Page 109 of The Little Shop of Curiosities, The Music Box Part 2

“I’m fine,” I mutter, not wanting him to worry.

“You’re not fine.” He frowns. “And we need to be careful. We don’t have access to modern medical facilities if you develop a complication from your injury.”

“I know.” His obvious concern warms my stomach and makes me hopeful that although I fucked up, we can somehow get past it. “I just need rest. Olivia did a good job. I don’t feel any pain, at least, not anywhere but my toes. I’m just really tired.”

“Let’s check out the bathroom, then.”

A small smile tugs at my lips. “Water closet.”

“I guess I should get used to calling it that,” he grumbles. “Come on.” He takes my hand again. “You’ll feel better once you clean up, then we can get some sleep. We’ll figure out this mess tomorrow.”

“Maybe we’ll wake up and find it’s just another one of those super vivid dreams, like the ones of Cordelia.”

“We can always hope.” Sam sighs. “But I doubt we’re that lucky.”

We head to the bathroom and I run a shallow bath, just enough to cover our feet. Rolling up the hem of my pyjama pants, I climb into the bath and sit on the edge, where Sam joins me after finding a bar of soap.

I let out a deep breath as I submerge my feet. Although the water’s cold, my feet are colder, so it doesn’t feel so bad. At least we won’t end up with chilblains this way. I scrub the dirt away, and Sam’s right, I do feel better. Well, I feel better about them being clean, but as I climb out of the bath and rub them with a towel to warm them up, they start prickling with pain.

We wordlessly tidy up the bathroom, both because that’s my default setting and because we don’t want to upset Ichabod further. He strikes me as someone who needs familiarity and routine. I can’t judge him for it because I’m very much the same.

When we return to our assigned room, it takes a moment to figure out how to turn off the light, which then leaves the room bathed in a soft glow from the small fireplace. Sam folds back the covers on one of the narrow beds.

“Get in, you’ll soon warm up.”

I do as he suggests, then glance at the other bed barely two feet away.

I know it’s selfish, but I grasp his wrist before he can move and can’t stop the words from leaving my lips in a low, pleading whisper.

“Stay with me.”

He searches my face, and I think he’s going to shake his head and take the other bed, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls the covers up once more and carefully slides in next to me. It takes a bit of manoeuvring since the space is so narrow, but we eventually end up twined in each other’s arms, our legs slotted together like pieces of a puzzle. As he holds me, for the first time in hours, I feel like I can finally breathe.

“Sam.” My voice breaks on his name.

“Ssh.” He massages my scalp absently. “Go to sleep, Prickles. We’ll deal with it tomorrow, okay?”

I don’t answer. I can’t.

My throat is burning from a hot, hard ball of emotion that has settled there, making it impossible to even swallow, let alone make sounds. Instead, I nod against his chest, and his arms tighten around me. It feels like he’s holding all the pieces of me together.

Eventually, his breathing evens out and I know he’s slipped into an exhausted sleep. It comes harder for me, and when it does, it’s fitful and in broken stretches.

I don’t know how much time has passed when I come more fully awake again, but I must wake Sam with my restlessness because he murmurs something. Then he lifts my chin so I’m looking into his dark, sleepy eyes.

I didn’t think I could feel any guiltier for not being honest with him, but now he’s stranded in time and it’s all my fault.

Now I’ve dragged Sam into this mess that’s beginning to feel like a curse.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop.” We’re pressed together so tightly that his chest vibrates against me when he talks.

“Sam,” I choke out, “I’m so sorry.”

His fingers trace my cheekbone and then my jaw. “This isn’t your fault, you know.”

“It is,” I say miserably. “It’s my legacy, my family. I should have told you the truth, all of it from the beginning.”

“Prickles, let’s not keep flogging this horse. I understand why you didn’t, and yes, I was hurt, but I get it, more than you realise.”