I take in deep breaths, willing myself to relax, willing my hands to stop shaking. I know that Logan’s attempt at humor is meant to calm me down. I can still feel the tinge of pain and anxiety in his voice. I know that his love for Damien is only second to mine.
“Go on,” Logan encourages me softly. “You can do it. Don’t bother with the disinfectant. We’ll have time later to disinfect. Right now, all that matters is stopping the bleeding.
I take one last deep breath then unbutton Damien’s shirt. I barely take in his pale beauty, the way his muscles gleam in the soft moonlight. My full attention is on the large, ugly gash in the middle of his stomach. I tear my eyes away from it and look at the tiny needle that I’m somehow supposed to push into his skin. It feels impossible.
“Do it, Seraphina,” orders Logan.
I thread the needle with shaking hands as Damien smiles at me wordlessly. He tries once more to stroke my cheek, but his hand falls short. I grab it and hold it to me as with the other, I plunge the needle into his skin.
His eyes narrow in pain, but he merely smiles reassuringly. Even near death, he somehow manages to protect me.
Somehow, I find the strength to push the needle in again and again, threading it around his wound, sewing it shut. It’s far from perfect, but I feel hopeful when I see the bleeding slowing down. It only trickles out now through the uneven seams.
“Okay,” I breathe into the phone. “Okay, I did it.”
“You’re doing great,” soothes Logan. “He’s going to be alright, Seraphina. I promise you he’ll be alright. And it’ll be thanks toyou.”
Swallowing my pain, I lie down beside Damien and let my head fall against that special nook between his throat and his shoulder. I put his hand in my hair and wind his fingers through my strands, hunting for the way his stroking always made me feel. I breathe in his scent, careful not to touch his injury. Logan’s still talking to me, but I feel my mind drifting. I’ve placed Damien’s other hand over my body and I cuddle up to him, trying to imagine that he’s holding me. His hands are twitching as if he’s doing his best to respond to my touch, but after a while, I’m aware that he’s stopped moving. I’m too scared, though, to check if he’s still breathing. I close my eyes, allowing myself to give in to a hopeless dream.
The next thing I’m aware of is two strong hands lifting me off of him, and a voice in my ear. “Everything’s going to be fine, Seraphina. Come here.”
In the darkness, in my bleary state, I barely make out Everest’s mop of blond hair. He grasps me around the waist and I tumble forward. He guides me gently through the patch of forest to a car parked next to the cabin. I sense other men behind us lifting up Damien’s body, and pain ricochets through my body as I wonder once more if he’s alive.
I settle numbly into the back of the car, and Everest goes to sit in the passenger seat. Igor is waiting at the wheel, and as soon as we enter, he turns on the engine. I look around and see that we’re in a van with three rows of seats. Those behind me have been removed. Moments later, the light of the car illuminates Logan and Vincent as they place Damien in the back. He’s unconscious, so white in the face that I think he must be dead, and I nearly keel over in despair.
“Still breathing,” murmurs Logan, loud enough that I can hear, and I cling onto that for dear life.
He crouches down on the floor beside Damien, holding hishead in his lap, immobilizing him. I glance at Logan and my heart hurts, this time for him, when I see his drawn features and the pain in his eyes. It must be nearly as hard for him as it is for me.
But not as hard. No one can be suffering more than me right now.
I lean back against my seat, closing my eyes, my entire body tense with the threat of loss that hangs heavy in the air.
I’m hardly aware of the car driving backward, bumping through the small path covered with underbrush until it gets to a real road. Then it speeds up, darting forward at a breath-stealing pace. Everest’s talking in a quiet, undecipherable voice into his cell phone, but I can tell from the way he’s hunched forward, his shoulders rigid, how stressed he is. Somehow it calms me, to feel surrounded by these people. If anyone can save Damien, it’s them.
Rain starts to fall lightly before turning into a thick sheet that tumbles from the sky, which is occasionally illuminated by a crack of lightning. I turn my face to the window, looking at the raindrops dash against the glass. It’s strange to see how things have come full circle in a way. I was once their captive. Now I’m the one calling them to me. I’m the one crying because my kidnapper is lying unconscious in the back of the van.
Unconscious, dying, and I didn’t save him.
Stupid, pointless, weak Seraphina.
Hopeless, sad, pathetic Seraphina.
You can’t have anything in this life, so why do you even fucking try? Nothing good ever chooses you. Your fate is to suffer, and then to die, like the stupid, shitty little jellyfish that you are.
I coat myself in bitter thoughts of pity and self-hatred, but somehow, exhaustion gets the better of me. Despite my world unraveling before me, somehow, I sink into a deep, thoughuncomfortable sleep.
I’m startled awake by an arm shaking me. For one delicious moment, I imagine it’s Damien, and I nestle closer to him, before the strange, citrusy scent makes me stiffen. It’s not Damien, it’s Logan.
“We’re here,” he says quietly, helping me out of the car and guiding me to a small, nondescript motel.
His jaw is tight, and panic eats at me. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.
“Where’s Damien?”
“Inside.”
His curt reply does nothing to calm my fear. We walk down the hallway and through one of the cracked doors I see Damien lying on a bed, his face ash-grey in the flickering motel light. Doctor Farley is hurrying around him, doing things I can’t see.
