Consequences |LRH|

Chapter 18

I wasn't thinking; thoughts an impossible feat as they flowed like sand through my fingertips. I was pushing through crowds of partygoers, shoving their bodies away as I searched the room for where that scum had loped to in fear but I couldn't find them, not as the flashing blue lights strobed in the room, reminding me of the glassiness in the usually bright little blue eyes.

Making my way to the alley, disheartened with not finding him, I was soothed by the sight of her - listless as she was. I couldn't hold her. I would hold her a little too tight, unable to let her go if they wanted to steal her from me.

Looking at her prone body, I had to wonder if I had kept her with me, if we'd still have danced - pressed as tightly as possible, whispering the things we wanted the other to know but couldn't say to their face and letting the music drown them out.

Would she have kissed me; there, in the middle of the dance floor?

Would she have called me handsome; held my hand?

Would I have shied from my thoughts to keep the 'not together' ruse alive?

Would she have tilted her head to the sky as she laughed at some joke I had told; happy and safe?

I didn't know but a simple truth; if I had stayed with her, insisted that she stayed with me, that she would have stayed, at the very least, conscious.

That the beautiful girl with her awe-striking smile would have danced the night away, hips and arms a twirl as she moved with a fluidity to her normally clumsy stature and not have fallen in a heap on the dirty ground, ripping her dress and bloodying her body as she slipped into unconsciousness, waiting on a ambulance.

4:51am. 5 hours we have been here. 2 hours not knowing anything and 3 hours by her side, waiting.

I can't look away from her; tubes and wires connecting her to different machines. Her body lifeless on the uncomfortable bed. Blame was easy for me; like when Jack and Ben broke one of our parents', and grandma's, expensive vases and I let them blame me because the angry adults were a lot nicer to the young, didn't-know-better son. But this? This was something different entirely.

Self-blame's a heck of a thing. Instead of fear that you'll get in trouble, it's a constant yelling. Gross, little whispers of all the things you could have done differently. It wasn't like I hadn't recognized Mr. I-don't-like-the-word-no as the guy who'd harassed her at the show; it's not like I didn't know that doe-eyed look enough to know that she didn't want to go with him. I had ignored it. I had, in a drunken attempt to keep our relationship a secret, ignored her obvious discomfort. I could not even tell the lady at the reception desk, who had asked the patient's name and our relationship to her, that we were anything more than close.

Evie, the softest, kindest person, who had went with Josh to appease the boys, was in the hospital because a guy didn't like the word 'no'.

None of us have said much since being allowed into her room. I placed myself on a chair to Evie's left with Ashton on the opposite side of the bed, Calum and Michael slumped on the couch in the corner.

We had sobered since getting to the hospital, accepting the offered cups of water and forcing Michael to get an IV because of how much he'd consumed. It had him normal, quickly. A little piece of me wished we hadn't sobered; this would have felt easier with alcohol, if Michael's guilty face was anything to go by.

"Mike." I pause, waiting 'til he let his eyes find mine. "You can't keep blaming yourself for this." Not when it was my fault.

He was about to protest but a sharp look made him sigh, his shoulders slumping in relief that I was not angry with him; I was concerned.