Ruslan’s voice drifts through the fog concealing my thoughts from any clarity. I blink and while the fog doesn’t dissipate, Ruslan’s face remains clear in front of my eyes.
“Where… what happened…?”
“You don’t remember?” Ruslan’s brow knits together and a soothing warmth envelops my hand.
“I…” Where am I? Everything beyond Ruslan is fuzzy, like I’m still trapped in the dream that’s consumed me for so long that I can’t even tell how much time has passed. As I try to recall the dream, it fades quickly and details become nothing in my mind, just wisps of smoke I can’t catch.
“Ivy?” Ruslan’s face comes closer, his eyes twinkling as they reflect a light I can’t see. “Ivy, can you hear me?”
“I can,” I croak, and my throat burns. Wetting my lips with an equally dry tongue sends a rush of stinging pain through mymouth, but just as I’m about to wince, a straw appears at my lower lip. I suck hard and cool, soothing water washes away the desert in my throat.
By the time my thirst has been quenched, I’m more alert.
“Ruslan?”
“I’m here.” That warmth around my hand remains.
“Cassian… where’s… is he okay? Oh, God… oh, Cassian, there was so much blood!” It comes back to me in flickers, like photographs in my mind of random moments during that whole disaster.
“Cassian is okay,” Ruslan replies, his voice soft. “The bullet missed everything important. He just lost a lot of blood and hit his head pretty hard when he fell out the window. So did you, actually. If your chest feels tight, it’s because you cracked a rib. You’re lucky to be alive. A two-story fall onto stone slabs?” Ruslan whistles softly. “You’ve got a thick skull.”
As he speaks, it grows clearer in my mind. My parents’ house. The blood all over the study. The safe. The man who attacked Cassian and our chase up the stairs.
“He pushed me,” I murmur. “He pushed me out the window.”
“Cassian?”
“Mmhmm.”
“He saved your life.”
“I… I couldn’t do anything to help him.” The corners of my eyes sting. “He got hurt because of me and I?—”
“No.” Ruslan’s suddenly over me and his warm palm cups the side of my face, grounding my sudden upset. “Those men hurt him. They were the cause. Not you.”
“Is he really going to be okay?” I whisper, gazing up into his eyes.
“Yes. We have some pretty good doctors here. You’re also going to be okay as long as you rest and don’t make any sudden movements.”
My eyes close, and when they reopen, Ruslan isn’t over me anymore. “Ruslan?”
He grunts beside me, suddenly in the chair next to me. He’s shrouded by darkness this time and he flashes me a small smile when our eyes meet. “Welcome back.”
“Welcome… back?”
It turns out my knock to the head when I fell makes maintaining consciousness a little tricky. I lose track of how often I wake and how often I sleep. One period of being awake lets Ruslan explain the small bleed on my brain. That, along with heavy painkillers, is what keeps dragging me back under. Another bout of wakefulness comes with Ruslan sliding an ice chip over my tongue and promising me I’ll be okay.
Three days I spend dipping in and out of consciousness, days that pass in a blink for me.
On the third day, I wake to Ruslan standing over me with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and sincere concentration etched across his face. He doesn’t appear to notice I’m awake, but just as I warm my throat to speak to him, a sweeping warmth across my bare thigh catches my attention.
The warmth spreads down to my knee and then back up, then it vanishes and a light chill takes its place. Before the cold becomes unpleasant, a trickle of water brings the warmth back to my skin and the sweeping sensation resumes.
Up and down my thigh, around my knee, and down my calf. Ruslan appears to be following the sensation with his eyes and it’s not until his warm fingers brush under my knee to lift my leg that it clicks what he’s doing.
He’s giving me a sponge bath.
Ruslan’s touch is incredibly gentle, his movements tender and careful. He works without a word and leans forward until some strands of hair escape his hairline and sweep down across his temple. My fingers suddenly throb with the urge to reach up and tuck them back into place so I can gaze at his face unobstructed.
