“What?”
“About Tiger liking you the most.”
He shuts the door and walks off.
I’m left in silence.
Tears prick my eyes.
My chest has never felt this pain before.
Chapter Thirty: Tigerlily
My body feels heavy.
Like I’m underwater. Like gravity has doubled and I’m pinned to this bed by the weight of my own skin.
I’m incapable of moving a muscle. My eyelids feel glued shut. I hear noises—beeping, footsteps, voices muffled and distant—but I can’t distinguish what they are or where they’re coming from.
I lift my fingers. Or I think I do. I can’t tell if they actually move or if I just imagine them moving.
Is anyone here?
The thought of seeing a familiar face gives me the strength I need to lift my eyelids. One eye opens slowly. Bright light floods in. It burns. I squeeze it shut again.
Then I try again, and this time I expect the burn. I force myself to adjust.
I need to see if anyone is here.
I blink and open both eyes. The room is empty.
White walls. White ceiling. Machines beeping. An IV pole next to my bed.
No one’s here.
My arm throbs with pain. My shoulders feel tight like someone’s been pressing down on them for hours. My head aches. But it’s the loneliness that wins. That feels the worst.
A tear slides down my face.
I can’t wipe it away. I can’t move my hands. I’m too lethargic. Too weak.
“Nurse,” I try to say.
My throat burns. All that comes out is a squeak.
A nurse walks in and smiles. “Hi.”
I cry harder.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” I try to say, but it doesn’t sound like a word. Just a rasp.
“You have three visitors, but only two can come in at a time. Would you like to see them?”
My chest loosens. Relief floods through me so fast it makes my head spin.
I nod. It hurts my neck. More tears fall because they’re here. They came.
