Fill Me In (The Liquid Series, #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Kelsey

"Oh please, God. Oh God, pleeeaaase," I sputtered, rocking back and forth in the passenger seat in an effort to comfort myself.

As Mom drove in white-knuckling fashion, wind-driven rains shook the car like it was made of tin, pelting the windshield through wipers that swished angrily on warp speed. My skull hurt from all the noise. Bracing against the dashboard, I focused on breathing, but dread filled the air until I choked on it. Only I wasn't choking. I was crying. I was fucking losing it.

What if we were too late? What if he was already...

Pressing my eyes closed, I struggled for composure, but I couldn't escape his face. When I opened them, he was still all around me, invading my space like a thick vapor. Despite crossing state lines in record time, it seemed like we'd been driving for days, and I became caught in an alternating stream of slow-mo and fast-forward hysteria.

Mom wore a pained expression, and I wondered what scared her more: the possibility of Mark not pulling through, or knowing a piece of me would die if he didn't. Peering out the passenger window, Tracy's headlights flashed in the rearview. He'd insisted on following us, which only exacerbated my stress.

Hikers had stumbled upon Mark's overturned car at the bottom of a ravine in the Berkshires. Approximately 50 yards from the crash site, his body was found unconscious, slumped against a cluster of jagged rocks, suggesting ejection on impact. His laundry list of injuries included multiple lacerations to the face and neck, a head contusion, a broken leg, three broken ribs, and a ruptured spleen. According to Mrs. Hudson, by the time rescue crews were able to reach him, he had lost a significant amount of blood, proliferated by the drugs in his system. He was airlifted to Albany, New York for emergency surgery at its world-renowned trauma center, but his chances of living to see another day were slim to none. A bag containing 5 grams of cocaine had been recovered from the back pocket of his jeans, surviving the accident unharmed. The irony did not go unnoticed by me.

I could have done without the gruesome details, but Mrs. Hudson funneled messages through Mom, who took it upon herself to answer my calls, keeping me abreast of the situation as she drove. I considered tossing my cell phone out the window and pretending none of this was happening. Instead, my mind got the better of me as it swam in images of Mark's mangled, lifeless body. It had been nearly an hour since the last update, and I shuddered at the thought of what that might imply.

I hated him for not knowing what the pain would do to me. I hated him for not loving himself enough to love me the way that I needed him to. I hated him for letting his addiction win. I hated him.

I loved him.

Though we'd been apart for a year, just knowing he was still somewhere in the world gave me hope. Now hope was fading fast, and in its place came the grief that flew up my spine and settled at the back of my neck until it took every last ounce of energy just to hold my head up.

As Mom approached the hospital, I jumped from the car before it could come to a complete stop, tripping over my own anxiety as my feet hit the sidewalk. I rushed inside, colliding with a counter. I gripped it in desperation, startling the receptionist behind it. "Mark Hudson," I huffed. "Where is he?!"

"He's a patient?" she asked calmly, and I nodded my head in spastic agitation. Worrying her bottom lip, she tapped at her keyboard while her eyes flitted across a computer screen. "He's in the ICU. Only immediate family is permitted."

"I'm his fiancé," I lied.

She looked at me then, as if to assess the validity of my claim. When my face burned with fresh tears, her eyes softened. Nodding, she pointed to the elevators. "ICU is on the third floor, sweetheart. West wing."

I thanked her and ran.

Upon entering the ICU, I noticed Mark's parents holding hands as they stood eerily still before a blue curtain, as if rustling the fabric with the slightest breath might bring their whole world crashing down. Even after coming all this way, I felt ill-prepared to see what was behind it.

Sensing my arrival, Mrs. Hudson glanced over her shoulder, meeting my gaze. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face severely weathered by circumstances no mother should have to endure, and my hand flew to my mouth as I swallowed the sobs that threatened to escape. Reaching out for me, her arm rippled through the veil of tears saturating the tips of my lashes. Instinctively, I stepped forward and laced my fingers with hers, overwhelmed by the simple touch until I finally broke down. I leaned my head on her shoulder and continued to cry as she applied soothing squeezes to my hand.

"He fought his way back," she said.

Disentangling from her side, I studied her face, searching for the meaning behind her words. "What?"

Her own tears fell, marking trails through what was left of her beige cream foundation. "He shouldn't be alive, Kelsey. But somehow...he is."

Relief shot through me. "And the surgery?" I asked.

"It went better than expected. The scans are encouraging. Mark was even awake for a bit, but he's resting now."

I threw my arms around her neck. "Thank you. Thank you, God," I chanted. It was a prayer.

Mr. Hudson was pointedly quiet as he watched us converse, a faint smile tugging at his lips. His fingers dusted along his wife's knuckles, preserving their connection.

Facing the curtain, a resurgence of hope flooded my senses. "I have so much I need to say to him. I've never stopped loving..."

From the behind the fabric, a weak voice winced in pain. My heart expanded at the sound until I thought it might burst from my chest. Mrs. Hudson pulled the curtain aside, cheering incomprehensible language while a doctor and two nurses tended to a decrepit-looking Mark. All eyes were on him, yet his were planted solely on me.

He was wrapped in bandages from head to toe, his casted leg elevated in a sling. I froze, shocked not only to find Mark so bloody and beaten, but looking so much different than he did a year ago. Thinner. Older. Harder.

He glared at me, as if reading my thoughts. "Get out."

Part of me knew where this was coming from. After all, the last time we spoke, I had told him it was over. However, I shook my head with vehemence, holding my ground. "No. It's okay...everything...it'll all be okay. I'm here for you...I'm here."

Everyone continued to hover around Mark, voicing their offerings of sympathy and support, seemingly oblivious to our own verbal exchange. Moving to his bedside, I took his hand. He pulled it back, groaning from the exertion. Suddenly, Mrs. Hudson was there, rubbing it as if I had bruised him.

"Kelsey, I don't think he realizes the extent of his injuries. Maybe you could come back in a few days when he's feeling stronger." As his mom spoke, Mark's eyes fell away and focused on the ceiling, a dismissive gesture that made me feel utterly diminished.

But I couldn't let it go. "Mark, I love you."

Clearing his throat, he still refused to look at me. "Go away. I don't love you. Not anymore." Though barely audible, his words were crystal clear.

By then, all eyes were on me, and I didn't appreciate the spotlight. Mr. Hudson flinched, his mottled complexion steeped in emotion. "I'm sorry, Kelsey, but I think for now, it's best if you go."

Straightening, I stood with my head held high despite wanting to stuff myself in a corner and succumb to infantile wailing. My desire for inclusion took a back seat to Mark's welfare. Even in my agony, I understood it.

Backing away, I decided not to cause any more of a scene. So I did what everyone's pleading expressions told me to.

I left.

Outside the ICU, Tracy and Mom were waiting, but I blew right past them, craving distance and lots of it. I didn't know what I was running away from exactly. Maybe I was trying to escape my heart before it scarred the deepest hurting. But it was too late for that. If Mark didn't love me anymore, I knew I'd never be free from the pain, and I'd spend the rest of my life in chains.