Page 86 of I’m The Worst

“Where are we going? We don’t have anything— No supplies, no clothes, no⁠—”

He breathes out harshly. “Out of the fucking storm.”

“Let me drive. You’re losing too much blood.”

“No.”

The heater is cranked all the way up, but it doesn’t matter—it’s still so cold, I can see my breath fogging in front of me. I watch his head dip, then jerk back up, then dip again.

“Wolff…” I shift in my seat, closer to him.

Nothing.

“Wolff!”

His eyes finally blink open, and he stares ahead for a second before sucking in a breath that sounds like it hurts.

“There’s…a house.” His voice is slurred as he nods somewhere into the storm. I follow his gaze and see nothing but snow.

“Where? I don’t⁠—”

The wheel jerks in his hands, the truck lurching as the tires grind against ice, catching just enough to pull us off the road. My heart slams into my ribs as the world tilts sideways, and for a second, I think we’re going to roll, but a shape breaks through the storm.

A small wooden cabin, buried in the trees.

Relief hits fast, but it barely has time to settle before he kills the engine, shoves the door open—and drops out of the truck.

“WOLFF!” I scream.

The cold hits like a slap as I jump out after him, my boots slipping in the snow as I reach for him just as he slams into the side of the truck, barely holding himself up.

“Don’t. Fucking. Touch me.”

The words scrape out of him through clenched teeth as he pushes off and staggers toward the cabin. Every step is wrong and uneven.

I follow, my pulse so loud it drowns out the storm, watching him nearly collapse into the door before catching himself with one hand braced against the wood.

“Under the red pot,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Under the”—his breath stutters—“fucking pot.”

Moving quickly, I drop to my knees in the snow, hands shaking so badly I can barely feel them as I dig through the drift until my fingers hit ceramic. I rip the pot free, fumble the key out from underneath it, and rush back—just in time for him to fall into me.

“Shit. Stay with me. Just— Stay with me, okay?” My words trip over each other as I drag him upright. “Don’t— Don’t do this right now, Wolff, not right now⁠—”

I don’t know if I’m talking to him or myself.

The door is barely open before I’m hauling him inside, his body bracing against mine, boots catching on the threshold as I half-carry, half-pull him to the couch. He drops onto it like there’s nothing left holding him up, head falling back, eyes sliding shut.

“No— No, no, no, Wolff.”

Trembling, my hands hover over him uselessly. I don’t know where to touch or what to do. “What do you need? Just tell me what to do⁠—”

“You’re gonna…get it out.” His lips barely move as he speaks.

“What?” I pant.