Jericho doesn’t need to introduce us since we’ve already met. He sets my bag on top of the bed closest to the door, smiles, and tells us lunch is at noon, then leaves as if this is completely normal.
Liam and I stare at each other for a few uncomfortable moments before I turn to my bed and unpack. Every nerve in my body is sensitive because I know he’s watching me. How did we end up in this situation? It’s fucking insane, right? I thought I’d never see him again and he was going to be the mysterious guy—you know, the one that got away.
Sometimes I think encounters are best left that way. Always wondering what happened to that person and where they could be out in the big world.
I unzip my bag and take out my makeup, phone charger, and Kindle. How am I going to sleep tonight? Does he snore? Is he a psychopath? Clearly, he’s a psychopath. He fucking hooked an IV to me when he wasn’t even a nurse… Isn’t that like… illegal?
“So you aren’t a nurse.”
He moves to his bed and lies on his side so he’s facing me, his head propped up with his hand. His cold blue eyes watch me carefully. “Obviously,” he mutters with indifference.
It takes all my willpower to not flinch beneath his cruel tone. I make a mental note to tell Jericho about the hospital incident. Maybe then I can get a different roommate.
I eye the handkerchief that’s wrapped around his finger. His blood is already soaking through the fabric.
“What happened to your finger?” I return my gaze to my bag as I put my clothes in piles on the bed, setting aside my nightshirt so I don’t lose it.
“I cut it.”
I freeze. The blood chills in my veins and goosebumps crawl up my arms. I’m reluctant to look at him, but my need to see his expression prevails.
Liam unravels the handkerchief from his finger. The wet, red rag sends false waves of pain through the wounds on my wrists. Sweat beads down the back of my neck and my mouth opens a bit with horror.
I hate pain. Seeing someone hurt, being hurt, any sort of pain—I can’t stand it. I want it to stop. The gash in his flesh is deep and his blood pools quickly, flooding over and spilling down his hand once more.
I instinctively rush to his side and I clasp his hand gently to see how badly he hurt himself. The cut is deep, but it’s not anything life-threatening and won’t affect the functionality of his hand.
“Why did you do this?” I shake my head. I can’t understand why he’d… My gaze trails down his hand and arm. Scars of all sorts and sizes mark his beautiful olive skin. They’re hard to see because of his tattoos, but they are there. Some old, most new. “You—”
He brings his hand up to my cheek and presses his palm against my skin softly, running his bloody finger across my flesh as his lips form a wicked smile. My chest grows heavy and the air becomes harder to breathe in. Anxiety and stress make the effects of my heart condition worsen, but I can’t calm the chaos in my mind right now.
I can’t room with someone like him.
“I’m a masochist, Wynn. I crave the endless ebbs and flow of pain to feel alive. It’s really grounding for me.” His blue eyes flicker with amusement at my repulsion.
“I… I can’t be your r-roommate,” I stammer as my heart rate increases and I move toward the door. I’m going to be fucking sick. How could Jericho think this is a good fit? I’m fucking leaving. Right now.
Liam’s hand wraps around my wrist and pain flares up my still-healing wound. I yelp and turn on him but he doesn’t let go. His eyes are an icy inferno and his smile twists as I wince.
“Let go!” I scream at him and viciously claw at his hand. He loosens up enough so the pain stops but doesn’t completely let go of me.
“Don’t you see?” he mutters quietly, so calmly that I stop and stare bewilderedly at him. His oaky scent consumes me as he leans in close, his nose touching mine. My heart pounds erratically inside my chest and my cheeks heat. “We’re the perfect elixir. I want to feel alive so fucking desperately—I’ll chase the high forever if I have to. Nothing’s worked for me yet.”
He lets go of my wrist and something warm and wet runs down my hand, dripping down my fingers and tapping on the black tiles.
I open my mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out.
There’s so much blood.
Fear stings my mind and my voice gets stuck in my throat. My vision blurs. I can’t breathe.
“You want to die. I hate that so much, Wynn. The thought of you wanting to leave this world hurts me, but… for the first time, it’s a pain that I really don’t like. It’s disgusting to me that you don’t want to live. You don’t like seeing pain or enduring it, right? You’d rather run away and not feel anything.”
Tears pool in my eyes and my stomach twists. This interaction is traumatizing. I want to leave. I want to scream.
He’s saying that someone as cruel as him could be my—
“Remedium meum,” he murmurs, a breath away from my lips, smiling as he gently runs his fingers up my arms. I take a deep breath of his crisp scent and quirk a brow. I don’t speak Latin, but I’ve watched enough horror movies to know that anyone who does is either a hardcore Catholic or into occult stuff. Neither option is great for me. “Remember our promise?”
I hesitantly nod. I have to wait… But what about him? I didn’t know he was as unwell as I am. “What did you say just then?”
