The Healing (The Things We Can't Change Book 3) by Kassandra Kush Page B

ignition.
    I don't bother knocking this time; I just barge right in through the open front door and into the house. I hesitate for a flash of a second near the stairs, wondering which way to go. The office? But then I think back to where all the remaining knives would be, and I head for the kitchen on a hunch.
    I find Evie in there, standing frozen on one side of the island, facing an open drawer half-full of knives. For a moment, I think, Its fine, Zeke, you got here in plenty of time. She didn’t want to do it, so she called you. You made it. But then Evie turns toward me and I see her left arm, no gauze, sleeve pulled back and rivulets running down the sides of her arm and down her wrist from a long cut, dripping into the big puddle of bright red blood on the floor.
    My knees go weak for a moment and my vision blurs. I don’t know what it is, since I don’t normally blink twice at the sight of blood. I’m not sure if it’s because it’s Evie, or because her blood is just so bright against her pale skin or maybe it’s because of the eerie, creepy knowledge that she did this to herself.
    “Shit, Evie,” I breath, momentarily panicked and at a loss for what to do. I see, too late, the single knife on the counter, glinting in the light and the sharp edge slick with blood.
    I finally force myself to look up, into her eyes, and they are wide and vacant, as though she’s not really seeing me.
    “I didn’t mean to,” she finally says, and her voice is like a little child’s, innocent and as though she doesn’t understand. “I didn’t mean to, Zeke. I really didn’t. I wasn’t going to!”
    “Then you shouldn’t have done it!” I shout, hysteria stealing over me before I can stop it. I instantly and immediately wish I could take it back, because Evie jerks back as though I’ve hit her and she bursts into tears, which puts me even more off balance.
    I take two deep breaths, and then another, reminding myself over and over that she’s unstable, that she’s slightly crazy, and that if someone stumbled in on me doing graffiti and tried to stop me, they wouldn’t understand my need for it. I take yet another deep breath, tearing my eyes away from all the blood, from the arm that Evie is now clutching against her chest as she sobs.
    “I-I-I’m sorry!” she hiccups, and her whole body is trembling with the force of the tears. “I wasn’t going t-t-to call you b-but you s-said I should! I’m sorry, Zeke! You c-c-can go now!”
    “No.” That one word is crisp and articulate, firm. Because even though something is rising in my chest, my heart is beating fast and I’m pretty sure it’s from concern and worry, emotions. I know I can’t leave her like this. I fight the feelings back. Later. Later. Later. I chant that to myself, to my furiously pounding heart, and focus just on Evie, on what she is feeling, not what’s going on inside of me.
    “Just go!” Evie screams it at me. “Get out!”
    “No.” My voice is still firm, unyielding, and I begin to stride toward her.
    Evie backs away, her eyes wide and terrified as she watches me bear down on her. Finally she’s against a kitchen counter and has nowhere else to go, and I reach out, grab her unharmed wrist, and yank her away from the counter.
    “Zeke!” There’s terror in her voice, probably because I have her around the wrist and even though I want to be sensitive to her fears and nerves, I don’t change my grip. I know I should try not to show just how easily I can overpower her, but shit . My shoe slides a little and I look down and see I’ve stepped into part of the puddle of blood and I don’t let go of her, just pull her along behind me, even though she tries to fight. It’s not much of a fight, really. She trails along behind me like a kite, bobbing and trying to brace her feet against the floor and failing completely.
    “Let me go !” she screams, and now the fear is gone, replaced with the same anger and furious annoyance as that