Just let me know you got home safe.
The last one is timestamped just after midnight. I stare at the screen until the words blur. A hot, sick feeling crawls up my throat. While she was worried about me…
I was—
I shut my eyes.Hard. Like maybe I can erase the last few hours by force. But I know that I can’t. My fingers tremble as I type.
I’m sorry. I fell asleep. I didn’t mean to worry you.
I hesitate, my thumb hovering over the screen. God, I’m such a fucking asshole. I hit send anyway, and the message goesthrough. I glance at Micah. Still asleep, his chest rising and falling slowly. I don’t even know if he saw anything or just ignored us. I was too high to function, but I do remember him trying to help me before Adriana barked at him to leave us alone.
My head drops back against the couch cushion. I stare at the ceiling fan spinning lazily overhead. I can still smell her on me. I always can, the stupid bitch. And Emma’s name glowing on my screen makes me want to crawl out of my skin. I swallow hard, throat raw and honestly unsure of how many more nights like this I can survive.
The next time I come to, the room is washed in gray morning light. My neck hurts. My back hurts. Micah’s gone from thecouch, but before I can think too much about it, I hear the coffeemaker sputtering to life. The smell hits a moment later.Ugh, thank fuck.
I push myself up, wincing at my sore back. Micah stands at the counter, leaning all his weight on his arms, head down like he hasn’t slept. He looks so fucking tired.
When he hears me shuffle, he sighs without turning around. “Hey.” His voice is hoarse. “You alive?”
“Barely,” I croak.
He nods once, reaches for a mug, and pours coffee with a shaky hand. He doesn’t give it to me. Just sets it near the edge of the counter like he doesn’t have the energy to leave his spot. And then I check my phone again to see no messages.
Micah finally looks at me. “You scared the shit out of me,” he says quietly. No anger, just exhaustion. “You came in nearly sobbing, man. You barely knew where you were.”
I flinch at the memory of the car, the steering wheel, and Emma’s face when I walked out. “I was just withdrawing,” I mutter.
Micah snorts. “Yeah. You shot up enough to knock a damn horse out, passed out cold, and then—” He gestures vaguely toward my lap. “Then...whatever the hellthatsituation was. With thebitch.”
Shame explodes in my gut, and I scrub a hand over my face. “Don’t,” I say.
“I’m not judging,” he says softly. “I’m just...worried, dude. This shit is fucked up, you know that, right? Especially with Emma...”
“Yeah, I know that.”
Micah pours a second mug of coffee and hands it to me directly this time, watching my face. “I’m not stupid, man,” he whispers, like the words hurt coming up. “I know you protect me. You kill. You fuck her. Everything.”
My eyes sting.
“I could have dealt with her last night. I should have. I’m fucking pissed at myself that I didn’t just do it. It’s not like you could have stopped me.”
I choke back a sob that desperately wants to surface. I don’t know how to respond to that, so I just...“You sleep at all?” I ask.
He shakes his head, eyes dropping. “Didn’t want you choking on your own spit or some shit.”
The guilt hits so fast it makes me dizzy. I grip the mug tighter. “I’m sorry,” I say. The words feel pointless with how much I’ve said them to him.
Micah leans back against the counter and crosses his arms. “Why did you do it? Adriana? Why do you keep taking it all?”
“I don’t want you having to deal with that,” I respond swiftly.
“But—”
“Micah, stop.” My command is flat, leaving no room for debate.
He studies me for a long moment, his gaze flicking to my arms, then away again. He breathes out slowly. “You’re gonna burn out,” he says quietly. “If you keep going like this...something’s gonna give. One day you won’t wake up, do you understand me?”
I stare into the coffee, watching the surface tremble with the slightest shake of my hand. “Yeah,” I whisper. “I know.”