Page 121 of Relapse

Because I don’t feel safe.

I feel cracked open.

I feel like Severance Point swallowed me whole tonight and spat me back out wrong somehow.

My eyes burn unexpectedly.

“Oh no,” I mutter immediately. “Absolutely not. We are not crying right now.”

Noir’s mouth twitches faintly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Then he reaches up slowly and pushes damp pink hair back from my face.

His fingers feel cold against my overheated skin.

“You’re still high.”

“No shit.”

Noir’s jaw tightens, and he tips my chin up carefully, forcing my eyes to meet his. His gaze sharpens immediately as he studies my blown pupils, the too-fast flutter of my lashes, the way I keep blinking like the room won’t sit still long enough to behave.

“What did you take?”

I lift one shoulder, which feels weirdly detached from the rest of me.

“Pills.”

His stare hardens.

“Blair.”

“What? I don’t know.” I swallow, then add, because apparently honesty has chosen a terrible time to become a personality trait, “Definitely more than I should’ve.”

Something dark flashes across his face.

Anger.

Fear.

Shit probably both.

His thumb presses lightly beneath my chin, keeping me focused on him.

“Of course you did.”

“That feels judgmental.”

“Thats because it is.”

Everything tilts a little too softly around the edges, the room breathing with me in a way rooms absolutely should not be doing. My skin feels too sensitive. My thoughts feel too loud and too slippery at the same time, like my brain is trying to hold water in its hands.

“Noir,” I whisper, and I don’t even know what I’m asking for.

His expression shifts.

Barely.

Then I lean forward suddenly and bury my face against his chest while my body shakes once hard enough I hate myself for it.