Page 144 of A Sweet Destruction

The first swallow had me wincing with renewed pain.

“You’re okay. Move slow. Your throat will be sore for a few days.”

The next sip of water was a little easier, now that I knew to expect the scraping feeling.

Shapes started to appear, shadows beginning to form in the blinding light.

“Can we turn down the lights? She can’t see.”

Ford.

I tried to say his name, but it only came out in a crackling groan.

His hands were bracketing my face a second later, his thumbs sweeping over my cheeks. They slipped across my skin too easily—from tears, I assumed. “Don’t try to speak, sweetheart.”

It took more effort than I wanted to admit to keep myself centered, to not succumb to that oh-so-tempting urge to dissolve into hysterics.

Things were starting to take shape—my mind adjusting right alongside my vision. I was clearly in a hospital bed. I’d nearly…died.

The last thing I remembered was that musty, cold room. Falling into Ford’s arms. Pain and fear.

Another blink and Ford’s face came into focus.

“You look like hell,” I croaked out. His face broke into a harrowed smile and I almost took it back. He looked wonderful.

“I’ve been sitting vigil at your bedside for three days. Not much time to freshen up,” Ford said, shifting his hands down to grab one of mine and bringing it to his mouth.

“To be fair, I did make him shower once a day. And change,” someone—Soren—said from the corner of the room. I moved my head slowly, not terribly excited by the prospect of looking away from Ford, and saw him and Bellamy sitting on a small couch in the corner of the room.

Bellamy was sobbing.

“I’m,” I had to swallow between words, trying to keep the wince off my face. “Okay.”

That only made Bellamy cry harder, throwing her hands over her face then her entire upper body over Soren’s lap.

“Fucking barely,” Soren said, sounding like he was speaking through a mouthful of gravel.

“I don’t understand,” I said slowly, then looked at Ford when he groaned in protest. Probably at the fact that I was speaking. My throat was sore, but I felt better than I probably should. “I was up and moving for a little…”

Soren was the only one to snort at that description. I’d nearly taken someone’s head off in revenge for Ford. Again. Though this time it didn’t feel as haunting. “Adrenaline and the Bond. The cut on your neck was quite deep. It nearly severed your jugular and sliced your trachea.”

The Bond was the only reason I was alive, then. Keeping me just on this side of living, allowing me to heal fast enough to cling onto life.

No one really knew the mechanics of how the Bond’s healing powers worked, just that it was triggered when you were protecting your paranima. If I had to guess, what happened fell somewhere in between—not enough to have me heal overnight, but enough that I was feeling far better than most would at this stage of their healing.

I don’t think anyone wanted to say out loud how different things would have been without the Bond involved.

Ford, however, seemed to be very clearly thinking it. His hands were tightening on me, his eyes going unfocused.

“Can we have a second alone, please?”

Another memory slammed into me, one of the look on Ford’s face when I’d reduced our relationship to nothing more than some primal instinct from the Bond.

We really, really needed to talk. I needed to apologize. Lay my feelings for him out in the open and hope he forgave me.

Just as Soren was nodding his head, him and Bellamy moving to stand, Peter burst into the room with two doctors in tow.

“Hello,” I said, then watched as the word hit Peter like a bullet. I wondered if my voice was ever going to go back to normal or if it would be a constant reminder of what happened to us.