Cold Fire [SAMPLE]

[38]

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

It’s happened so many times: the world fading to black and then relighting moments later somewhere warm and bright and safe, a familiar and comforting presence almost always by my side. Not always the same one, but always there, always watching and hoping, filling the time before my awakening with whispered words and nervous habits – clasping and unclasping hands, tap, tap, tapping on the arm of the chair, the bedside table, the dusty wall.

There’s always someone. And that’s what I hold on to as I wake: the promise that I am not alone, that I’ll never be alone.

I’m in that room again, the one with the ordinary ceiling, thin dark cracks spread across the white like an inverted spider-web. I don’t need to look to know he’s there, but I do anyway, my eyes falling on his limp form, arms covered in white bandages. He’s sitting in a chair, his upper body sprawled across the bedside table, eyes lightly shut. He’s sleeping.

How long has he been here? How long has he stayed by my side, even while his own injuries demanded rest? He’s wearing a watch and the time says: 20:08. I haven’t been out for too long then, not unless it’s still Monday. I hope it’s still Monday.

I look at him again, at his face which seems so peaceful, so gorgeous even while sleeping. And as if he can sense me watching, his eyes flutter open and he meets my gaze. For a while, we just stare at each other, shrouded by a quiet that gives everything a dream-like quality. Then he extends a tentative arm, his hand pausing above my cheek as if asking permission.

“Don’t,” I whisper as his fingers get close, hovering millimetres from the burning cold surface of my skin.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, and then his fingers drop onto my icy cheek. He runs them lightly down the side of my face and I lay still, allowing myself to melt into his eyes, into his touch. He doesn’t wince – doesn’t even notice the pain.

Then I snap out of it. Abruptly, I sit up in bed, all of my yesterday’s rushing back into my mind. Caden’s arm falls away and he pushes himself up off the table, a frown on his face.

“What is it?” he asks.

A look at him, at his deep brown eyes pooling with concern. And then looking away. Because I can’t handle it – it being the way he looks at me and the way I know I look at him. He shouldn’t affect me like this.

“Nothing,” I say, and it’s all lies. I’m as far from nothing – from feeling nothing – as I’ve ever been and it scares me.

Why are you scared? whispers that voice in my mind. And I just sit in silence, because it’s a question I don’t have the answer to, another lock without a key.

Caden’s still there, still watching me with unrestrained concern. He’s not ashamed of what he did, but then again, I don’t really expect him to be – I don’t want him to be.

“Are you okay?”

Of course I’m not okay! I yell hopelessly at the walls of my mind. I sigh. “I’m fine. I just need some time to myself.”

“If it was something I–”

“Please,” I say. I meet his gaze. “Please, just go.” There are tears welling up in my eyes and I don’t know why. I look down at my hands, avoiding eye contact, and wait for him to move.

Caden stands. “I’ll be downstairs.”

A moment later, he’s outside and the door is shut behind him. In the silence, I burst into tears, even as the ghost of his touch burns on my freezing cold cheek.