Page 69 of Relapse

I walk past and hand her another water bottle.

Blair looks down at it like I personally handed her a live grenade.

“You two are obsessed with hydration.”

“You’re dehydrated.”

“I’m being persecuted.”

“You’re being babysat because your decision-making skills are horrific.”

“Counterpoint,” she says smugly, twisting the cap open. “I’m very fun.”

Despite her usual attitude, and mouthiness, she drifts closer instead of farther.

Closer to both of us.

Like some part of her craves this attention more than she wants to admit.

That realization should scare the absolute shit out of me.

Instead it settles somewhere deep and ugly inside my chest.

Because I know exactly how fucked this whole situation is.

Me.

Noir.

Blair trapped between us while both of us hover around her like overprotective psychos pretending this is temporary when none of us really believe that anymore.

It’s toxic.

Controlling.

Codependent in ways that would probably horrify normal people.

And I don’t fucking care.

Because keeping her close means keeping her alive.

Keeping her where me and Noir can see her, protect her, drag her back when she starts sprinting toward danger like she’s trying to outrun herself.

Together, we can keep her safe.

And after last night?

After carrying her unconscious body upstairs from Noir’s car while panic hollowed me out from the inside?

I’d rather cage her beside us than risk losing her too.

Maybe that makes me a bad person.

Maybe it makes both of us completely fucked in the head.

Doesn’t matter.

Because I already know none of us are walking away from this clean anymore.