Unwritten Rules (11 page)

“Red, I...” He dropped his head so al I heard was a whispered apology.

I held myself together until I got to my apartment, crumbling as I made it through the door. I dropped to the floor, tears fal ing, sobs wracking my chest. Meow padded across toward me, purring and nuzzling my tear stained cheek.

I felt used and utterly confused. He’d said the meds were his, but how was that possible? The name on the label was clear. I sobbed harder, realizing I’d al owed him to lie and use me. I’d let my attraction to him blind me, and that made me the biggest kind of fool.

I was one huge emotional mess. For the first time since moving here, I considered going home. My mom would make me feel better. A slice of her homemade chocolate cake, along with a hug and a chat, was just what I needed. Thinking of her and home only made matters worse, and my crying was on the verge of hysterical. I knew I needed to calm down. I felt stupid and out of control, but every movement I made sent a new wave of Jonah’s smel in my direction because I was wearing his damn robe. Anger made my blood boil, as I pul ed the robe from my body, disgusted. I flung it across the room, needing to get his smel off my skin, and stumbled to the bathroom. I turned the water as hot it as it could go. I scrubbed but knew I wouldn’t rid myself of him. Jonah Quinn had wriggled his way into my heart.

I just wanted to be numb, to not feel any of this. I sat on the tiled shower floor, wrapped my arms around my legs, and focused on the water as it cascaded down my spine. Jonah wouldn’t go away because he was inside of me now. I had lost a piece of my heart to him, and as much as I’d like to be able to draw a line under what had happened between us, I couldn’t. I wil ed the memory of him out of my mind, but he’d already claimed a piece of me. The sadness in his voice, as he declared the pil s his, haunted me. Why would he lie when the name on the label clearly wasn’t his?

The water had begun to cool when I heard the first bang from upstairs. It made me jump in shock. The next noise was much louder, fol owed by shattering glass. I switched off the water and climbed out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my body. As I moved into the living area of my apartment, the sounds became much more violent.

Jonah.

The noises continued one after another. I grew concerned when I heard a roar so fierce it made me cringe in terror. Seconds later glass shattered, and Jonah’s guitar fel past my window, down to the street below us. I gasped as I ran to the window. By the time I looked out, it was obviously far too late. His guitar was shards of wood and metal across the al ey.

Had my rejection affected him that much?

The noises eventual y evened out before stopping al together. I wanted to go to him. Before I could stop myself I was dressing quickly in leggings and a T-shirt. I cursed myself stupid as I slipped my feet into flip-flops and grabbed my keys, heading to find Jonah.

Mrs. Kindle was opening her front door as I closed mine. “Did you hear that, El e? What do you think is happening up there?”

I smiled at her in an attempt to soothe her. She was a sweet woman, so I didn’t want her concerned with what was going on with Jonah and me.

“I don’t know, Mrs. Kindle. I’m going to go and see now. Could you watch Meow for me? It sounded like glass was breaking. I wouldn’t want him to slash a paw.”

“Of course, dear, but you need to be careful. You hear me? It didn’t sound like he was drinking tea with friends.”

That was the first time it struck me that he may not be alone. What if the person that sold him the medication had arrived, and was causing trouble?

Mrs. Kindle touched my arm. “Are you okay? You look very pale. We could cal the police, maybe you should stay here?”

“It’l be fine. You just look after Meow, and I’l be back down as soon as I can,” I responded, trying to stop my voice from shaking.

She needed to think I was al right with this, when real y I was petrified about what I might find. She nodded but didn’t go back into her apartment. I took the stairs two at a time as I made my way to his apartment. Once I made it to his door, I noticed it was partial y open. I pushed it open further, gulping as I tried to focus on the dark room. The place was trashed.

Jonah’s drawing station had been pushed on its side across the floor, paints and pencils scattered along with the shards of glass. The couch had been upturned, along with the dining table and chairs. My feet crunched on the broken glass as I entered and looked around. There were no lights on, but I could stil see that there wasn’t a piece of furniture left in its previous location.

