Chapter 66 Fix it
The house is too quiet. I’m standing in the center of my walk-in closet, having just stepped out of a quick, scalding shower, my skin still tight from the heat. I changed into something softer...dark lounge pants, a loose shirt that hangs just right. I should feel better, less... off. But something isn’t aligning.
There’s a low, creeping restlessness in my body that shouldn’t be there.
I feel like a machine with a compromised line of code. There’s a disruption I can’t quite name threading through me, pulling at my focus like a loose wire behind a wall. Subtle, but persistent enough to matter.
My fingers are drumming an uneven, anxious rhythm against my thigh, and my jaw is clenched so tight it aches. There’s an itch. A phantom sensation, like I’ve lost something vital without realizing it.
I run a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly, trying to recalibrate. But that voice is already there. Persistent and unwelcome...
'Fix it.'
I swallow hard, my eyes scanning the racks of perfectly aligned shirts. The vibration of my phone on the nearby dresser snaps the air around me. It’s a jarring sound that makes me jump. I walk over, the floor cold under my feet. The screen lights up with a single name...Kaden.
I blink, looking at the time. There’s a flicker of irritation directed at nothing and everything. How long have I been standing here, staring into space? Five minutes? Ten?
I pick up.
“Where are you?” Kaden’s voice comes through immediately, tight and impatient. “I need to get going.”
I blink, eyes lifting, scanning the room again like I’ve misplaced something far more important than time.
“What room are you in?”
“The living room.... I think.”
“I’ll be right there.”
I disconnect and start to walk out, but that voice flares up again, demanding. I shove the thought into a locked box, prioritizing him. It feels like a glitch in my system, a betrayal of my own logic, but he’s the only thing that feels like a priority. I walk straight down the hallway. Past familiar corners. Through my own space like I don’t fully occupy it.
The living room opens up ahead and he’s there. Standing near the center, shifting his weight slightly like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. In my clothes, that’s the first thing I register. They sit differently on him. Not worse or better, just different.
He looks up, and he’s vibrating with a kinetic energy that matches my own restlessness. He looks at me, then his gaze drops to my hands. "Where are my shoes?"
I frown, the question stalling my momentum. "Shoes?"
He gives me a look. "Quit playing games, Bastian."
I stare at him, the fog in my brain finally beginning to lift. Right, I took them. Carried them to my bedroom without thinking. I remember setting them down and cleaning them carefully.
"They're in my room," I say.
“I need them,” he adds.
I don't move. I just look at him. He’s in my house, I brought him here. Everything about this situation exists because I allowed it to.
'Fix it.'
I watch his expression shift slightly, brows pulling together as he studies me. “What?” he asks. “Why're you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?” my voice sounds strained to my own ears.
There’s an invasive heat building in my palms now, making it throb. Spreading upward, crawling under my skin, a flush that isn't from the shower. My hand instinctively moves into my pocket. They're empty. I glance down at it, and that’s when it clicks.
"Wait here," I say, my voice clipped. "I'll get your shoes."
“Bastian....” he starts, then pauses. “Are you okay?” His voice has softened, a note of genuine confusion cutting through.
I hum a non-committal sound of agreement and turn my back on him. I walk away, putting distance between us, though every step feels like I’m dragging a weight. I don’t slow down. Back through the hallway. Past the same corners. The same walls that suddenly feel tighter.
I threw the suit in the wash the way I do with everything I want to erase. But it’s fine. It’s completely fine. I have more, I always have more. Even if I haven’t been here in a while, there’s always a reserve. There has to be.
The throb in my left arm is beginning to bleed into the rest of my nervous system. It’s not the agonizing, blinding flare-up I’ve survived before, and nothing compared to the white-out pain of my past...but I know how quickly it shifts. How little distance there is between 'this' and 'that'.
My heart rate spikes, I force it down. I don’t panic, I never panic. I inhale slowly, forcing my heart back into rhythm.
I hit the washroom, wrenching open the medicine cabinets. Racks of bottles, all of them hollow. I tear through the drawers, the cabinets, tossing towels and toiletries aside and putting them back immediately after.
'Fix it.'
I stumble back into the bedroom, the demand ringing in my ears like a gunshot. My arm feels like it’s being branded with a hot iron. I hit the first bedside table, fumbling through the drawer, nothing but a fountain pen and a ledger. I circle the bed, the mattress soft under my hand as I lunge for the second drawer.
Then there's a knock. I freeze. My head turns toward the door, it’s slightly ajar. I never leave it like that. A flicker of irritation cuts through the restlessness.
“Just—” I start, intending to tell him to wait. But the door opens wider before I finish.
Kaden's standing in the frame, his eyes darting across the room before his gaze settles on me, then drops to the bedside table I’m currently invading.
"You shoved my sneakers in there?" he asks, his brow furrowed.
I swallow and it's a dry, painful act. I push the drawer shut and straighten my shirt, buying myself a second. My hands slip into my pockets, empty space pressing back against my palms.
“Wait outside,” I tell him. “I’ll get your shoes.”
My voice is as steady as it always is. This is my room, my space. No one comes in here. Not even him.
Kaden’s frown deepens, his mouth opening to push back. "What's–"
"Outside, Kaden." I don't give him the chance to finish. I turn my back on him, walking straight into the washroom. I grab his sneakers from the counter. They’re clean, the rubber sparkling under the vanity lights....but my gaze is pulled, like a magnet, toward the laundry nook. The washer is mid-cycle, and the suit is in there. The little bottle is in there, dissolving into soap and water.
The throbbing in my arm is a scream now. I press a damp palm to my face, feeling the cold sweat prickling at my hairline. My gaze pins to the washer, full of a dark and rising dread.
I don’t even process the motion. I just move.
The sneakers hit the marble, but my focus has already shifted. I reach out, my fingers hovering over the dial for a fraction of a second before I wrench it into the 'off' position. The silence that follows is suffocating.
I don't think about it, I just reach into the machine, plunging my arm into the tepid, soapy water. It’s filthy. It’s humiliating. It clings to my skin in a way I can’t stand and makes my skin crawl, but I don't care. I drag the trousers out, the weight of the water pulling at the seams, and I claw at the pocket.
My fingers find the hard plastic of the vial. I pull it out, my chest heaving. The pristine, professional label that usually marks my order is a shredded, pulpy mess. It looks cheap. It looks fucking desperate. I ignore the bile rising in my throat and twist the lid. My pulse spikes, beating harder now. I hold my breath as I tip it slightly. The pills are dry. The breath leaves me in a slow exhale I don’t fully control. I turn the bottle over, catch one on my tongue, and swallow it dry. It scrapes on the way down, bitter and chalky.
I glance at my watch. Five minutes. In five minutes, the fire in my arm will be doused. In five minutes, the noise stops and everything aligns again. The voice in my head suddenly goes quiet.
I’ve fixed it.
I shove the pants back into the machine and twist the dial back to start. It groans, the water begins to churn again. I turn around and the breath leaves my lungs in a sharp hiss.
Kaden's standing in the doorway.
I don’t know how long he’s been there. Long enough, judging by how his eyes are locked on me. Wide, dark and terrifyingly observant...like he’s taking me apart. He doesn't say a word, just watches me.