Touch in the Dark

Chapter 12 - Care

I was jolted awake by a soft shuffling noise.

The room was dark, but the faint morning light was starting to creep in through the curtains. My neck ached from the awkward position I'd fallen asleep in, slumped against the couch. I blinked a few times, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

I sat up quickly, glancing over at the couch where he was lying. He was awake, his eyes blinking groggily, looking around the room like he didn't recognize where he was. There was a haze in his expression, probably from whatever he had taken last night.

"You're awake," I said, my voice rough from sleep.

James grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck like he was trying to numb the pain, "What... happened?"

I leaned back against the wall, crossing my arms as I watched him. "You showed up outside my place, high out of your mind. Barely knew where you were."

His face tightened, and for a moment, he didn't say anything. His eyes dropped to the floor as if he was ashamed of something, but I didn't push him. I could see he was trying to process the night, trying to recall. From the way he winced, though, it was clear he couldn't.

"I shouldn't have come here," he muttered under his breath, almost too quietly for me to hear. It sounded more like he was talking to himself than to me.

"Well, you did," I said, shrugging. "So here we are."

He didn't respond, just stared down at the floor with that same tight-lipped expression. His fingers twitched, flexing and unflexing like he was holding onto something invisible. The silence stretched between us, heavy and uncomfortable, until he finally broke it.

"Why did you even bother?" His voice was soft but filled with frustration, and he still wouldn't look at me.

I frowned, caught off guard by the question. "What do you mean?"

He glanced up, his eyes finally meeting mine, and there was something in them I couldn't quite place. Something between anger and... hurt. "Why did you bother helping me? You didn't have to. You could've just left me there."

I stared at him, not sure how to respond. His words were sharp, bitter, like he was accusing me of something, but I didn't know what. "James, I couldn't just leave you out there. You were out of your mind. You could've gotten hurt. You could've died."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "Hasn't stopped you before."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, even though I wasn't sure what he meant by them. Before I could respond, he kept going, his voice growing more agitated. "I know you don't actually care. You're only doing this because of your dad. Because you need me for the case."

"That's not true," I said, more defensively than I intended.

James let out a harsh, humorless laugh. "Sure."

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my cool. "James, I didn't help you last night because of the case. I helped you because you needed it. You were in trouble."

"Right."

He stood up suddenly, swaying slightly as he did, and for a second I thought he might fall over. But he steadied himself, brushing past me as he made his way toward the door.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"Out," he muttered, his tone flat and cold. He didn't even bother to look at me.

"You can't just leave like this," I said, stepping in front of him, blocking his path. "You need to rest. You can barely walk."

James glared at me, his eyes flashing with anger. "I'll manage. Why do you care now? You never did before. You just use people and toss them aside when you're done with them."

I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out.

"I care because..." I started, but the words got stuck in my throat. I didn't know how to finish the sentence. I didn't know how to tell him that I cared about him more than I'd let on. More than I probably should.

James didn't wait for me to figure it out. He pushed past me again, this time harder, and stormed toward the door. I followed him.

"James, wait," I called after him, but he didn't stop. He didn't even look back.

"James!" I snapped, grabbing his arm to stop him. He turned sharply, yanking his arm out of my grip with a look that could've burned a hole through me.

"What?" he barked, his voice full of anger. "What the hell do you want, Marco? You want to play the hero now? You want to pretend like you give a shit about me?"

"I do give a shit!" I shot back, my own anger rising to meet his. "But I don't know what you want from me! You show up at my place, high as hell, and I'm supposed to just... what? Let you destroy yourself?"

"Why not?" James spat, his voice dripping with venom. "You didn't care when it mattered. You don't care now. You just want to make yourself feel better."

"That's not—"

"Save it," he cut me off, shaking his head. "I don't want to hear it."

Before I could say anything else, he turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

I stood there, staring at the closed door, my chest tight. My fists clenched at my sides, and I didn't know whether to scream or punch something.

Probably both.

How the hell did he have the nerve to come here, barely sober, and then lash out at me? I paced around my living room. I'd helped him when he showed up at my place, high and out of it, and this was how he thanked me? Screw that. I wasn't some doormat for him to wipe his feet on. He had the nerve to question why I helped him when I'd put myself on the line for him. He didn't get to dictate how I should act, especially when I was the one who'd gone out of my way to make sure he was okay.

I grabbed my jacket, needing to get out of here. I didn't know where I was headed, but I knew I had to go.

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