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It’s muffled. Choked back. Like he’s trying to contain a scream.
His fists pound on the floor, and then, faster than I can blink, he’s got the bottle of vodka back in his hand, and he’s whipping it. I can’t tell if it’s meant for the wall, or for Waylon’s face. If it wasn’t for Will yanking Waylon out of the line of fire, it could’ve been very, very bad.
The bottle smashes against the floor, sending shards of glass and vodka spraying.
Mason’s back is to me—his body convulsing, as if he’s literally bursting out of his own skin. I can just make out fingers clawing at his neck, his scalp…tugging at his hair.
And he still doesn’t scream.
He falls forward, mindless of the broken glass as he punches the ground.
Waylon climbs to an unsteady stand, stepping back, all but stumbling into Will. Though he doesn’t seem to notice. That, or the hand now clutching his waist.
Waylon’s scrubbing his hands down his face. He’s visibly trembling—his shoulders shaking. Just behind him, I catch Will tugging at his shirt, trying to turn him around. He only has eyes for Waylon, his concern a tangible, undeniable thing.
I find myself lumbering to a stand. “Waylon?”
At the sound of his name, he lifts his head, eyes wildly darting around, before settling on me.
His face is pale. Lips bleached of all color.
He looks like he’s going to be sick.
Curled up between us, Mason’s wheezing into the floor as he struggles to catch his breath.
Waylon snorts.
And then he starts laughing.
My eyes widen, and in the corner of my eye, Shawn’s pushing away from the wall, drawing toward the center of the room. As if was waiting for some kind of signal. He’s been so quiet during all of this, I honestly forgot he was here.
“I’m sorry,” Waylon chokes out, laughter still bubbling from his throat. He shakes his head, eyes red, a watery smile stretched across his now-flushed face.
“I just…I can’t….”
And something sort of just…plummets inside me, all the way down to my feet. Plunging me into a familiar icy numbness, one I haven’t felt so starkly in years.
Shawn crouches down next to Mason. He murmurs something I can’t make out, and then he lifts his head. “Jeremy.”
I frown, not sure what he could even want from me.
What the fuck could I possibly do to make any of this better?
Go back in time and trade places.
“Get him out of here.”
At first, I think Shawn’s talking to me, but then I see he’s looking at Will. All it serves to do is make Waylon laugh even harder.
My gut churns, and I lift my shoulders by my ears, lowering my gaze to where Mason now cries softly into the floor. I’m vaguely aware of Will dragging Waylon into the hall, his laughter fading right along with their footsteps.
When the door to downstairs slams shut a moment later, the silence left in their wake is deafening. Cruel, even.
“Jeremy.”
Shawn says my name again, and my gaze finds his. I half expect to find anger and blame there, but instead all I find is sadness. Sympathy, even. Pity…
I decide I’d take his usual hard aloofness any day.
