Miss you.
That’s it? That’s all I get?
Are you safe? I send back.
Yes. Will call you later.
I let out a scream and Leo bolts through the house. I set my phone down and go to take a shower to get myself ready for the day.
I could follow him. I could book a plane ticket right now and leave. I could send my professors emails and say I have a family emergency and go to him. I could.
Chewing on my lip, I turn on the hot water as Leo comes into the bathroom to sit on the sink to watch. I thought cats hated water, but he’s obsessed with the shower.
So distracted, I realize I’ve put my body wash on my hair instead of conditioner. I rinse it out and try to get my shit together. I’m going to have to rush to get to campus, but there’s nothing I can do about it now, although that caffeine drip would really be a blessing right now.
There are no messages from Sylas on my phone, and I’m going with the statement that “no news is good news.”
I arrive on campus with still-wet hair and a gloomy mood. I struggle through my classwork and end up falling asleep on my desk in both my afternoon classes. Fortunately I’m not the only one, what with everyone pulling all-nighters studying. My professors take it with a grain of salt and I mumble apologies.
Still no word from Sylas when I get home and I’m about ready to lose my mind. I fire up my laptop and start looking at plane tickets. Just to see. They’re not cheap, but there’s a flight leaving in three hours. I could totally make it if I drove to the airport now.
Leo hops up on my lap and meows, rubbing his head against my chest.
“I know, I know. I wish I were a cat. Life would be so much easier. I’d only have to worry about food and water and sleeping sixteen hours a day.” He blinks sleepily up at me.
“What should I do?” He starts kneading my skin and I yelp.
My phone goes off and I grab it.
“Hello? Sylas?”
“Saige?” It’s Cash and he’s sounding… panicked. I’ve never heard Cash so panicked, so it must be bad.
“What’s wrong?” A million and one things tumble through my brain, including the possibility that Sylas is dead. He can’t be dead, he can’t be dead, he can’t be dead. A wave of nausea overtakes me.
“He’s not doing very well.” He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive. My Sylas is alive.
“What the fuck does that mean, Cash?” I nearly scream. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely hold the phone up to my ear. It’s a good thing I’m sitting down.
“He’s catatonic. I can’t get him to move or speak. He’s completely withdrawn and short of taking him to a hospital, which might cause them to lock him up in a psych ward, I don’t know what to do.”
“Can you put me on speaker?” I say.
“Sure. Okay, go ahead.”
“Sylas?” I say, hoping my voice can do something. “Sylas, are you listening to me?” I hear what sounds like a whimpering.
“It’s Saige, Sylas. She’s on the phone,” Cash says.
“Sylas?” I say.
“He’s not doing anything. I’ve tried everything. I don’t know what to do. I can’t get him on a plane like this.” Fuck.
“Where are you?” I ask and he gives me the name of a hotel in Dallas. I quickly type it into my laptop and figure out how far it is from the airport. Only fifteen minutes. The earliest I could get there would be two in the morning. Ideally, I’d get there, help Sylas, get him on a plane and be back in time for class tomorrow.
I haven’t had more than a nap in the last day, but here I am, buying a plane ticket.
“I’ll be there in a few hours,” I say.
“You’re coming here?” Cash says.
“Well, what else am I supposed to do?” He swears a string of curses that would make a sailor proud.
“I knew this was a bad fucking idea. I knew it. Mother fucking cocksucking fucker.”
“Cash?” I need to get his attention. I’m up and running around my apartment, throwing clothes and a toothbrush into a bag. I pour a mound of food into Leo’s bowl and dump a bunch of water in another bowl. He’ll be fine.
“I’m on my way,” I say.
“Okay. Let me know when you get here.”
I end the call and then I’m out the door.
Sixteen
I’ve never experienced so much airport rage in my life. I’m about ready to murder everyone who takes too long in the security line, everyone who tries to cut me to get on the flight and everyone who takes too long to put their enormous suitcases in the overhead. I bit the bullet and got a first class ticket purely for the reason I’ll be off the plane first.
