Fighting for Rain - BB Easton Page 0,29

here.

They’re gone, and they’re never coming back.

I make it to the edge of the fountain before my knees buckle. Curling my body around the backpack, I slide to the floor, holding on to it for dear life as I rock back and forth.

My eyes are fixed on nothing, and that’s exactly what I feel.

Nothingness.

It is deep and wide and dark and damp.

It smells like stale cigarettes and morning coffee.

It swirls, like cemetery fog, around me. Clouding my vision. Numbing my pain.

None of this matters, it whispers. It always knows just what to say.

But then I feel something else wrap around me. Something warm and solid and wonderful.

He is heavy, like the backpack, but grounding.

He smells like home too, in his own way.

He is real, and he is here, and when I look up at the tender concern in his eyes, the fog lifts.

And the pain comes. It rips through me like a rusty machete as I bury my face in Carter’s T-shirt, as my emotions decide they’ve found a safe place to go and flee my body in torrents.

I cry and mourn and twist my fists in the soft cotton while Carter shushes me and pulls me closer.

Which only makes me cry harder.

Not because of everything I’ve lost.

But because of the one thing I actually got back.

My best friend.

“Carter?” a shaky voice calls from the end of the hall leading toward the main entrance.

“Yeah?” he replies into the darkness, clearing his throat.

“I don’t know what to do, man. He’s … he’s gettin’ worse.”

“Lamar?” I wipe my eyes and sit up.

“Rainbow?” The elation in Lamar’s voice surprises me. “Rainbow! You’re still here!”

The sound of sneakers pounding the tiles echoes down the hall, reaching me seconds before he does.

“You gotta come. Right now. He’s … I can’t … I don’t … you gotta help him, Rainbow. Please!” Lamar’s voice cracks, reminding me just how young he is.

Fourteen? Fifteen maybe?

I’ve been so caught up in my own shit that I never stopped to think how hard all this must be for him. Underneath all that attitude, he’s still just a kid.

I hold out my hands and let him pull me to my feet, missing the warmth of Carter’s arm around my shoulders the moment it falls away. I know without turning around that he’ll bring my backpack.

He always used to carry it for me at school.

As Lamar tugs me toward the tuxedo shop, I notice the first traces of morning light peeking in through the broken windows in the main entrance doors. They illuminate the doorway of the Hello Kitty store where Wes told me he’d never fight to keep me from leaving.

If only I had fought harder to make him stay.

Or maybe I should have agreed to leave with him, like he wanted me to, I think as I follow Lamar into the tuxedo shop, but when I come around the end of the counter and see Quint’s body convulsing on the floor, I know that’s not true.

This is exactly where I’m supposed to be.

In fact, this is the only place I want to be.

No smells. No triggers. No angry mobs. No dead bodies.

In here, I have a purpose. In here, I have friends. Out there …

In my mind, I reopen the fortress of Shit I’m Not Going to Think About Ever Again Because None of This Matters and We’re All Going to Die, take everything outside those doors—my old house, the bodies buried in fresh dirt behind it, the beautiful boy in the Hawaiian shirt who saved my life and broke my heart, motorcycles and loose dogs and tree houses and burning buildings—and shove it all inside.

Then, I unzip the backpack Carter set on the counter, and I get to work.

May 1 (One Week Later)

Rain

“You ate your breakfast!” Carter’s cheerful voice shatters the silence in the tuxedo shop as his six-foot-three frame fills the doorway.

“Yeah …” Quint clears his throat. “Kep’ it down this time, too.”

Carter’s bright face darkens as his eyes flick from mine to the boy sitting next to me behind the counter.

“That’s great, man,” he replies with a smile that only I know is fake.

I know all his smiles.

“Has your nurse eaten anything today?” Carter’s gaze slides over to me.

Quint shrugs as I drop my eyes and pull the sleeves of my hooded sweatshirt over my hands.

Carter presses his full lips into a thin line and nods slightly.

Thanks to the antibiotics, hand sanitizer, and gauze I found in my backpack, I was able to kill Quint’s infection, remove