Damage Repaired

Chapter 24

Nathaniel's P.O.V.

Four Years Ago - 6 Months After The Incident

"Get up," Carter demanded, ripping the covers off my body. "I can't watch you do this to yourself any longer."

I winced, struggling to open my eyes as the sun blinded my vision, making my already throbbing head pound harder. I gagged, the bitter aftertaste of alcohol still present on my tongue, the same taste I'd been waking up to for the last six months—six fucking months. My body ached as I rolled over, patting around for the covers to throw over my head so I could be consumed with darkness again. That's all I knew now—darkness. Something moved me, and instead of being laid out on the bed, I was suddenly sitting upright on the edge. I lazily glanced up and found Carter dropping my arms down on my thighs.

"You need to shower, Nate," he sighed, looking around at all the empty bottles of alcohol scattered across the room. "It's been a week, and you stink."

I didn't need to do anything. I didn't want to do anything except drink until I passed out...again. I glanced over at the nightstand and reached for the half-empty bottle of scotch to drown myself in my sorrows, but Carter was quick to snatch it away before I could grab it.

"Enough!" He snapped roughly, dragging me out of my daze for a few seconds. I don't remember a time Carter raised his voice; this had to be the first. "She's gone, Nate, and she's not coming back," his voice was gentle this time, but the words felt just as lethal.

Pain zapped through my body, settling at my heart and lighting it on fire. My chest burned; I could feel it bleeding out slowly, weeping, dying. I felt like I was dying, a slow, excruciatingly painful death. A death I deserved, a death I would welcome. I blinked when I felt a harsh sting on my cheek. I think Carter slapped me, but I wasn't sure; my brain was clouded filled with...nothing, so I couldn't process what exactly was happening at the moment.

I heard Carter sigh, though he sounded a million miles away. "If you keep this up, Nate, you will die. You've barely eaten in the last six months; you've barely showered; you only get out of bed to use the bathroom; you don't even fit any of your clothes anymore. It's too painful to keep watching you go down this road; this is worse than when Isabella..." He trailed off. "You need to accept the fact that she's not coming back and try to move on; that's what she would want you to do."

"I can't." Those were the first words I'd spoken in months. My vocal cords burned from the foreign feeling, and it felt like someone doused my throat with gasoline and set it on fire. I didn't even think water could help me at this point, but Carter was already thrusting the liquid in my face. I stared at the bottle unmoving; I didn't want water; I wanted alcohol so I could feel numb again and forget, but not her; I could never forget her. I watched Carter unscrew the cap and force it against my lips, tilting it up so I could drink. I didn't try to fight him; the water felt good sliding down my throat, washing down the poison I'd been pouring into my body. Carter didn't put the bottle down until I drank all its content, and I knew he put some type of vitamin herbal shit in it, but I had no strength to protest.

"It's not too late to tell her, man," he whispered, squatting down to be leveled with me. "As messed up as it was, you had a solid reason for doing it, and I think she'll understand if you—" He stopped talking when he realized he wasn't getting through to me.

Yes, there was a reason I made the decisions I did, but it wouldn't change the fact that I fucking broke her—obliterated her entire reality. This wasn't a mere high-school breakup we experienced, it was a brutal massacre, and nothing could change that.