“Jonah?” I cal ed out, my voice trembling.

The only response was a smal whimper. He was

somewhere in this carnage. My heart pounded, concerned that he may be hurt. I began frantical y searching for him, checking behind every piece of overturned furniture. I knew he was here alone; I
felt
it and was determined to find him. As I cal ed out to him again, I saw movement from the corner of my eye.

Jonah was in the fetal position on the floor. Stil clad in only his sweat pants. The light from the broken window spil ed across his torso, making the figure that was tattooed on his side appear sinister. He was shivering, his whole body quaking from the tremors. I rushed to him without giving my feelings another thought.

“Jonah? Jonah, baby, what happened?”

I tentatively reached out, touching his cold skin. He began to mumble. I couldn’t decipher exactly what it was that he was trying to tel me. I knelt beside him; the glass biting into my flesh. I realized Jonah must be lying on it, though he seemed unaware.

“Can you move? Please, let me help you onto a

chair.”

He mumbled again, and I brought my ear to his

lips, whispering for him to tel me. His breath fanned my cheek, warming me, and confirming he was relatively okay. His words were of no significance, at least I’d thought not, until he uttered the name that was on the canisters of medication.

“What?” I questioned, not quite believing my own ears.

“Me. It’s me,” he gasped. “Benjamin Samuels is me.”

He was lost.

Lost in his own head where something was

hurting him and causing him pain. I didn’t believe that my rejection had caused this. I only wanted to help; I just didn’t know how to. I felt useless, I couldn’t leave him shaking and bleeding on the floor. He needed someone. He needed me.

“Jonah, what do you mean?”

His chest heaved as he tried to breathe, but he was struggling. It scared me. “Ben,” he gasped. “I’m Ben.”

I stared at him in complete confusion. He needed to calm down.
I
needed to calm down.

I shushed him, sweeping my hand across his cold, inked torso. I could feel the goose bumps as they skittered across his flesh along with each tremor that wracked his body.

“We can talk about that later. Let me try to help you up. You need to get warm and calm down.”

“L-Leave me...”

“Oh, Jonah, I can’t do that,” I replied with sadness. I smoothed his stil damp hair away from where it was obscuring his eyes, but noticed he wasn’t looking at me. His eyes were fixed on the floor. I needed to get him up, needed to look at what he’d done to himself. The little voice inside my head shouted to get help; to cal someone else. Who would I cal though? I knew nothing of Jonah’s family, so I pushed the voice aside and went to him. At first he resisted, turning away from my touch, but my persistence paid off. He leaned against me, making me almost topple as he rested his weight onto my body. He grunted, wobbling when we began to walk across to the only stool left standing. I helped him move to it, noting his blue-tinged lips and shal ow breaths. I swal owed my nerves and continued to help him.

“Just a few more steps, Jonah,” I assured him, gesturing to the smal stool near the breakfast nook. He nodded, moving at a snail’s pace but not

giving up. Moisture pooled around my fingertips. I couldn’t see if it was his cold sweat or blood left from the cuts he’d received from the shattered glass, so I tried not to think about it. After a few more minutes, and a little jostling, he was perched precariously on the stool. His chest was heaving. His breaths were nothing more than gasps now. I fought to keep my own panic at bay, but I knew I wouldn’t last much long.

“Jonah, I need to know how to help you. What can I do?”

His reply was a wisp of words caught on the end of a short exhale, “Pil s.”

My chest tightened. He wanted me to give him the drugs that weren’t his. I tried to reason that he’d told me they were, but the prescription didn’t lie. It was there in black and white. I was at war with myself. This could only be resolved once he explained himself. If I gave him the medication, I was contributing to his problem. If I didn’t give it to him, he would continue to suffer. I had to give him the medication.

“I don’t know which ones?”

