Hell's Army

Chapter Twenty-seven- Let's Make Some Friends

Ingleseid stood outside Holly's apartment, hand an inch from the door. He hadn't been to see her in two days. Thought it was best that way. He knew better than anyone that grieving was a private party. But he needed to check on her, to make sure she was all right. And somewhere, deep down, that selfish part of himself needed to know that she still loved him, needed something to end this guilt clawing at his gut, threatening to devour him whole. He lowered his hand, slipped inside.

She was sitting on the couch, fingers burled around a steaming mug, staring at the wall like it was about to get up and talk to her.

"Hey," he said quietly.

She didn't answer. Didn't even look at him.

"How are you feeling?"

"How the hell do you think I'm feeling?" she snapped suddenly, in a voice so dark and twisted Ingleseid thought someone else had spoken for a second.

"Holly, I-"

"Don't," she said. "Don't say anything."

"Please-" He tell her, needed her to know how sorry he was.

"I could have saved him," she whispered. "I could have saved him, and you stopped me."

"He was dead, Holly." She had to know it was true. There was no way she could have saved him. And as awful, as gut wrenching if there was even the slightest chance he was still alive, he wouldn't have taken it. Not for her.

"You don't know that!" she yelled, and it was like a blow to the stomach. She wrenched herself up. "You didn't even try!"

"I couldn't let you go back," he said, willing his voice to stop shaking. "They'd have torn you apart."

"You couldn't have let me? Couldn't have let me?! Screw you," she hissed. "He was my friend. It was my choice. And you took that away from me. And now, guess what? Felix is dead, and you didn't do anything to stop it."

"There was nothing I could have done."

Slowly, she sat down. "Yeah, well," she murmured, something cold and dark settling into her voice, "I guess we'll never know for sure, will we?"

"Holly-" he began desperately.

"Get away from me," she said suddenly. There was no darkness in her voice anymore. Just emptiness. Almost like she was begging him. "Please, Ingleseid. Just leave."

There was nothing else he could do. So he did.

His eyes burned and his heart felt like a lump of coal burning its way through his chest as he walked out into the street. Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he spun round, fists raised.

Garrett yelped, and Tatters shrank under his gaze.

"What are you doing?" Ingleseid hissed.

"Garrett doesn't have an apartment," Tatters said, straightening up.

"What are you talking about?" he snapped. "Of course he does."

"Not anymore," Tatters mumbled.

"I got kicked out," Garrett said, looking at his shoes. "Landlord said he wasn't catering for people who went on walkabouts for two months."

Ingleseid ran a hand through his hair. He needed to go home. He needed sleep, he needed tea, he needed something that wasn't dealing with the same crap he always did. "I do not have time for this right now."

"Please," Garrett said. "I don't have anywhere else to go."

"You can't stay at mine. I have...someone else there."