One hell after another flashes through me, as if I am dying, but instead of seeing a highlight reel, I see every moment of sorrow and horror and pain.
I am watching Isabel say, “I do,” to Logan; she is looking right into my eyes as she serves me stew and does not recognize me.
In all of this, I never once wept.
Not a tear.
It all just…crushed me. Ground the crushed pieces into dust. Compressed the dust into obsidian—all razor angles, unbreakable and brittle at once.
It all comes due, now. I can't stop it.
She doesn't coo and cluck and hush. She lays her head on my chest and traces my jaw and the shell of my ear. Her lips touch the underside of my chin. My cheek. Tastes my tears.
I hear the door open. I sense the lights dimming. The door closes.
The pain is too much. Physical, emotional…it's all too much.
My eyes are heavy. It's all heavy. But as the grief and torment and sorrow flow out of me, I begin to feel a lightness within me.
"Brys," I whisper. "I—"
Her fingers touch my lips. "I know, Jakob." Then it is her lips on mine. "Later. Just rest."
"You know?" She nods. "What I…how —?"
"Yes, Jakob. I hear it. Just rest."
I shake my head. She deserves to know. "I…"
She huffs in frustrated, amused laughter. "Jakob." Her lips quest against my cheek. "They're just words. Iknow."
"But they hold power. I have given them power. Words have meaning."
"Jakob, it's alright. We have time."
"My mother had time. Until she didn't." I force my eyes open and find hers wide and clear and infinite. Looking into her eyes gives me courage. "I love you, Brys."
24
AIRPLANE CONVERSATIONS
BRYS
"I can fucking walk," Jakob snarls. "The wheelchair is entirely unnecessary."
Now that he's decided to swear, he does so frequently and floridly. Like the rest of his Arrows, he has fixated on the many various forms of "fuck" as his preferred curse word.
"It's hospital policy, sir," says the enormous, soft-spoken Hispanic nurse.
"Policy," Jakob grumbles. "Bullshit policy. I was shot in the gut, not the fucking leg."
I touch his shoulder. "Jakob, he's just doing his job. Stop it."
He sighs. "Fine. Sorry."
"Happens every day, sir. It's alright."
He has spent the last few days being monitored and going crazier and crazier at being cooped up. At this point, he's nearly feral. We also haven't had a moment alone since our giant tell-all; the Arrows decided what was needed was some "family togetherness," which apparently means Chance ignoring the protests of the doctors and nurses as he pushed Jakob's bed down the hallway to Nico's room. When the doctor arrived and tried to exert his authority, Chance merely stood over him, mammoth arms crossed over his mammoth chest and stareddown at the diminutive doctor in glaring, threatening silence. Eventually, the doctor threw up his hands and walked out, snarling something along the lines of "at least wash your damn hands."
