“I’m here.”
The voice is a tether. It wraps around my wrist, tight and unyielding. It burns, but it’s a good burn. It’s the burn of life.
“I’ll wait for you, my love.”
The darkness pulls harder, heavy and seductive.She is safe,it whispers.You did your job. You can rest now.
“Fight for us.”
Her warm sweet voice cuts through the cold.
I reach for the sound of her voice. I kick against the darkness.
I try to move, but I have no body.
I try to scream, but I have no breath.
* * *
Della
Night has fallen over Chicago. The window of the private suite reflects the room back at me—the machines, the bed, and the woman sitting beside it.
My stomach gives a sharp, hollow cramp.
I haven't eaten since... I can't remember. A bagel in San Diego? That feels like a week ago.
My instinct is to ignore it. To starve. To sit here and hold his hand until he wakes up, punishing myself with deprivation until he is safe. That’s what the old Della would have done.
But then, the cramp comes again, followed by a wave of dizziness.
“We have to be strong. All three of us.”
I look at Dorian. He hasn't moved, but his stats on the monitor are steady. The rhythmic whoosh of the ventilator is the only lullaby we have.
"I have to go for a minute," I tell him, my voice raspy. "Don't you dare go anywhere."
I stand up, my legs stiff. The walk to the cafeteria feels like moving underwater, but it is actually a good thing to move. I look at the food stations, nausea lurking at the edges.
Eat,I command myself.Not for you. For sweet pea.
I decide for a soup and a chicken salad. Something light. I didn’t realize how hungry I was till I started eating. I smile as I had back to the elevator, hand resting on my stomach.Thank you, sweet pea for taking care of me.
The smile fades when I open the door and I see Dorian inert, connected to all the tubes and beeping machines. So, I take a deep breath.
He will be fine. He must be.
I lower the side rail and carefully, so carefully, curl up on the small space of mattress beside his hip, avoiding the tubes and wires.
I rest my head near his shoulder, inhaling the scent of antiseptic and... underneath it... him. Cedar and rain.
I place one hand on his chest, feeling the mechanical rise and fall, and the other on my stomach.
"I've got us," I whisper into the silence. "I'm holding the line now, Dorian. Just find your way back to it."
I stay like that for a long time—one hand anchored over his heart, the other shielding the tiny flicker of life inside me.
The past is gone. The future is to come.
