Toxic

Chapter Thirty-Six

Sometimes by holding onto what you love the most — you end up choking the very life from the thing you want to keep on living. It’s possible to try too hard, to love something so deeply that you lose yourself. The danger is never in loving someone — but losing your identity in the process. Because what happens when tragedy strikes? You’re left an empty shell. You’re left with nothing. It’s why I tried to end things. Why I didn’t want to go on living — because I’d been living through her, not with her, and I had forgotten how to be myself. How to be normal. The only problem was — I was okay with it. —Gabe H.

Saylor

I took I5 and kept driving.

When I pulled up to the small subdivision in Mill Creek. I turned off my car and stared at my mom’s apartment.

Once we’d lived in a nice neighborhood, but because rent always went up over the years we moved around a lot.

Luckily, she was a nurse, so she had a good job, but still… We’d never had a ton of money, so we didn’t have a large home, just a different apartment every few years.

I grabbed my purse and slowly took the stairs to the third floor, two at a time, then let myself in the apartment. Everything was pristine. Clean. Beautiful. I hadn’t been back since Christmas, and even then I’d only slept there. I spent most my time on campus practicing.

“Say?” Eric walked down the hall, his smile wide. “Is that you?”

“Yeah.” My lower lip quivered. “It’s me.”

He was fifteen now, tall enough to be almost at eye level. His wide-set blue eyes looked me up and down. They were slanted just slightly, making his smile even warmer as he grinned.

And then he opened his arms. Just like that, I ran to them and started bawling.

“Shhh, Say, it will be okay. I promise. I promise, Say.” He rubbed my back and rocked me back and forth. “I’m sorry you’re sad.”

I didn’t trust my words, so I only nodded and clung to my brother like he was my lifeline. He was wearing a Seahawks sweatshirt and smelled like he’d just taken a shower.

“Mom’s home soon.” He released me and gave me one of those silly grins. “I’ve been cooking more.”

“Really?” I wiped my eyes.

He nodded. “Food makes things better.”

With a laugh I croaked, “Yeah, it does, doesn’t it?”

“Sit,” he commanded, in his soft voice. “I’ll make you eat, Saylor.”

“Eric?”

He turned around, his eyes smiling just as much as his actual mouth. “What?”

“I’m glad I’m here.”

He shrugged and started pulling food out of the fridge.