Page 127 of The Fractured

I wanted to unlock the door, but couldn’t bring myself to move. I was frozen to the floor and staring at the gap beneath my dresser.

There was a gun in my bedroom.

Hushed and quick whispers came from the other side of the door, followed by the soft scraping sound of metal on metal.

My eyes flicked to the door handle as its simple lock clicked and the door swung open.

Dean was crouched on the other side with a bent bobby pin between his fingers. Kira and Seb stood behind him.

All three peered into the room like they expected something far worse, but Dean moved first.

He knelt in front of me, quickly examining my arms but mostly looking at my face — holding my face in his hands while I struggled to exhale.

“What can I do?” he asked.

I shook my head, unable to form a single word. There was a lump in my throat, and tears were forming in my eyes.

“Hey-hey-hey.” Dean brushed a thumb across my cheek, wiping a tear. “Breathe with me, Lily. Come on, you’ve got this.”

Just breathe.

I inhaled with him. When he breathed out, mine caught. I forced myself to focus on him, his mouth, his voice, his eyes, the faint scar through his right eyebrow. Anything considered insignificant but simple enough for me to regain control.

We had done this before. At the hospital. It worked then.

I need it to work now.

I tried again with him, following each of his breaths.

“That’s it. Nice and slow.”

The instant relief of air filling my lungs came quickly before a wave of emotion forced a sob from my chest. The tears came next, falling in giant blobs on the backs of Dean’s hands.

Kira quietly stepped into the room holding a glass of water. “Seb and I are going to give you guys some space… Here.” She held the glass out for Dean to take and offered me a sympathetic smile. Her eyes were wet too.

As she left quietly with Seb, Dean handed me the glass.

I took slow sips. It hurt my throat at first, and I felt exhausted.

Soon it wasn’t fear or trauma that controlled my movements, but the heavy weight of embarrassment about the fact that my friends saw me at my worst. But I also knew they wouldn’t hold that against me.

I could deal with embarrassment.

Dean took a seat beside me on the floor, leaning back against the end of my bed with one leg bent and his arm slung over it.

When the apartment fell silent around us, he cleared his throat and pushed his hand through his hair.

I set the glass down, wiping tears from my eyes and breathing shakily.

“You didn’t call that doctor,” he said with no hint of disappointment in his tone. He was only voicing what was on his mind.

“I tried. And I really wanted to…” I looked down. “I should’ve told you what was going on.”

“Why didn’t you?” Again, his voice was steady, no disappointment.

“Everyone was moving forward and dealing with everything better than I was.” I pulled my legs up to my chest. “I thought if I pretended to feel normal, maybe I would get better and wouldn’t need a doctor after all. But then everything kept piling up. And the gun—”

On hearing the word, Dean moved across to the dresser and reached under it. He blocked the gun from view as he brought it to the kitchen and wrapped it in a hand towel to be left on the counter.