Jonah tried to whisper the name, but I didn’t

understand any of it; so with my own anxiety rising, I raced to the bathroom and stared at the orange canisters in the cabinet on the wal . My hands were trembling as I chose some at random and rushed back to him. I held them out, hoping he could see which one it was in the minimal light. He pointed to one of the canisters, and my alarm began to recede. I popped a pil from the blister packet and went to get him a glass of water. I winced when a sharp piece of debris cut through my flip flop as my feet crunched across the floor.

I didn’t know how long it would be for the

medication to start to work but knew he needed to regulate his breathing. I rifled through his kitchen until I found a paper lunch bag. For the next thirty minutes I made Jonah inhale and exhale into it as he looked me in the eyes and matched my own breathes. The paper bag crinkled with each labored breath he took and I stroked his hair until he seemed to calm down.

“I’m okay,” he eventual y rasped, lowering the bag from his lips.

I sat motionless.

“Thank you. You can go now,” he continued, his voice cutting.

“I’m not leaving. First of al , you shouldn’t be alone in this mess. And I’d like to talk to you. I need some answers Jonah.”

He grumbled, his body shuddering when I final y moved my hand from his hair. He tried to stand but swayed. When I reached out to help, he rejected me.

“What?” I cried, my fists clenching at his rebuff.

“I’m trying to help you!”

I noticed the color was starting to return to his cheeks, but averted my gaze when he glared menacingly at me.

“You didn’t need to stay, but again, thank you. I would have dealt with it on my own.” He lowered his voice, muttering, “I usual y do.”

“You have these
cravings
often then?”

“Cravings?” He snapped. “You’re kidding me,

right? You think I was jonesing for drugs? I told you those meds were mine. I’m not a fucking addict.”

I real y didn’t want to argue with him. He stil looked weak and could barely stand, so pressuring him wasn’t the best idea; but I wanted answers. I sighed in defeat and walked over to the overturned couch.

“I’m going to clean up this mess, then I think I should take a look at those cuts on your body. I stil want to know what happened and what the hel I just gave you. However, I’m going to set it aside for now.”

“Wel , isn’t that kind of you?” His reply oozed sarcasm.

“You know what, Jonah? You get so defensive

when al I’m trying to do is be your friend. It sure as hel doesn’t seem like you have many if you are going through this kind of thing alone.”

He hung his head, his dark hair flopping forward and exposing the back of his neck. Even now, in the midst of al this turmoil his body cal ed to me.

I looked away. The silence was deafening.

As I began to clear the wreckage, Jonah tried to help. He struggled with even the lightest of furniture, the exertion exhausting him. I would catch him looking at me; sometimes his eyes were guarded, other times I swear I caught a hint of longing. I berated myself as I swept up the shards of glass. I should have known something would go wrong with this. I’d jumped in feet first, because the hot neighbor at the mailboxes showed me a little attention, and now I’m swimming in a sea of
what the hell.
Jonah interrupted my mental chastisement by

clearing his throat. I met his intense blue stare as he scratched the back of his neck and waited. “Thanks,” he whispered.

It was apparent he didn’t want me here, didn’t want me seeing him when he was vulnerable. Maybe al we had was incredible sex. I’d tried not to consider it as anything more, but I couldn’t help myself.

“I know you don’t want me here. I promise to

leave, but I need to clean those cuts. Okay?”

“You don’t need to do that, Red.”

His voice was gruff. The use of the pet name he gave me, with that particular tone, did wonderful things to my insides. I could hide my reaction to him, but I couldn’t lie to myself. It was useless to fight the feelings he invoked.

“I’l feel better knowing you won’t bleed to death after I’ve gone home.”

I shot him a smal smile, desperate to lighten the mood. He eventual y walked into the kitchen and handed me a bottle of peroxide, along with some smal cotton bal s. I pointed at the stool, making him sit down and lean over the counter so that it exposed the lacerations on his flesh.