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IT HAD NEVER BEEN SO PAINFUL OPENING HIS EYES.
It was a feeling unlike any other ━━ and not of the pleasant kind, either. He was disappointed with his strength when he made a move to lift his arms, but the cotton pulled up to his chin weighed him down like a cinder block on top of a single sheet of paper. His joints ached, muscles stiff and limbs heavy, and his body begged to be allowed more sleep.
Unconsciousness felt dangerous, repulsive, unproductive. Pointless, even. More pointless than anything else had ever felt.
Yet, still, his eyelids drooped, urging his mind to follow the commands of the rest of his being. Resting made sense. For a dying man, it made sense. But resting felt like acceptance, and he wasn't accepting anything until Death was knocking at his doorstep with a fist closed around it's scythe and unremorseful eyes staring back at him.
There's still time, a small voice urged at the back of his head. Not dead. Not yet.
Maybe it was because his mind was jumbled, his thoughts loose orbs bouncing around in a room of endless space. There was no organization like he was used to. Nothing made sense. Nothing stuck. But he clung to the impossible ━━ that the voice he heard wasn't disembodied, that it was familiar and deep and wonderful.
He couldn't turn his head fast enough against the pillow underneath his head. Movements sluggish, he scoped the expanse of the room he rested in. The end of the bed frame, the paintings on the wall, the windows, the orange and white tiger pelt in the middle of the floor (the sight made an uncomfortable feeling settle in his chest), the door, the empty chair at his bedside.
His brain seemed to grasp onto the last detail he picked out, repeating the words over and over ━━ empty, empty, empty ━━ until the anxious pull in his stomach shifted to something more urgent. He wanted to pull his knees to his chest and curl up in a ball that would never come unwound. If it weren't difficult to move his fingers without their stiffness preventing him from curling his index finger, he would have already accomplished that feat.
A rustling at the end of the bed caught his attention. It was a struggle to return his gaze to where it had been when he first opened his eyes, but once his head was perfectly centered on the too-soft pillow he could make out the shape of a large, bristling creature stretching. It's head came into view over the end of the bed, brilliant blue eyes seeming to be the only light that truly registered to him in the night.
When the tiger stood to her full height, she looked more magnificent than he remembered. Her gaze was strong and unrelenting as she stalked around the edge of the mattress, her body pressed tightly against the side of the bed. She came to lay her large head over where his hand rested, unmoving, underneath the blanket, blinking slowly.
Her presence was a relief.
The pelt on the floor suddenly felt more repulsive as he met the tigers eyes. As hard as it was to read her expression, he could see she was concerned. Her ears were pulled back against her head, and, despite not being able to reach his hand, she nuzzled his side with her nose. She growled, the sound vibrating through his arm, when he made no moves to embrace her.
He had only ever wished animals could communicate a few moments in his life. Now, he felt the desperation to be able to warn her of his condition. She had always had all-knowing eyes. Like she understood perfectly when he spoke to her while he worked. Her reactions made it seem like she was paying attention. (If only she could speak, then everything would be so much easier).
Loneliness seized his heart, squeezing hard and unforgiving. It was most unpleasant, and his lips turned down at the corners once he recognized the feeling.
The tiger's leg scraped against the floors as she adjusted her position. The metal appendage protested only slightly under her weight. Her eyes didn't leave him once. Almost like she was afraid taking her eyes off him for one second would do him harm, like she would miss something of great importance.
He let out a harsh cough that scratched the back of his throat. The tiger's fur stood on end.
His mouth was dry and voice raspy as he attempted to say something for the first time since he regained consciousness. His throat protested against the words that formed on his tongue, but he forced them past his dry lips.
"Go back."
She stared at him for too long. Then, almost like something finally registered in her mind, she turned away from him abruptly, head rearing backwards like he'd struck her. She huffed on her way to the door, the pads of her large paws softly thudding against the floor contrasting against the click of metal meeting wood. Once she was at the door, she pulled the handle between her teeth and pulled until it opened a crack.
The hall on the outside was dark, the black tiger slinking into it like a shadow.
After she disappeared, sleep grasped at the threads of his mind. And, finally, he let it take him into a deep slumber.
But not before he let himself wonder if the beautiful tiger would find the man she would be looking for. And, maybe, a small part of him hoped she would bring him back with her.
