Why did I keep doing all these fucked up things?

My head felt like it was tied loosely to my body. What if the next thing I did was something even worse? Who would get hurt?

A chill went through me. This was it. I was losing my mind. Going crazy. Or something. How would I know?

Fuck.

I approached the medical tent feeling like I had a gun to my head. Something had to change. If I kept going like this, the next crazy thing I did might be something I'd regret for the rest of my fucked up life.

Chapter Seventeen

DISORIENTATION

Riley

When I fell in the crowd, I thought I was going to die.

It was a minute that felt like an eternity. I caught a few kicks as people stumbled over my prone body, but thankfully no one stepped on me before a security guard cleared people away so I could stand up.

My eyes flew to the burning stage, but it stood empty, with Jax nowhere to be seen. I grabbed the security guard and asked if he'd seen Jax leave the stage, but he said he'd been too busy handling the crowd to notice. I stood there, not knowing what to do. The security guy kept urging me to go to the medical tent, and in my dazed mind, a light went on—maybe they'd taken Jax there too.

The security guy led the way to the big white tent that stood near the entrance gate. Inside, I looked around but couldn't see Jax anywhere. I quickly asked an older guy with gray hair who seemed to be in charge whether anyone had seen Jax. When he said no, my stomach churned. Was he okay? Or was he lying in an ambulance somewhere?

A nurse had me sit down on a cot. As she patched up a scrape on my arm, I tapped my feet impatiently against the floor, desperation growing in my chest. Watching him stand on that burning stage had been horrible—but not knowing what had happened to him after was even worse.

As soon as the nurse finished, I jumped up and hurried to the exit. I stepped out into the fresh air and paused, unsure of where to look for him next.

Then I heard Jax's voice shouting "Riley!" His voice came from somewhere on my left.

I turned around, my heart beating wildly.

There he was, making his way through the crowd of people. An overwhelming sense of relief washed over me. He hurried across the grassy area separating us, and my eyes raked over him, looking for signs of hurt. But except for a smudge of soot on his cheek and a cut on his hand, he seemed okay in spite of what had just happened.

When he drew near, he pulled me into his arms for a bone-crushing hug. "Are you okay?" he asked desperately. "Tell me you're okay."

"I'm fine," I gasped, running my hands along his back. "Are you?"

The muscles in his shoulders tensed underneath my fingers, as if he had just remembered something. "Yes," he muttered, pulling away from me.

"God, I'm so glad," I said, reluctantly letting go of him.

He didn't say anything, and kept his eyes cast on the ground. His shoulders slumped. I looked at him intently.

"Jax," I said, my voice tinged with concern, "What happened out there?"

He winced and took a step back, furthering the distance between us. When he lifted his eyes to mine, his haunted expression shocked me. "I don't want to talk about it," he said, his voice hoarse.

My heart thudded in my chest. Something was wrong. How could there not be, when he'd stayed on that stage, playing his guitar as everything burned all around him?

And whatever was wrong, this wasn't the place to deal with it. Not surrounded by all these people. "What if we went back to the bus?" I rushed out. "Maybe you'll feel better there. We can be alone."

His mouth set in a thin line, like he was suppressing some kind of hurt, for what seemed like a long time before he finally nodded. A deep uneasiness settled in my chest. Instinctively I reached out and took his hand, not sure of who I wanted to comfort more—him or me. He hesitated, then his fingers curled around mine in a tight grip. A flash of his old tenderness awoke in his eyes.

But then it was gone, and his eyes filled with pain again. Swallowing, I kept his hand wrapped tightly in mine as we made our way through the throngs of people.

We walked together through the fairgrounds in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. Every now and then I caught a glimpse of his anguished eyes resting on mine and a pain shot through my heart. He hadn't always been this way, not when I'd first met him—he'd been troubled, sure, but not this dark. Never this dark.

When we got back to the bus, I followed Jax into the common area and sat down nervously. He stayed standing, eventually beginning to pace up and down the bus, clenching and unclenching his fists. His eyes were distant and unfocused, as if he was trying to untie a knot in his mind.

As he paced, my anxiety grew.

"What is it?" I blurted out, unable to bear the sight of him in pain any longer. "Please talk to me."

He stopped, and gave me a look that was part fear, part misery. "I don't know what to do," he said, his voice wracked with anguish.

A chill wrapped around my spine. His face was wild in a way I'd never seen before. Why was he looking at me like that? "You're scaring me," I said. "Tell me what's wrong."

He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes widening. "When I saw you fall . . ." He stopped, his jaw clenching. "You could've been hurt," he went on, a tortured look on his face. "And it was my fault. All mine."

I stared at him. "How was that your fault? You didn't knock me over."

He shook his head. "No. Before that. The crowd was pissed and I just gave it right back to them and made it worse. And you were in there!" He grimaced. "I'm just . . . I'm not thinking right, Riley."

He began pacing again with quick, agitated movements, as if by doing so he could escape whatever tormented him.

I watched him with uneasy eyes. "This was a one time thing, Jax. And I'm fine."

He pressed his hands to his temples. "It's not just one time!" he groaned. "This has been happening. It will keep on happening."

My heart sank at the frustration in his voice. "We don't know that."

"I know that!" he shouted, his eyes wide with panic. "You're not safe around me."

The conviction in his voice scared me, even more than the tortured intensity in his eyes. "Jax," I pleaded, "Stop."

My words bounced off of him, not slowing him down for a second as he kept on pacing up and down the room. "Why do you keep putting up with my shit?" he growled, glancing at where I sat huddled on the couch.

"You know why," I said, my voice unsteady.

That made him stop in mid-step. "Yeah," he said, his voice dropping lower. "I know." His jaw worked as he struggled to find more words. "That's what makes this so fucked."




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