Page 5 of Relapse

Before I can roll my eyes or fire something back, his hand comes up, fast and certain, fingers hooking under my chin.

He tilts my face up and forces me to look at him. Not rough enough to hurt, but enough to make it clear I’m not looking anywhere else.

“The only thing on our mind that night was you,” he says, quieter now, but heavier. Which is so much fucking worse.

His grip tightens slightly when I try to pull back.

Nope. Not happening.

“We hated every second of it,” he continues, eyes locked on mine like he’s trying to force the words into my skull. “Every second of seeing you like that—” he swears under his breath, jaw ticking before he keeps going, “—and knowing we couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.”

His thumb shifts just slightly against my jaw. Soft, and weirdly gentle.

“Fuck, Blair… that shit messed both of us up,” he mutters, voice dropping, still angry but threaded with something heavier now. “You have no idea.”

He leans in just enough that I can feel his breath.

“Everything we did that night—every call, every fucking move—we did it for you,” he adds, quieter now, but no less intense. “To keep you breathing, and to keep you from ending up in the same fucking whole Brynne ended up in. It was all for you.”

I stare at him for a second.

Then laugh again.

“For me?” I repeat, incredulous. “That’s what we’re telling ourselves to feel better? Because from where I’m standing, it looks a lot like you tried to make me think I lost my fucking mind after abandoning me.” I snap, pulling my chin from his grip “Did either of you even check in on me? Or were you both just done with me by that point.”

His gaze hardens slightly.

“Of course we fucking care,” he snaps, dragging a hand through his hair, jaw tight as his gaze flicks up to the sky like he needs a second before looking at me again. “We checked in with your doctors every goddamn day.”

He lets out a sharp breath, then looks back down at me, eyes harder now.

“And yeah, you’ve got every right to be pissed,” he adds, voice cutting. “You think we don’t know what we did was fucked up after everything? I know exactly how fucked it was. It fucking killed me to do that to you.”. His jaw ticks.

“I’ve replayed that night more times than I can count,” he continues, quieter now but no less intense. “Every second. Every way it could’ve gone differently.”

He steps closer again, not backing off, not softening.

“And you know what?” he mutters.

“I have zero fucking regrets.”

The words land sharp.

“But no matter how hard that shit was, no matter how mad you are,” he says, holding my gaze without blinking, “it was the only way you walked out of that alive. You needed to leave this place. Go back home. Go back to school. Forget we ever existed.”

I blink once, and recover fast.

“Wow,” I mutter. “So that was the plan? Toss me in the ER, wipe your fingerprints off my life, and hope I magically developed coping skills?”

That earns a low huff from him. Almost a laugh, though he’s clearly not amused.

More of like a you’re exhausting me already huff.

Good.

“Blair—”

“No, seriously,” I cut in, stepping closer. “You really thought I’d just wake up, shrug, and go damn, guess that psychotic rave boyfriend was a fucking hallucination.”