"I will return," he promises.
With that, he dissipates out my partially open window.
Shadow’s absence, though brief, hits like withdrawal—shaky, raw, and sudden. I didn’t know how much I’d needed him until he was gone. Time slows painfully again, until I’m almost convinced it’s stopped.
I toss and turn, seeking any relief, but it’s no use. My room is now a prison.
Later, the window creaks and a breeze carries him back in. Shadow materializes, in his hands, a treasure trove of human remedies: a bottle of amber liquid—cough syrup—a box of pills, and a steaming mug that smells of mint and honey.
Maybe I’ve slipped into the hallucination phase—where monsters bring you cough syrup and broken girls get to rest.
Shadow moves with a cautious grace, setting the items on my nightstand. "For pain," he says, pushing the pills towardme, along with a glass of water. "And your throat," he adds, handing me the mug.
I eye the medicine warily, the independent part of me screaming to refuse, to not show weakness. I don’t need anybody. I don’t need his help.
But damn if I don’t want it.
Agony wins over pride. With trembling hands I take the pills, the water washing down the bitterness. With each careful sip of tea, Freddy Krueger is drowned out.
Shadow watches, his head cocked, as if learning. This must be new for him, caring for a human.
I want to thank him, but the words are expensive, and I’ve spent too much already. Instead, I lean back, allowing the soothing warmth of the tea to spread through me. It somehow makes me feel cooler instead of more feverish.
With a motion that’s almost tender, he reaches out. He strokes my back in a rhythmic motion. Achy muscles uncoil, and my eyes flutter shut. This is the first true relief I’ve felt in days.
"Rest now," he murmurs.
And I do, my breaths evening out, the tension melting away under his touch.
Even in dreams, he never leaves me. A shade in the mist. My sentinel. My secret.
It will always be us. And I sleep easier knowing nothing can tear us apart from each other.
I whimper. "No. No, you can’t leave me."
My hands grab for Shadow again, but now he’s at the foot of the bed. I don’t even care that I’m sweaty, covered in my owndesire, and half dressed. Panic pours into my brain like a million angry red ants, each one biting and stinging.
He said he won’t come back with such finality that I can’t even breathe or think through the blind fear.
"I can’t protect you, and this cannot ever happen again," he says, and I detect mournful regret.
"Because you don’t love me?" I throw the words like knives, hoping one might stick deep enough to keep him here.
I’m desperate to get him to stay, but I feel him slipping through my fingers all the faster.
Shadow doesn’t answer. His indifference is so much worse than if he yelled.
I’m losing him.
"You can’t leave me again," I insist.
"I’m sorry I failed you so much. It won’t happen again."
He disappears under the bed just as I scramble after him. But for the thousandth time, I’m too late. My fists pound against the ground as a flood of tears wrenches straight from my heart. "No, no, don’t leave me. You said you’d always be with me."
He doesn’t come back, but I continue to lay there on the floor, dehydrated, tearstained with bruised fists and an empty black heart.
Yet again, Evie ruins her own life in spectacular fucking fashion—again.
