Chapter Twelve. Light has this way, every now and then, of slipping into your consciousness without revealing where or when it began

Light has this way, every now and then, of slipping into your consciousness without revealing where or when it began. It brushes your skin and you feel the weight of it, wrapping you in its warmth. The glow surrounds you, indistinct yet focused, a guiding hand out of the shadows. The last thing you sense, before the light reveals its true identity, is the sudden absence of darkness. And then you know.

I feel it, the light. Holding me. Comforting me. I am self-aware, but only in the vaguest sense. Where there had been cold, there is heat. Where there had been absence, there is presence. Where there had been darkness, there is the light.

My eyes flutter open slowly, adjusting to the change from nothing to something. I blink once, then again, over and over in search of some sort of clarity. Greasy streaks mar my vision, fighting to keep me blind to the light. The remnants of shadow.

The tears come, doing what they do, washing away the last of the darkness. The room around me is bright, white and blue with cheerful daisies peeking out from behind curtains of gold. My arms are heavy, even trapped, and a slight panic sets in before my sluggish brain recognizes my prison for what it is. A blanket. A big, fluffy blue blanket. A big, fluffy blue blanket that was not on my bed last night. And I am surrounded by walls covered in flowers that definitely do not adorn the walls of room 39. Which leaves me with a question, or maybe two.

Who in the hell’s bed am I in, and how did I get here?

I try sitting up but quickly discover it is a very bad idea. If the quivering masses of gelatin my arm and leg muscles have become are not a rather obvious clue, the sudden and overwhelming dizziness fairly well confirms it. I am on a rickety old rollercoaster doing nauseating loop de loops, and I need it to stop moving. Right now.

The creak of hinges sounds faintly in my head, but I am too preoccupied with my alcohol-free hangover to care.

“You’re awake.”

She is a vision gliding into the room, an angel in blue jeans, complete with halo, although that is more likely a remnant of my…collapse? coma? abduction by aliens? than an angelic aureole. She smiles that smile at me, the one that would make me weak in the knees if I wasn’t already horizontal. She rounds the bed and comes to rest at my side. Her fingers are cool against my forehead, and my eyes flutter closed involuntarily at the gentleness of her touch.

My mouth is chalky and sour, my throat scratched and burned, and every time I think of speaking my stomach does another round of somersaults. I assume speaking is going to be a bit of a challenge, and decide to go slow.

“What happened?” I scratch out, my voice a tangle of grit and glass. I swallow thickly and try to clear the sediment from my throat. It stings even worse than I thought it would, but I try to ignore it.

“You passed out,” she says gently, patting my arm.

“How long?”

“How long were you out?”

I nod. The throbbing in my head from moving is a bit easier to take than the fire in my throat from speaking.

“Two days.”

I feel relatively rested, more than I have been in quite some time, and yet weaker than I can ever remember feeling. It’s pretty odd, really.

“We were worried about you.”

Maybe it is my near delirium, but it seems to me her voice carries a world of emotion, far more than such a simple statement would imply. Her fingers brush my cheek as she searches my face, and I swear I can feel the stroke of her hand against my heart.

The door creaks again. “You’re awake.” It’s Buck this time, though I barely notice. I am too focused on the tilt of her head and how her eyes crinkle at the corners as she locks her gaze with mine.

“Fever’s down,” she tells Buck. She checks my forehead again, as if she wants to be sure. Then her hand falls away from my face, and I mourn the loss.

“Good, good,” he says, stepping up to the bed. He looks down at me kindly. “You had us worried there. That was a nasty infection you had. I wasn’t sure you were going to wake up. Kate was though. She took really good care of you.”

“You took care of me?” I croak, cursing the vulnerability in my voice. I am just too damn weak to hide my insecurity. I need to know that she cares, need to feel her compassion directed at me and me alone, need to have that something between us wrap itself around me and hold me close.

“She sure did. Barely left your side, as a matter of fact.”

She drops her gaze, her cheeks flushing. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Sure it is,” Buck continues, either not noticing her embarrassment or not caring. Hearing the pride in his voice, I figure it is the former. He turns to Kate. “I thought we were going to have to hit you over the head just to force you to get some sleep.”

She meets my eyes hesitantly, as if she is afraid I will somehow reject her for having cared. But I don’t. How can I? Buck’s words are music to my ears, her actions a peaceful quiet in the raging storm.

I curve my lips into the best smile I can manage, which given my state probably resembles a goofy-toothed snarl more than a grin. Still, her face lights up, and I feel as giddy as a schoolgirl at her first high school dance.

Her hand slides along the blanket and slips over mine. I feel each millimeter of progression, a glorious torture against my flesh. Her skin is velvet, soft and warm and heavenly to touch. She searches for confirmation, for acceptance, for desire of this. She is reaching out to me, offering herself in a way I have no right to expect or even want. But I do want. So much.

I edge my fingers out, sliding them between hers, finding a home beneath her palm. She grins shyly even as her eyes sparkle with confidence. The contrast nearly makes my heart stop.

I hear the distant sound of a shuffling foot, followed by a throat being cleared. Clearly, Buck is trying, in his delicate way, to let us know he is still in the room. Kate’s expression tells me she caught the not-so-subtle gesture as well.

“So, I guess you’ll be staying a little while longer then? No more sneaking off before dawn?”

It is like a blindfold being removed.

Damn.

It all comes rushing back. The plague, my parents, the barn, Zeke, my journey…I’d been so caught up in Kate I’d nearly forgotten.

I’d decided to leave.

I’d been trying to leave.

I need to leave.

Damn it.

I find regret in Buck’s expression. He misread things, and he knows it. He thought I’d made a choice, but I hadn’t. I’d just forgotten the last one I had made.

I can’t look back at Kate. I release her hand, slipping my fingers out of hers as I start to slip my wall back into place. I have a mission. I have someplace to be. I can’t…won’t…stay.

“Well, I’ve got things to do. I’m glad you’re awake. You should be well enough in a few days.”

Her words hang in the air. Our moment is gone, and I wish with everything I have that I could get it back, even as I push it away. I stare down at the blanket covering me, focusing on the worn threads poking out here and there. They are a distraction. A cruel but necessary distraction.

Coward.

I know she is gone before I hear the door close. I can feel her absence in every corner, screaming at me to fix it. A banshee in the silence.

My eyes meet Buck’s. He sighs, but I do not see the disappointment I expect to find, only compassion. I am as relieved as I am resentful.

I want him to hate me.

I want him to fix me.

“You should get some rest,” he says gently.

“That’s all I’ve been doing for two days, it seems.”

“I suppose so.”

“What I need is a drink.”

My words are full of the venom I hold for myself.

“I think I can accommodate you there. Feel up for a walk?”

Дата добавления: 2015-10-31