Raw, стр. 63

I hear him swallow hard. Then gently, “I’m fine. It’s not me, Lex. It’s the kid.”

He says three words that make the blood drain out of my body.

“Michael’s been shot.”

Heart racing out of my chest, I run through the crowded city street.

I run so fast that my legs go numb. I nudge and push my way through the ocean of people without apology. I shout at people to move out of the way.

I’m panicked.

I’m irritated.

Don’t these people understand I have an emergency? How dare they go about their lives when I feel like mine is crumbling?

I’m worried.

I’m frightened.

More so when I finally make it to the entrance of the hospital. Making a stop by the reception, I quickly ask where the emergency waiting room is. Once the answer is given, I’m off. Running down the halls of a sterile hospital, a million thoughts crash through my head.

What if Mickey’s really hurt? What if he needs special help after this? What if he…

Shaking the crazy thoughts out of my head, I decide to wait to get the details so I know what I’m working with here.

It could be nothing.

I run to the end of the hall and I see Twitch. Panting and sweating, I walk over to him. With his back to me, I ask quietly, “What happened?”

Twitch turns to me. His face blank.

Searching my face a moment, he explains, “The kid wanted to ask his girl out. He told me he would’ve done it if he didn’t have to be at work on time so I made Happy take him, then trail the rest of the day.” Lowering his eyes, he shifts around, leans closer, and whispers, “Happy had to make a few stops. Make a few drops. Secure a few shipments.”

The blood drains out of my face.

“Happy took the kid to ask the girl out, then they went to work. They’d been to three other places with no issues.” Taking a step closer to me, he grips my forearms gently. “Happy knew something was wrong as soon as they got in. Too many men. Too many armed men. They tried to snatch the shipment without payment. Happy played it cool, placing the kid behind him before he drew his weapon.”

He reaches up, taking my chin between his fingers and lifting so we meet eye-to-eye. “My runner got shot up. He died at the scene. Happy took one to the shoulder.” He holds my stare for a few seconds. “Michael took one to the back.”

A sudden intake of breath makes me shudder. I step out of his reach and ask shakily, “Where is he?”

Swallowing hard, he takes a step towards me, “Happy got ‘em out through a storm of bullets. He got him here quickly. He was losing blood…”

Another step back. Shakier, “Where is he?”

“…a lot of blood. They started infusing him as soon as he got in. Happy called ahead so they knew what to expect. They were waiting at the emergency doors…”

Quieter, “I want to see him, Twitch.”

“…the blood loss made him weak and he went into cardiac arrest. They brought him back a few times and he fought, baby, he fought hard, but…”

I whisper weakly, “I want to see my cub.”

His eyes turn sad. “…but he died, Angel. He’s gone.”

My heart stops beating altogether. Gasping, I step away from Twitch, holding out my arms as a warning. Do not come any closer to me. With every breath I take, it still feels like I still have no air left in me. My head spins.

He didn’t just say that.

He couldn’t have.

This is a joke. A stupid prank. I’m being Punk’d.

Don’t cry. You’re being Punk’d.

Chest heaving, I look up into those cold brown eyes. Only now, they’re not so cold. They’re warm, apologetic, and pleading.

That’s when it hits me.

He’s gone.

Michael’s really gone.

“No,” I whisper, lifting a shaking hand to cover my mouth while wrapping the other around myself, holding myself. Comforting myself. Closing my eyes tightly, a soft keening cry escapes me.

My sadness is cut short as anger surges through my veins like molten lava.

This is all his fault.

Panting, I snap my eyes open, grit my teeth, and hiss, “This is your fault. All your fault!” Twitch takes a small step back as if my words are physically wounding him. “He was just a boy. And now he’s dead. My job is to help them, and I’m going to have to live with knowing I’m responsible for this – for his death – because…” My voice breaks. “…he never would’ve met you if I wasn’t fucking you!” Dipping my chin, my shoulders shake in silent sobs. Fingers on my arm cause me to flinch away.

Slowly lifting my head, I glare up at him in disgust. “Don’t. Don’t you fucking touch me.” Walking backwards, I throw my parting shot. “Everything you touch turns to shit.”

Turning, I walk away. Crying to myself, I wonder how I’m going to tell Tahlia that her date is cancelled.

Some things in life are so sad that there are no words to describe the amount of sadness, grief, and sorrow a person is feeling.

I assume this is why God allowed humans the simple act of crying.

When a person cries, they feel the sadness slowly ease out of them. They feel as though they are justifiably respecting a person that has died through showing their grief. They allow a moment of sorrow to overcome them and cry out a small portion of their unseen pain.

Calling Tahlia was one of the hardest things I had ever done.

Holding back my tears for a moment, I tried to be strong for her. I really did. She assumed I had called her to congratulate her and give her tips for her date. When she laughed uninhibitedly and shouted, “I can’t believe he finally asked me!” that was the moment I broke down again.

I explained that her date wouldn’t be going ahead and she gave me radio silence. It’s hard to read someone over the phone when they go silent on you. You don’t know what’s happening or what they’re feeling. Sniffling, I told her there had been an accident and that Michael was taken to the hospital. Immediately, Tahlia asked which hospital in a panic. She said she wanted to go see him. I tried hard to ease her into the deep end. That is, until I realized there is no easy way to tell a person that someone they care about has died.

Tahlia continued her silence while I explained that Michael was fatally shot. She listened patiently, never giving away her emotions. She ended our call abruptly with a furious, “Is that all, Ms. Ballentine? I really need to get going.”

Her sudden change in character should’ve been alarming, but I know she was just protecting herself. I pulled myself together enough to tell her I was always free if she needed to talk, and to please let me know if she needed anything. She grunted in my ear and told me that wouldn’t be necessary. We said our restrained goodbyes, and Tahlia had thrown her phone down obviously thinking she had ended the call. But she hadn’t.

I listened to her cry for an hour.

I couldn’t bring myself to hang up. I felt that it would be abandoning her. I couldn’t do that. Not to one of my kids. So I cried with her.

Charlie gave me the rest of the week off. I tried to hide just how badly this was affecting me, but he saw right through me. What he doesn’t know is that a week to myself is a week of torture. My mind will wander down all the paths it shouldn’t.

I’ll spend the week blaming myself. I’ll spend the week hating Twitch. I’ll spend the week missing Michael.