I spend the next few days in a haze of pain and exhaustion. Lena keeps me heavily medicated, the painkillers making my mind fuzzy, my thoughts slow. It's a welcome distraction, a way to escape from the reality of my situation, from the memories of the surge, of the creature, of Arden's near death.
Hestia is a constant presence, her small hand often holding mine, her quiet company a comfort. She doesn't speak, of course, but she doesn't need to. Just having her there, knowing she's safe, is enough. I've caught her humming, sometimes, a soft, soothing melody that eases some of the tension in my chest.
Alistair... is another matter. He's there too, but he's distant, quiet. He helps when he's needed, but he doesn't stay long, doesn't engage in conversation. His eyes are haunted, his expression guarded. I want to talk to him, to address what happened between us, but I can't find the words. And I don't think he wants to.
As for Arden, I don't see him much. He's recovering too, his injuries more severe than mine. But Lena assures me he's going to be okay, that he's strong, that he'll pull through. I cling to that, to the knowledge that he's alive. It's the only thing that makes the pain, the fear, worth it.
My body is a mess of bandages and burns, my skin angry and raw. Lena changes the dressings regularly, her touch gentle, her voice soothing. She explains the extent of my injuries, the chemicals in the water that caused the burns, the damage to my lungs from inhaling them. It's a grim diagnosis, but she's optimistic. She says I'll heal, that with time, the pain will lessen, the scars will fade. I don't know if I believe her, but I appreciate the effort.
It's about a week before I'm able to stay awake for longer periods, before the painkillers are reduced, the haze lifting. My mind is clearer, my thoughts sharper. But that also means the memories are clearer, the horror of the surge more vivid. I wake up screaming sometimes, the image of the creature, of Arden being pulled under, playing over and over in my mind. It's a nightmare I can't escape, a trauma that clings to me, even when I'm awake.
One day, after a particularly bad episode, I just... sit up in bed. I don't want to sleep. Any comfort, any dreamlessness I'd finally reached before has been entirely removed from me now.
I keep seeing those blue eyes.
I have to... I have to do something.
I throw the blankets off and swing my legs over the side of the bed, my movements slow, careful. Every inch of me hurts, my skin still tender, my muscles stiff. But I'm done lying here, done being helpless. I need to move, to do something, anything to distract myself.
I stand up, my legs shaky, my balance unsteady. I take a step, then another, my hand gripping the edge of the bed for support. It's a slow, painful process, but I'm determined. I make it to the door, my breath coming in short gasps, my body protesting every movement.
The door, of course, decides to open at that very moment. I stumble backward and for a moment, I think I might fall.
"Whoa-!" An arm wraps around my waist and pulls me chest to chest with...
"A-Alistair." I look up at him, breathless. "I'm fine."
"The hell you are!" He says, his tone sharp. "What do you think you're doing?" He guides me back to the bed, his touch gentle despite his harsh words. "You shouldn't be up and about, not yet."
"I can't just lie here anymore." I protest, but I don't fight him as he helps me sit down. "I'm going crazy, Alistair."
"Join the club..." He mutters, and then sighs, shaking his head. "If it keeps you in bed, I'll... find some books. Read 'em to you or something." His hand lingers on my arm, his gaze fixed on mine.
I look up at him, at the worry in his eyes, the tension in his posture. I want to reach out, to touch him, to...
Well.
I'd like to kiss him again, I think. But that's probably. Not on the table. I haven't been able to even slightly broach that subject with him since then. It doesn't seem like he wants to talk about it at all.
I don't have a lot of experiences with boys. Or - well. He's a man but...! I'm just not sure what to do here. He kissed me, and it was incredible and then he... he didn't say anything about it. And he's been avoiding me, and I don't know if it was just because he was... caught up in the moment or... what. And I don't know how to ask. I can't just... ask him if he liked it. If he wants to do it again, or-!
Why am I even thinking about this? It's stupid. We're in the middle of a crisis, people are dead, we're barely holding on, and I'm worried about whether or not Alistair wants to kiss me again. It's ridiculous.
