grant,” Jamie didn’t look up. His neck had no strength. “He will fix this.”

“I won’t if you don’t want me to,” Elijah promised. “But I think we should. He cares about you.”

“I know. That’s why he can’t know.” Jamie breathed in and out, feeling his bruised chest expand. “I can’t…”

Jamie couldn’t let the Weavers take up his burdens. They had saved him. Even when he left them, turned his back on their generosity, Grant welcomed him back. Soothed him with his own hands. If he knew, if any of them knew the truth—they would never look at Jamie again. They would recoil in disgust.

They would understand why he spent so many years trying to burn the memories away.