I check in with Cash one last time before the flight attendant tells us to turn off the cell service on our phones. Sylas is still the same.
It would just figure that I’d get on this flight, get there and he’d be back to normal and I would have come for nothing.
No, not nothing. I should have gone in the first place. I knew it. He’s not ready for this.
I spend the entire flight pretending to sleep so no one will try to talk to me.
It feels like it takes a million years to get there. I probably should have tried to sleep for real, but I’m too wired up. When we finally touch down, I want to cry tears of relief. The minute the door opens, I’m ready to go, and I even push past a few people to get off. I’m sure they think I’m a bitch, but I don’t give a fuck what. I race as fast as I can outside and wave for a cab. It’s so late I don’t have to fight anyone for it.
I tell the guy the name of the hotel and tell him to hurry as fast as he can. He assures me he will and I say that if he does, there’s a very generous tip in it for him. He nods and I’m grateful the traffic isn’t near what it could be during the day.
When we reach the hotel, I throw a wad of cash at the driver and I’m out the door. I call Cash.
“I’m here. What room?” He gives me the number and I bust through the lobby and search for the nearest elevator. There’s one person manning the front desk and a maintenance worker with a vacuum. I find the elevators and soon I’m on the floor. The closer I get to the room, the more my heart pounds.
I knock and the door flies open. I throw my bag at Cash and rush in to find Sylas sitting on the floor near the window, his knees pulled up and his face staring straight ahead. I crouch down and look into his eyes.
“He’s been like this for hours. I’ve literally tried everything.” Sylas’ hair is wet and I wonder if Cash dumped water on him.
“Sylas? Sylas, can you hear me?” No reaction. He barely even blinks and his breathing is shallow. I’ve never seen him look so empty. So… gone. He’s gone. Deep inside his head, to a safer place none of us can reach. I stroke the sides of his face.
“Come back to us. You’re going to be okay. It’s all going to be okay. We’re going to get you out of here and go home and everything is going to be okay.” I keep my voice even and soothing. Cash sits on the end of one of the twin beds and watches me.
I lock my eyes with Sylas, searching and looking for a way in. For a flicker that he’s coming back.
I slow my breathing and scoot a little bit closer. Carefully, I press my lips to his. Nothing.
“Come on, Sylas. I need you. Lizzy needs you. We love you and we’re here for you. You don’t have to do this alone. I love you so much. We can get through this together.” I keep skin contact with his face and don’t look away from him.
There it is. One shaky breath and then I see his hands clench and unclench.
“There you are. It’s okay. Come back, Sylas.” His fingers twitch and he blinks more rapidly. He inhales with a gasp, as if he’s coming up for air after being underwater.
“Cash, can you get me some water?” I say, taking my hands from Sylas’ face and rubbing his hands. They’re cold.
A glass of water appears in my peripheral vision and I take it and put Sylas’ hands around it. He looks down at it as if he’s
never seen a glass of water before.
Slowly, I help him raise the glass to his lips and he takes a sip. Some dribbles out of his mouth and onto his shirt, but then he gets the hang of it. He finishes the glass and I take it away and ask Cash to refill it.
“Sylas? Can you say something?”
“Why are you here?” he rasps, each word sounding like it hurts to say. Each one is a knife in his throat.
“Why wouldn’t I be here?” I say. “How are you feeling?”
“I don’t… know,” he says. He’s still coming out of it. I’m still massaging his hands. He’s not so stiff anymore and I wonder if we can try to get him on his feet.
“Do you think you can stand?” I ask.
“N-no,” he says. “No.”
“Okay, that’s fine. We’ll just hang out here on the floor. Do you want to tell me what happened?”
His face screws up and then he starts sobbing. It’s a dry, wracking sound and he falls forward into my arms.
“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” he says over and over. I hear a door shut and I wonder if Cash left us alone together to give us some privacy. I’m sure Sylas wouldn’t want anyone to see him like this.
