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It wasn’t leftover fear from his attack that made her unable to settle. Or not just that, because of course that had scared her. Luka hadn’t been attacking her, not specifically, but in his fever-ridden state, it could happen again. That was why he’d divested himself of his weapons. She understood that.
What panicked her more than the attack was the reason behind it. Luka was so very ill. Beyond anything she had seen. Alina was worried that she wouldn’t be able to care for him properly; she’d never cared for anyone.
Even in the beginning, the woman who had been tasked with raising her had left her alone. She’d been young, barely able to keep herself fed with applesauce pouches and other snacks. The first time she’d cried and begged the woman to stay, she’d been beaten. That hadn’t prevented her from asking again, but she soon realized she’d get the same reaction each time, and it hadn’t seemed quite as difficult to be alone.
Alina had been healthy most of the time despite her diet. Often she raced around the woods. The outdoors gave her new things to draw. Hearing the animals and insects around her had made her feel less alone.
Of course, the woman would beat her if she appeared and Alina wasn’t at home. Since she also beat her if she was home, Alina did what made the time pass the easiest.
She was only sick in a bedridden way once. She hadn’t been able to keep any food down that time and was too weak to clean up. The smell had made her vomit more. She’d heard the woman come during that time, heard the disgust followed by the words that had made her last hope for comfort shrivel up. The woman wanted her to die.
Alina recovered out of sheer stubbornness. The worst passed, though the weakness lingered for longer than she expected. She forced herself to get out of bed for longer spurts until she could build up her stamina. The woman had never cleaned the mess when she’d stopped by, so that was Alina’s first task for herself. Eventually she built up to moving around outside again. She never knew what illness she’d gotten, just that for quite a while her energy didn’t return.
That was when painting and drawing became her favorite activities. She’d already enjoyed it, but the outdoors often called. After the illness, she preferred staying in and focusing on her art.
All because she hadn’t known how to properly care for herself when she was sick. As Luka’s breathing became labored again throughout the night, she worried it would stop altogether.
There wasn’t much Alina could do. Wet cloths on his head had to be replaced often during his fever. His bandage over his stomach was hot to the touch, but it wasn’t soaked through with blood, so she left it alone.
When his fever hadn’t broken by morning, she did what helped her most when worry consumed her back in the cabin. She talked to herself.
Technically, she talked to Luka, but since his eyes never opened and his breathing didn’t change, she knew he didn’t hear her. The sound of her own voice had soothed her often over the years.
It was different imagining someone else was listening. It was as if she was sharing her life with someone, something she’d never done. She told him all about the time she’d been sick as a child. That led to talking about the woman, but memories of how she was treated made her anxiety worse. In the times he rested almost comfortably, she went to the wall to draw, and she talked through the techniques she used.
Art books had been the one gift that the woman had truly given her. Alina was sure that she mispronounced most of the words she’d learned from them, but she didn’t care.
She’d always enjoyed drawing faces the most. When she was younger, it had been a way to remind herself that there had once been people in her life. She’d never drawn the woman’s face, but she’d drawn her mother’s and her father’s and some of the Bratva soldiers she remembered. She’d had a sister once, but she had been much older, and Alina had only seen her once or twice. While trying to recall what she looked like, she’d drawn herself. That had become her favorite subject at the time.
Another face had taken over as her favorite now, though. She drew him as he rested fitfully. While she did, she admitted aloud how she couldn’t seem to draw him properly. He often turned out softer than he should be.
Unlike the likeness of Giovanni she’d drawn. Somehow the Di Salvo boss looked even colder in pencil. Enzo was the opposite, smiling when she created him, so easy to draw that she felt one likeness was enough. She was running out of wall.
Alina washed her hands before deciding it was time to change Luka’s bandage. The doctor had said twice a day. Nerves skittered along her arms as she worked on the adhesive, watching Luka’s face. It was impossible not to touch him at all while changing the bandage.
His eyes opened suddenly, giving her a moment of warning before his shoulders lifted from the bed in his instinct to bolt.
Alina clamped her hands on his shoulders, trying to push him down. “Please, Luka,” she called. The sound of her voice seemed to slip inside him, making him stiffen but stop struggling against her. He followed her urging to lie back, and she quickly released his shoulders.
Since he was awake, she left the adhesive to fetch his pills. The antibiotic was most important. This time he accepted the glass of water, lifting his head from the bed enough to swallow. He drained the glass, which didn’t surprise her, given how much fluid he’d been losing from the fever that still hadn’t broken.
The latest cloth was nearly dry where it had landed on his chest. She returned to the bathroom with it and the glass, then brought both back full of water. When Luka collapsed to the mattress after draining the glass again, her hands hovered over his stomach.
“Fresh bandages are necessary to avoid infection,” she explained, letting her hands resume their work. Her nails picked at the last edges of adhesive, and his stomach tightened with tension.
Luka’s gaze had shifted past her to the covered wall. It seemed to be focused on the new drawing of Giovanni.
“Do you remember him being here?” she asked as she lifted the old bandage away, but she knew better than to wait for a response. She told Luka all about when Giovanni and Enzo had been there as she replaced his bandage. Soon the adhesive was back in place, and she could stop touching him. She pulled the covers up over him and noticed that his eyes had closed and his breathing sounded less labored than before.
As he rested peacefully, she attempted to draw him yet again, hoping the worst was over.
Her hopes were dashed as his fever rose to new heights after darkness fell. It seemed like the wet cloth was sucked dry as soon as she laid it over his forehead. Not sure what the best recourse was, she tugged him upright enough to take both the antibiotic and pain relievers. It was the last of the latter, though. She dragged the nightstand with the bowl of water closer. While one cloth lay against Luka’s forehead, she began soaking another to bathe him with in the hope it would help.
“I might need to run to the store.” She was tempted to go outside and shout into the night to see if the Di Salvos were keeping tabs on things, but she’d been the one to say she would take care of him.
Her arm became leaden as she rubbed the damp cloth over his own. Exhaustion pulled at her, but she was too scared to try to sleep. She was terrified that his choppy breath would be gone when she woke. More hours passed, and still his fever didn’t break.
“I’m afraid you’re going to die. You’d probably say I was foolish if you were awake.” Alina let out her breath, shaking her head as she moved the cloth back to the bowl. “I am foolish. I thought I knew what fear was. All the times that woman beat me, I thought that was the worst that could happen. Then those men came.” Her breath hitched as she wrung out the rag. “Those men. They knocked me around a little but really began beating on the woman. They thought it would hurt me. The way she begged and cried, just like I used to, as they hit her and hit her…” She brought the rag back to Luka’s neck, careful to only let the cloth rest against him. She hadn’t wrung it dry enough, and water trickled to the side. “I probably should have been even more scared. I wasn’t, though. I watched them beat the life out of her, and I wondered if that was what happiness felt like.” Her lips pressed together as she chased the drops with the cloth, then skipped over to his arms. The doctor had only left his undershirt on. In the darkness, she could imagine each tattoo that covered his skin. She’d drawn most of them in small, empty parts of the wall she’d found.
