Page 171 of Dark Night of the Soul

He started to go, but I stopped him.

“You’re staying?” I don’t know why that surprised me.

One corner of his mouth lifted. “He’d never forgive me if anything happened to you.”

Like that was pre-planned. I wondered if they’d talked about it. I didn’t ask. The answer felt obvious.

And then he slipped out of the room, pulling the door closed but leaving it cracked behind him.

I dropped the bottle on the floor, then put my head down on the edge of the mattress.

And waited.

I fell asleep again.

I snapped awake, pain lancing down my back and my arms were numb. My head pounded, thick with sleep fog. And my arm under the bandage throbbed with every pump of my heart. I’d ignored it for hours. Couldn’t ignore it much longer. A quick glance at it showed blood staining it in a small circle. I was going to need help with that. Later. When he wasn’t dying.

This sucked.

I tested his pulse. Slow. Steady. Still there.

His fingers twitched. Such a small movement. It meant everything. My heart skipped. I took his hand and then… a faint squeeze.

He made a gruff sound. His brows drew together. Like he was trying to decide how angry he was going to be because he was incapacitated. Which seemed so much like him.

I gave his hand a squeeze back.

His eyes came open. I stopped breathing.

They were unfocused at first. Dazed. Clouded with pain and whatever drugs the doctor had given him. But they found me anyway. Like they always did.

And in them I saw everything—relief, clarity, anger, relief again—all at once. He said nothing as he looked at me.

“Hi,” I whispered.

I was still wearing the tank stained with blood. He saw the bandage right away.

“You’re hurt.” His voice was rough, gravelly, thick.

“I’m fine,” I said.

“The others?”

“They’re fine, too. You did your dramatic hero thing.”

A corner of his mouth twitched. He knew I was lying. Then he shifted and hissed in pain.

“Don’t move,” I said. “You’re on strict orders.”

His thumb brushed over my knuckles. A deliberate touch. “You yelled at me.”

I blinked. “I did?” I searched my memory. Everything was such a blur.

“If I died, you’d kill me.” For a second, the familiar dry humor was back.

“Oh. I suppose I did,” I said, nodding, remembering. “Good thing you didn’t die then. Or this would be a totally different conversation.”

This time he did smirk. “Funny girl.” Then he closed his eyes. My stomach dropped. But no, his breathing stayed steady. He was exhausted. “How long?”