Chasing Freedom (Book 2)

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Without Her (Cole)

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Without Her (COLE)

I knew Skylar fell asleep right away.

I also knew halfway through my story that she was struggling to stay awake, so once I finished, I lied down beside her and did the one thing I was most afraid of: I let her fall asleep.

I don't know why.

All I know is that every breath came out more ragged than the last and I was terrified that they were going to stop completely.

Skylar was all I had left.

I told her before that I didn't need anyone other than her, and it was true, but now that there's the possibility that she might not ever wake up, I find myself wishing I'd told her what that really meant so much sooner.

But isn't that the way it always goes? You think of telling a person all the secrets you've been keeping from them only when it's too late?

I really hope it's not too late.

I fumble for Skylar's hand through the now darkened room, trying not to pay too much attention to the way it almost slips right through mine because of the new blood staining it.

And despite how much I was afraid of dying, in the dimness of the room with her hand cupped tightly in my own, I found myself wishing we could swap places, just so she didn't have to be in the pain that she was in.

Because if she died I don't know what I was going to do with myself.

The only reason I came all the way out here was so that she could get back home and if she died, everything I gave up would be for nothing.

Caring was a funny thing, because I never really worried for anyone else's wellbeing if it didn't include mine, but here I was, lying in a pool of her blood, wishing it were mine and not even thinking of the fact that I killed someone and my soul will most likely be as black as charcoal in just a few hours.

Ever since the darkness disappeared, I'd done whatever I could to keep it that way; to keep it absent because I didn't like the person I was when I was alive, and I didn't want to be him again.

But I killed someone.

Their blood was on my hands and I didn't exactly know what that meant for me. The darkness had a funny way of shielding itself so you didn't know it was there until it appears when you need it the most but want it the least.

It'd always been that way though, ever since I was old enough to understand what it was and how to use it.

After my father got it under control, all I ever did was use the hell out of it. I didn't care who I hurt or how many lives I put at risk or all the people and families I destroyed.

All that mattered was that I had power and control in a life where power and control belonged to my psychopathic father.

Ever since I was child, all that really mattered to me was making myself feel better because of how much I was talked down to back at home.

It was days filled of disappointments and the actions that came after, and followed with slammed doors and nights drunk off of alcohol or high from the adrenaline of my own power.

It was a rush-a huge dangerous, thrilling rush-and I never wanted it to end. But it wasn't all fun, because there were days I was beaten so badly I couldn't leave the house, and there were people I had to kill no matter how much I tolerated them and I suffered so heavily from the weight of my father's expectations that sometimes I couldn't keep myself upright.