His blue eyes darken and he leans in close, his lips cresting the shell of my ear. “My cure.” His voice is a mere whisper but it sinks into my bones. “I’ll stop you in your darkest hours. Do you promise to do the same for me?” Liam pulls back and his lips brush against mine. Heat pools in my core with every single sensation this man pulls from me. The fear he instills dances alongside it.
Instinct tells me he’s dangerous—but I cannot pull away from him. He’s gravity itself. I was caught in his orbit the moment I laid eyes on him at the hospital.
I consider him for a moment. He’s bold, crazy, everything I’m not. But he’s right. I run away from emotions and I’m here to face my demons, aren’t I? Maybe he’s insane, but I don’t think there’s a chance I’ll survive without a little insanity.
I told James I’d try my best.
After thinking for a minute, I look up at him, clenching my fists.
“Yes, I will.”
He leans forward, his soft lips pressing against mine. I don’t know if it’s the tension that burns the air around us right now, if it’s the pulsing pain in my wrist, or if it’s just… simply him. But the spark that ignites between us burrows deep into my heart.
Liam pulls back and smiles. “Till death do us part, sunshine.”
He kissed me. Not out of love or longing—it is a pact. A horribly toxic pact for two broken souls that have hit rock bottom.
But it is our pact, our promise.
And just like that, I think I’ve found something as compelling as death.
Resenting my new roommate, Liam Waters.
“I hate you,” I say, wiping my lips with my sleeve.
“Hate takes a lot of effort. I don’t think you hate me.” He traces my jawline with his finger.
I regain some composure and set my palm on his chest to push him back. His black hoodie is soft, but his body beneath it is taut. “You’re vile and cruel. Do you kiss all your roommates? You’re sick.”
“Clinically.” He smirks with amusement. “And you didn’t seem opposed to it.”
I furrow my brows as I examine my stinging wrist. The stitches are irritated but the bleeding has stopped—thanks to my sweater, which is now ruined. “You surprised me. I don’t think we should do that again,” I say venomously. I fold the sleeves of my sweater to hide the blood in case Jericho comes back in.
“Shit, sorry about that. I didn’t think I grabbed you that hard,” Liam mutters with the first bit of concern I’ve heard from him.
Asshole.
He walks over to his nightstand and pulls open the drawer, bringing out some medical gauze and tape. Like hell I’ll let him touch me again.
I shoot him a vicious glare. “Of course, the masochist has medical supplies in his nightstand.”
“You’ll hurt my feelings, Wynn,” he fires back with a sharp, sarcastic tone, but the mischief in his eyes is flirtatious. Good God, is this how everyone’s first day goes here? He’s practically an angel in the flesh with the mind of a demon. “Give me your arm.” He sits on the edge of his bed and looks at me expectantly.
I glare at him. “No.”
“Excuse me?” His face hardens.
I will myself to steel my expressions just as well as he does. “I. Said. No.”
He looks at me for several moments before he holds out his hand and softens his expression. “I’m sorry, Wynn. Okay? Please let me tend to your cut.” His eyes lower to the floor and guilt pulls down at his frown.
I hesitate.
Do it for James. Give it at least a week. Do it for James.
I repeat the words in my head as I slowly get up and sit next to him. Our beds are so close we might as well push them together and have a fucking California king.
I let him take my arm. His touch is surprisingly gentle—his fingers are ice cold though.
“Do you ever actually smile?” He slowly unravels my bandages. I don’t want to watch so I avert my eyes to the window.
“I smile all the time.”
He sets the old bloody bandage to his side and dabs my stitches with some gauze. I wince at the pressure of his fingers as he says, “That fake-ass smile doesn’t count. It looks like you have bad gas or something.”
My cheeks heat. “Excuse me? No, it doesn’t.” I glare at him as he wraps new medical tape around my wrist.
His playful eyes find mine again. His grin is intoxicating. “Sure, you keep telling yourself that, sunshine. Your dead eyes give you away.”
My dead eyes… I’ve never really figured out how to smile with my eyes. How do you hide your weary soul? The fake one works on most people.
“All done.” He pats my forearm softly. I pull my sleeve back down and stand, moving to unpack the rest of my things without another word.
The timer on his cell phone dings, making me flinch. Liam stands up, pulls off his hoodie, and tosses it on the bed. His white undershirt is pulled up a bit, and his taut muscles make my cheeks warm. I avert my gaze and trail my fingers along the bandage he gave me. It’s perfect, as if he’s done this a thousand times on himself.
Liam heads toward the door and stops before he turns the handle. “Aren’t you coming? It’s time for lunch.”
I shake my head and gesture to my bag and clothes. “I’m not hungry. I’d rather unpack and get adjusted.” I don’t bother with a fake smile since, apparently, he can see right through it.
He shrugs and leaves. Once the door clicks shut, I take a deep breath. I need the silence. I’m already worn out and it’s only noon.
