SO COLD (18+) currently editing

Chapter 43.5

SO COLD­

I was sat in a corner of the room with my legs crossed, a book in my hand. It was a romantic novel. Morris, for all his cynical talk, was an avid fan of French kisses and love that survived time. I was on page four and the words had blurred, slipping down the page. My attention flitted from one thing to the other. Soon enough the book was dropped on my lap and the night sky gathered my interest. It was a warm, dusky 11 o' clock. I had slept till nine in the evening and I woke up feeling restless. The early morning events captured me in repetitive nightmares of running barefoot through a dense forest and then being thrown forward by the force of a bullet in my back. The pain had felt real and I woke up in sweat-soaked sheets. I then shared dinner with Morris: cheesy spinach quiche.

A monitor beeped steadily. Cole was half-naked, his chest was bruised, purple and blue splotches scattered across his skin. He was hooked up to an IV stand and other than his slow breathing, remained quiet. There was a wardrobe and a nightstand with a jug of water and not much else in the room. My body was weighed down with worry, my chest was crushed. While the doctor reassured me he would be fine, nothing but Cole waking up would ease the anxious wasps in my rib cage.

My fingers twitched. Reflecting back to the stretch of time when I thought he was going to die on the cold floor was torture. His blood stained my skin and although I had scrubbed myself clean with a bar of soap, I still felt the wet liquid, a reminder of what I could've lost. We were ten steps into our relationship but it seemed like fifty. Clearly, I liked him more than I would care to admit to myself. The idea of him dying seemed like the end of my life and that was drastic thinking. It was insane. Why was I acting like an emo from tumblr? We've hardly established our emotions for each other. There was no need for me to gallop ahead.

I wanted to down a bottle of whiskey and I was glad I didn't. I was still seven months alcohol-free, if I had relapsed I don't believe I would've been able to pull myself back.

A soft groan from Cole yanked me back to the room. The book fell to the floor as I rushed to his side. His eyes opened, squinted, closed and opened again. He attempted to speak but his throat was too dry. "Wait." I poured him a glass of water and lifted his head, he tried holding the glass but I shrugged him away. "I got it." I sounded angry and I shouldn't be. This was what I wanted. Sometimes I confused myself with my own feelings.

"Where am – oh," his eyelids squeezed shut as he shifted in pain, grimacing. "Mother fuck. That hurts. My chest hurts like a bitch."

"You've broken four of your ribs and your elbow is fractured and that's the worst of your wounds. Doc says you'll heal in a couple of weeks and you'll be staying here for a while so he can keep an eye on you." I set the glass down on the bedside table. "You've been out for most of the day." I recapped everything that had happened and he listened intently.

The emotions on his face ranged from alarm to anger to weariness. His hand reached for mine, concerned gaze seeking my own. "Are you OK?"

"Yeah," I inhaled quickly. "No, actually. I was out of my mind. I thought you were going to die. I was terrified."

"Lie down,"

"No, you need your space–"

He insisted, tugging on my wrist. "If you take up too much space, I'll push you off the bed."

I was careful of his bruises, stiffly resting beside him. He turned my cheek towards him, kissing me briefly. "Thank you." He said sincerely.

"It was nothing. What's a little PTSD and years of therapy?" My shoulders relaxed and I kissed him once, twice and then let my head fall on the pillow. I loved being close to him. It was a great feeling. Secure. That's what I felt: safe, finally able to let the antsy butterflies free from their cage. "We've got matching stitched scars on our heads. It's relationship goals."

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"Stop worrying. You were supposed to laugh."

"It was a shit joke."

"If you didn't have your ribs broken, I'd punch you."

"Save it for later." He winced.

"Should I get Morris?"

"No," he straightened his expression. "No, stay with me. Talk to me."

"What about?"

"Anything."

I looked at him, absent from the present, away in thought. My hand raised and grazed through his beard. "Normally I would have a thousand words and I could babble until I lose my voice but...I don't know. I am upset."

"Why?"

"Forget it. I'll guilt-trip you some other day."

"Shay."

"Cole."

"Tell me."

"Fine. I was just imagining a different life, a nine to five job. A mortgage. Picket fences and friendly neighbours. Late night TV shows and takeaways and cheap wine. A girlfriend. No drugs, guns, fights. No war against the mayor or assassination attempts. But... I can't. You don't fit in any other mould. This is who you are and there's no easy way out for you."

He furrowed his brow. "I thought this would be about you. Is that what you want? A different life?"

"No,"

"Look at me. Is that what you want?"

"Yes, but I also want you. I like you a lot. And I can go back to my uncle and go to church and have a normal heart rate but then you won't be there and I feel very nervous right now. I'm embarrassed. Stop staring at me, Cole."

"You can have that life and a life with me."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, come on, Cole. You shut me out at every opportunity. I'm always left in the dark. I'm not going to be some housewife who stays at home while you go out and then pretend everything's a-fucking-OK when you show up with a bullet wound. No, I want to be involved. I can take care of myself. I'm not a fragile Amazon package."

"It was only a suggestion."

"And now you're mad."

"I'm not."

"I can tell by your tone of voice. Are we really going to argue about this?"

"It's too dangerous for you, I've already made up my mind. You're out."

"So I should stay at your home and feed your dogs and cook you dinner? We already tried that. You're pissing me off, Cole."

"What more do you need?"

"Fuck off."

"That's not an answer." He refused to budge when I tried to shove him away from me, his hold tightening, and voice cold. "Where are you going?"

"You're irritating me, either we agree to disagree and break up or you budge your stubborn ass and we can continue being more than friends."

"OK."

"You goddamn liar."

"I agreed, didn't I?"

"I hate you."

"No, you don't. You practically confessed your love for me two minutes ago. Now you're glaring, great. What did I do?"

"You're complying now but you're going to go back on your word later and I just want to tell you that if you do that I'm packing up my shit and leaving you."

"I'd like to see you try."

"Don't growl at me, Cole. You're not a dog."

"You give me a goddamn headache sometimes." He sighed.

"Good. Are you hungry? I can fetch you your dinner."

"Water first."

After he was hydrated and fed, we watched a couple of movies and avoided arguments and then gradually, drowsily, slowly fell asleep, slumped on pillows on the same bed.

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sorry guys i can't update anymore i have to go on a diet