I hold him as he curls into my lap like a child. I keep rubbing his back and talking to him and telling him it’s going to be okay. That we’re going to go home and everything will be fine. I don’t talk about his father. I don’t want to throw him back into whatever state he just came out of.
One thing is for sure. He needs help. Professional help. A therapist or something. His anxiety is getting the best of him and I can’t watch as it controls his life anymore. It’s not healthy and it’s not safe. He never recovered from losing his mother, never grieved. Instead the pain has built up inside him, seeping into his veins and putrefying. It’s a black ugly thing and it’s got teeth. It’s not going to let him go unless he makes it.
“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” he chokes out, his body shaking so violently it’s hard to hold onto him. At last he wears himself out and then he’s still. I’m afraid he’s going to go catatonic on me again, so I turn his head and force him to look up at me.
“Sylas. You stay with me. Don’t go anywhere.”
“I can’t,” he says.
“I know. But it’s okay. It’s okay if you can’t.” I know what he’s saying “I can’t” to. He can’t kill his father. I’ll have to find out what happened from Cash, since I don’t think I’m going to get it out of Sylas right now.
“I love you,” I say. “I love you so much.” My broken, strong, infuriating, fascinating Sylas. He’s it for me. I know that, beyond the shadow of a doubt. Even if I don’t trust him. Even if I never trust him. This is it.
His eyes close and soon his breathing is even and slow. He’s fallen asleep. I don’t want to move him, so I get my phone and send Cash a text letting him know he can come back in.
The door opens quietly and he speaks in a whisper.
“How is he?”
“He’s asleep,” I say. “I’m afraid my legs are going to fall asleep, so do you think you could help me move him to the bed?” He nods and together we slowly get Sylas onto one of the twin beds. He’s so exhausted he doesn’t wake and I cover him with the blanket before stretching my back. My spine cracks loudly and I wince.
“Thank you for coming,” Cash says. This is the Cash I know. Serious and reserved. In control.
“What else were you going to do?” I say. I blink and it’s hard for me to open my eyes again.
“Are you okay? You’re weaving on your feet.” I have no idea what he’s talking about, but when I look down, I see that I’m weaving like a drunk.
“Tired,” I say. My body is starting to shut down from lack of sleep and too much emotional upheaval.
“Whoa,” he says and catches me as I lean over too far. “Let’s get you to bed too.” Before I know what’s happening, I’m horizontal on the other twin bed.
“Get some sleep and I’ll watch him. I’ll wake you if anything happens, okay? He’s fine now. You can rest.” I start to say something, but the words come out as mush and then my body takes over and hits the off switch.
When my eyes open, I panic for a moment. I’m in a hotel room. Why am I in a hotel room? I blink a few more times and wonder if I’m still dreaming. And then the night’s events crash down on me and I’m stumbling to my feet.
“Sylas?” I lurch toward the other bed, but he’s still asleep.
“He hasn’t moved,” a voice says from the corner of the room. I whirl around to find Cash reclined in the only chair in the room, his feet propped up on an ottoman. I sit back down on the bed and rub my eyes.
I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. My mouth is fuzzy and foul and my eyes feel like they have grains of sand in them. Every muscle is screaming in protest as I move.
Turning my head, I check out the clock. It’s six in the morning. So much for getting back in time to go to class. That’s definitely not happening. I’ll have to get on my phone to email my professors. I run my hands through my hair and the curls are all tangled together in knots.
“I’ll be right back,” I say and shuffle my way to the bathroom. It’s a struggle to stand up from the toilet once I’ve used it, but I get there eventually. I wash my hands and try to avoid my face in the mirror, but it’s impossible.
I look like I’ve been through hell and back. I guess I have.
When I come back out, Cash is on the hotel phone. He says something else and then hangs up.
“Room service,” he says. As soon as he mentions food, my hunger appears with a vengeance.
“Thanks,” I say, going to grab my bag and pull out the brush I hope I stashed in there. Yes. I did pack it. I start running it through my tangled hair and wince as it hits snags.
