WAKE (Wattpad edition)

40. Limb from limb.

{Cary}

There were four missed calls from Kadee on Cary's phone. He drew his knees up on the step, blowing cigarette smoke out of the side of his mouth, looking at those notifications on the screen. He lifted his eyes to the yard, the yellow lamp mounted above the door of the barn barely holding back the dark. Above the barn roof, the sky rippled with more stars than Cary had ever seen in his life. He swallowed, tipping his face up to let their light fall on him.

He didn't have words left for Kadee, or anyone. He'd dug some up for Jon today, but Kadee would want more. He couldn't absorb any more words today either. He turned the phone off, sucking the last drink of smoke from his cigarette before stubbing it out.

Jon was a lump under the covers of the bed when he came in. He took the second set of pillows off the bed and a spare blanket to sleep on the floor, like old times. His body was pleasantly exhausted from the work in the barn, and on some level, he thought he could like it here— the quiet and the isolation and the physical hard work. All things he was good at.

He knelt on the floor beside his pillows, putting his hand over his face and taking a slow breath. Jesus didn't need words. He held the day in his mind—the parts he was grateful for, like the stars. He wasn't thinking about the rest.

It only took a minute. He rolled himself into the blanket, blurry with tiredness after the night in the car and two intense days. Sleep came for him immediately.

///

Cary was tall as a building, each stride sending him leaping over the distance, his body surging with energy like there was lava in his veins. His mouth tasted like ashes; his breath shot sparks from his nose and stung the skin on his face. He threaded between city buildings, taking the streets with giant strides until he found the building he was looking for.

Cary took the door off like the hinges were made of butter and made himself just tall enough to fit through the opening. He ducked past the chandelier and shoved open the door off the hall, his exhale flame-bright.

The study was warm and red. His father was reading at his desk and didn't see him coming until Cary was on top of him, his hand on his throat.

Conall met his son's eyes, his Adam's apple moving against Cary's grip as he swallowed, and his big hands spread on his desk. All his guilt showed in his face like the blot of ink on his index finger from his red marking pen.

"Give me back." Sparks hissed from Cary's mouth, and flames licked between his teeth. He laid his hand, hot as a brand, on Conall's chest, making his shirt char and crumble. "Give me all back."

Conall screamed—and Cary awoke with a gasp, thrashing free of the tangle of blankets and battering his arms against the wall until he found himself in the room. He collapsed back on the floor to suck in one breath after another.

An old radiator hissed next to him, pushing heat out next to his arm, and Cary jumped, making a small noise. He wrapped a hand over his mouth, closing his eyes to re-watch the images that were pulsing hot behind his eyelids. The dream had ended too quickly. He was shaking with adrenaline, and rage surged like lava under his skin; he wanted his father right here so he could squeeze his fingers around the muscles in Conall's neck and tear.

Cary shoved to his feet, trying to be quiet. If he had to speak, he thought he would erupt.

He went to his car to get his spare cigarettes, gingerly stepping over the gravel drive in his bare feet, then climbing into the passenger seat. The familiar smell of leather and nicotine and the feeling of being enclosed made him feel safer, less like he would go off like a supernova. His fingers shook as they fumbled the cigarettes, and then the flame flared brightly in the dark of the country night.