I drop my gaze, my cheeks heating. "Books would be nice." I mumble, my fingers picking at the bandages on my arm.
He's quiet for a moment, then he sighs, sitting down next to me. "Sarah... I..."
I look up at him, my heart skipping a beat. Is he... is he going to talk about it?
"I uh. Actually... came here to give you these." He holds up the hand that he'd been keeping out of my sight all this time.
He's holding... the most offensively tiny, scrawny, and ugly looking bundle of flowers I've seen in my life. And he is determinedly not looking at me. In fact, his face is a brilliant red. "I just. Lena. Said that these might have some kind of medicinal properties..."
Crushed up into powder. Not handed to me in a bouquet. That was.... he knew... surely he had to know that? This had to be intentional.
I press my lips together to keep from laughing at him. I'm not entirely sure if it's from humor, or something else. I take the flowers from him. They're not pretty, or soft, and they... also smell bad.
"Where...did you get these....?" I ask, trying to keep the smile out of my voice. I don't want to hurt his feelings. "They smell like... mold."
"The beach. Where else...?" He grumbles.
I glance up at him, to see his ears and neck are bright red. He's. Embarrassed. And angry about it, it seems. I turn the bundle over in my hands, considering them.
"I see... I didn't know flowers could grow on the beach." I say, turning my gaze back to them.
I'm not going to ask him why he brought me salty, moldy looking flowers. But he answers that for me anyway.
"They. Should. Make you feel better. It's... traditional." He says, through grit teeth. "And they're the only ones. I could find."
"Well..." I smile, turning the bundle over, and turn my gaze back up to him. "I think they're beautiful."
"You're a damn liar." He snaps, but he looks at me, and his expression softens.
I don't answer. I just reach out and set the flowers on the bedside table, then take his hand in mine. I don't know what else to do, what else to say. I feel... like I should do something more. This... Alistair kissed me. Then he brought me flowers. I should do... something. But I don't know what that is, so I just intertwine our fingers.
He stiffens, then his hand grips mine, his gaze fixed on our joined hands. "You..." He swallows. "You scared the shit out of me." He admits. "Don't do that again."
"I'm sor-..." No, he didn't like that answer last time. I shake my head and squeeze his hand. "I'll. Try not to."
He looks up at me, and the look on his face makes my chest feel tight. It's... intense. So intense. And then his eyes dart away, like he's not sure he wants to look at me. "I..."
I wait. I don't push, I don't say anything. I just... sit here with him, holding his hand, letting him take his time.
"I know you're mad at me. For. What I did." His jaw clenches. "I. Won't. Do that. Again." His gaze is still trained somewhere to the side. "I just... wanted to... apologize."
"Who... said I'm mad?" I murmur. My face hurts. It always hurts since I woke up after my little swim, But it hurts more now, suddenly, and I cough. "Unless. You really don't do it again. Then.... then I would be."
I'm going to scream. I'm going to die. I'm going to scream and then die. The moment that I say that, I- I don't know why! - immediately regret it. It's... so....! What the hell?! I'm not allowed to speak for another ten years!
Maybe...! Twenty!
Ugh, why... did I think that would sound cool....?!
Alistair is staring at me. His lips have parted a little and his eyes are wide. I think I'm going to melt into a pile of sand and wash out into the beach. "What... I-" I try to save myself. I have to save myself. But my throat is so dry and my mouth isn't working.
I'm going to dive back into the sea.
"Please. Just. give me. A gag. Forever."
I don't even know what I'm saying anymore. I don't know why I'm saying any of this. I've always been bad at this. I'm just going to go back to sleep. Forever.
"You would look good with one."
"Eii?!" My voice cracks and I clap my hand over my mouth, face turning bright red.
Alistair blinks and his cheeks darken. "I meant! That-" He holds up his hands defensively. "That w-was a joke!" He stands up abruptly. "I've got! I gotta find those books." He turns and speed walks out of the room, slamming the door behind him, before I can even hope to respond.