“I’m sorry you had to drop everything and come down here,” he says. I turn and face him, still battling with the brush.
“I know. I understand why you called.” I look at Sylas, but he’s still knocked out. “He needs help. Not the kind we can give him.” I meet Cash’s eyes and he nods slowly.
“I know. I didn’t think it was this bad.” Huh. Guess he hasn’t seen Sylas in this state before.
“He’s had a few episodes that I know of. Especially when he gets too much information at once. Or when it brings up the past.” Cash gets up and paces the room.
“I wish I knew before we came. I wouldn’t have brought him.” I know Cash cares about Sylas like a brother.
“It’s not your fault. Do you mind telling me what exactly happened before the episode?” He sits back down and rubs his face with both hands. He’s just as exhausted as I am.
“We found Andrew at a shitty hotel just outside Dallas. The goal was to lure him somewhere more secluded and take care of it. We were just doing surveillance and then Andrew came out of his room. The minute Sylas saw him, he… I don’t know. He panicked. He started screaming and thrashing around and I had to drive away so his father didn’t see us and know that we were coming for him. Thinking back, it wasn’t the best plan.” They should have brought more backup.
“I got him back here and then he stopped screaming long enough for me to shove him through the lobby and up into the room. He sat down in the corner and didn’t move. I tried talking to him, slapping him, dumping water on him, everything. He was just… gone.”
I sigh.
“I know. It’s like he gets locked in his head and he can’t find his way out,” I say and Sylas finally moves. He’s been so still I want to check his breathing. His eyelids flutter and then open.
“What?” he says. I was confused when I woke up, but that’s probably nothing compared to how he feels now.
“Welcome back,” I say, going over to the other side of my bed so he can look at me.
“Where am I?” he says. His voice is so scratchy. I’m about to ask Cash to get him something to drink, but he’s already on it. Sylas lifts his head and sits up like every bone in his body aches. Cash hand
s him the water, but his hands can’t hold it. I grab it from Cash and hold it to Sylas’ lips. He downs it, coughs and then asks for some more.
There’s a knock at the door that must be the room service, so Cash goes to get it and wheel the cart in. He’s gotten some of everything. French toast and fruit and yogurt and coffee and muffins and eggs and bacon. It’s enough food for about ten people and they’ve sent place settings for six. It reminds me of the night when Sylas and I ordered room service for dessert and the same thing happened. What a long time ago that was. Lifetimes.
“Hungry?” Cash asks Sylas.
“I don’t know,” he says, sliding to the end of the bed and putting his feet over so he’s sitting up. His hair is messed up in the back from where he was sleeping on it. I want to get up and smooth it down, but I think he needs his space right now.
Cash makes a plate for Sylas and gives it to him. He’s still too weak to hold it, so Cash moves the tray so Sylas can use it as a table. It’s not until he’s eating that I get up and make myself a plate. The food is so good I nearly moan. I feel like I haven’t eaten in years.
Cash is last to get his food and then the sound of cutlery on china and the sound of chewing fill the room.
I inhale two fried eggs, four strips of bacon, two pieces of toast and two glasses of orange juice before I start feeling more normal. Sylas eats slowly, with tiny methodical bites. I chase my breakfast with two cups of coffee and that helps wake me up a little and makes me feel more human. It’s amazing what the human body can do on only a few hours of sleep.
“I’m sorry,” Sylas says when he’s cleaned his plate. Cash goes back for seconds. I think Sylas should eat more, but I’m not going to push him if he doesn’t want to.
I’m not sure what, specifically, he’s sorry for.
“It’s okay,” I say, wiping my mouth with my napkin. “We don’t have to talk about it right now, but when we get home, we need to.”
He lays back on the bed and stares at the ceiling, his hands behind his head.
“I know,” he says. I expected him to put up more resistance. “This was a bad idea. You were so right, Saige. I’m sorry for fucking this up so badly.” Cash clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable.
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