I sit on the edge of the bed and take out my blood-pressure device. It’s battery-operated and small enough that most people won’t even know what it is. I slip it over my left arm and line up the artery marker to the right spot, tightening the cuff before pushing start and waiting as the air pumps into the cuff. After a few moments, it deflates and the screen shows 160/120.
I’m literally a walking heart attack.
I let out a long sigh and fold up the machine, sticking it back in its small bag before hiding it at the bottom of my nightstand drawer. It’s been hard trying to keep my heart condition in control. My anxiety and stress don’t help either. The medications don’t work as well as they should. If I hear another doctor say, “Oh no, but you’re so young. It’s so tragic,” and give me that pitiful fucking frown…
I take a deep breath and try to relax. Even thinking about it stresses me out, and my heart is still racing from my encounter with Liam. I brush my lips where he kissed me and jolt when I hear vibrating.
Liam’s phone buzzes on his bed and draws my attention to his side of the room. I don’t approve of snooping, but he’s been horrible and God knows what he put in the IV the other night.
These aren’t normal circumstances. So snooping is indeed on the table.
I shift off my bed and hover over his nightstand. Am I really going to do this?
His phone dings again and a message icon pops up. Mom. Well, at least he talks to his mother. It’s more than I can say. My mother is dead and I don’t speak with my father, so he might as well be dead too.
Deciding to bite the bullet, I reach for his drawer and pull it open. It’s filled with medical supplies: tape, ointment, gauze, and Band-Aids. All immaculately organized like the psychopath planned out everything he’d need for his own torture. Other than the supplies, it’s pretty empty. There’s a phone charger, Chapstick, and a notebook.
I grab the notebook and open it. It doesn’t look like a journal, with all the loose pages stuffed in it. The cover is black and worn. Half of the writing is in a different language.
The portions that are in English are research notes on plants and insects, while other sections are drawings of human anatomy and bones. It makes absolutely no sense, yet I’m convinced it’s not nothing. It’s eerie. Liam has spent an extensive amount of time collecting cryptic information on odd things.
This just solidifies my theory about him being into the occult.
I hop back on my bed and dig through my bag until I find the onyx stone. Why did he give it to me? As I’m flipping through the pages of his notebook, I notice a few pages on stones and symbolism. According to his notes, onyx is a symbol of protection against evil. A talisman of sorts. Does he really believe in that sort of stuff?
I spend the better part of an hour reading through his notebook, and by the time I reach the end, I’m more confused than I was when I started. Tucked in are articles on missing people from a decade ago, black and white and odd. It says that they all checked out of Harlow Sanctum before going missing.
The only thing I’ve learned when I shut the book is that Liam might be a dangerous person. Well, more dangerous than I already thought.
I set his notebook back in the drawer as I found it.
Rain patters against the window and draws my attention. Stepping over to the window, I notice a woman in a blue dress dancing in the downpour. My heart thumps at the magic she seems to feel. She doesn’t appear to carry the chains of the world that I feel weighing me down.
I want that freedom.
The window opens easily. I pop the screen out and carefully climb over the frame. I’m sure there’s an easy way down the hall to get out to the courtyard, but I don’t want to waste time trying to find it. I want to experience what she’s feeling—that weightlessness that I’ve been chasing for so long.
My bare feet press into the wet grass and a chill runs through my veins. Icy rain pelts against my skin, kissing my flesh. I approach her and watch as she dances, twirling with her arms wide, her white shirt completely soaked and hugging her breasts.
“Are you going to join me or just stand there?”
I flinch and stagger back. I didn’t realize she was aware of my presence. “Um, I was just admiring how happy you seem.” She stops twirling and smiles at me manically. Her eyes are unusually wide and crazed. Jesus, she just went from majestic to creepy real quick.
“I’m performing the rain curse ritual!” Her green eyes glint and her smile grows. I take a step back. I don’t know what the fuck to do—I clearly misread what she was doing.
“Oh… okay. I’m just going to head inside now. Sorry for interrupting.” I turn on my heel and start back toward my window when she runs in front of me and puts her hands out.
“Hold on, I’m not crazy. I’m just having some fun, you know. I think you should join in too. Might help lift your spirits like you were hoping it would.”
I consider her for a moment. “What’s your name?”
She laughs and smacks her forehead. “Oh duh, you’re probably so weirded out by me. I’m Yelina.” She extends her hand to me and I reluctantly shake it. “Now come! We dance while the storm is strong.” She tugs my hand and starts dancing in a circle again, this time with me in tow.
Yelina’s blonde hair is completely drenched and stuck to her head and neck. My pink hair starts to cling to my skin too and my breaths curl in the brisk air. She throws her head back and time slows as the rain greets her face. Her smile turns blissful as she gets lost in the moment once more.
I want that feeling.
Letting my arms loosen up, I open them wide and twirl alongside her, tilting my face to the sky and shutting my eyelids against the cold drops as the dark clouds whisk me away into a dream-like state.
Yelina laughs. “Now you’re finding it!”
