Page 10 of Prince of Wrath

You would leave me there, and I am not sure I could survive it.

Give me time.

Give me time to become me again.

If that is even a possibility.

* * *

“Ms Brooks, I’m right here. I have you,” the nurse says, one hand hovering near my elbow, the other ready at the small of my back without touching me unless she needs to. Come on, Ella. Two-year-olds can do it, so can you. We are walking the long hallway of the hospital floor, practicing the impossible journey from the small patient kitchen nook to the window at the opposite end of the corridor. A month ago, such a distance would have meant nothing. Now it feels like crossing a country. My feet do not obey as quickly as my mind asks them to. My knees tremble after a few steps. My muscles burn with the humiliation of effort, as if my body has forgotten the simple art of carrying me.

“That’s it. Small steps,” she says softly. “No need to rush.” I used to move faster than lightning. Now I have to think about lifting my foot and placing it down without collapsing. “This is normal after what your body went through,” she assures me, but I catch the faintest hesitation in her smile, the careful kindness of someone trained not to look worried. It is bad. I know it is. Two more days have passed, almost a week in this place, and I still scare myself in the mirror.

“Mr. Ashford asked us again if…” I do not even let her finish and shake my head. “All right,” she lets out, defeated. “Not today.” I grip the rail along the wall and stare at the window waiting for me, bright with a world I am supposed to know how to enter again.

I am not ready yet.

And I am terrified that I never will be.

* * *

“Four kilos. That’s quite an accomplishment in such a short time, Ella,” the doctor says after my tenth day here. He looks like a grandpa, his white hair combed, mint aftershave lingering in the air beneath his long coat. He has a calmness that holds decades of experience, and surely several terrible moments of giving bad news to families. Ever since I arrived here, he has been nothing but patient with me, despite my reluctance to communicate or smile.

This morning was the first time since I arrived that I did not scare myself in the bathroom mirror. My ribs are less visible, my cheeks less hollow, and there is a spark of light coming back to my face. Could today be… Could today be the day I let Tristan see me?

“Do you think you’d be ready for Mr. Ashford to visit you, Ella? You are within your rights, and no one can pressure you if you are not ready, but, well, I think you should know that he has been coming here four times a day, asking us to let him see you. He even slept several times on the chair in the waiting room, which I’ll admit is terribly uncomfortable.” He pauses. “I am telling you this not to pressure you, but so you know there is someone in your corner. Someone who…” He removes his glasses. “He will not let you down, Ella. I do not think he will. I know you’re scared but…It has been a while since I have seen a young man so…attached.” Tears gather in my eyes.

I nod, saying, “Okay.” I am not ready, but I cannot push back the inevitable. My heart breaks into a thousand shards, in and out. How will I manage to live without Tristan when he sees how broken I have become?

Chapter Four

Ella

Concrete, screams, footsteps, stopwatch, wash day, sleep, repeat.

“Hey,” a masculine voice says softly. I jerk upright, blinking hard. A nightmare. It was just a nightmare. Linen curtains, white walls, windows, beach photographs on the walls, my fingers rustling over clean cotton sheets. I am still at the hospital. I am safe. I am okay and…

And Tristan is here. That’s not a dream. He is really here. After ten days of refusing him, of shaking my head every time a nurse asked if I was ready, of staring at my own reflection and seeing nothing but bones and shame and a girl I hardly recognize, Tristan is here, bloodshot eyes, dark circles, rough stubble I have never seen on him, sitting to my left, forearms resting on his thighs, hands clasped against his mouth, a silent intensity emanating from him, calling my attention in all the ways humanly possible. Black pants, black long-sleeved T-shirt risen enough to reveal his forearms. My hands clench and unclench along my body as panic grabs me by the shoulder. Is someone pushing on my lungs?

“It’s okay. You’re okay,” Tristan says in a calm, deep voice, his hands clenched as if he is trying his hardest not to touch me. I want him to touch me. Take me in his arms. Kiss the hurt away. But… Is this the moment he walks away, and tells me I have been a major waste of time? A fling? His hand rises midair, searching to cup my face, and a primal, visceral fear grips me. I recoil, shaking my head, using my able arm to cover my face with the back of my palm. Instead of his handsome, tired face, I see Cole’s. Instead of this comfortable room, I see the cell. I blink but the two of them overlap, the walls moving, dogs barking away, screams coming from the wall behind me. My knees fold, and I hold them tight, hiding my face between them and my chest, humming in my head a lullaby my mother used to sing to me.

“I’m sorry,” I sign above my legs, uncrossing my hands. For keeping you away. I am so sorry. Tears form, my shoulder burning, reminding me that this nightmare truly happened. I’m ruining everything. I will never forget the hurt on his face, like watching a mountain shattered by lightning. I should be in his arms. I should seek his touch like oxygen, and yet…the thought of him touching me makes me want to scream, cry, and run away all at once.

“Ella, it’s…” He pauses, his voice finding strength again. “It’s okay.” His voice breaks. “Why…why didn’t you let me see you?” Pain shines bright in his tone, and I am punctured on the spot by a thousand arrows. For an answer, I wave at myself, disgusted, sobs at the doors of my mouth, sealed miserably beneath my shaking lips.

“It’s okay. I’m…I’m sorry I-” He pauses again as I lift my gaze from my knees, peeking at his godlike face. “I saw you the day I rescued you, sweetheart. I…” His voice cracks. “There is nothing that would have made me walk away. I wish, I wish you knew that. I wish you had let me be there for you.” He does not move, but his veins, thick under his forearms, grow from containment, from the frustration of everything I fail to be. His stubble is new, but I like it. He is so handsome, and still, I cannot find the courage in me to reach out. Will it always be this way? Tristan deserves more than this.

“I don’t know how to…” I start signing. “Nothing is the same anymore,” I keep going, tears threatening to fall. “You risked your life for me.”

“And I would do it a hundred times over,” he says out loud, without hesitation.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to… How to be anymore,” I sign, shame wrapping around me with an invisible cage.

“Ella… look at me.” He stands, comes closer, then steps back when he realizes how stiff I have turned in anticipation of his touch. Both of us are lost in the gap I created, in the space I imposed on us. Backward. Backward. We are going in the wrong direction, driving to the opposite side of the road, waiting for the inevitable crash. But how could I live in a world where we aren't talking, signing, and doing life together now that I've tasted it? How could we do that if he cannot touch me? My eyes meet his, heartbreak written in their emerald shine, saying all the things we cannot say. Cole said something about Tristan giving him money to get me, but how much loss did Tristan suffer? How much pain have I inflicted on us?

“Ella.” His voice snaps me into the present, guiding me away from the darkness I have sought comfort in these last ten days. “None of this is your fault. This is all on me. I…” He stops, breath turning rough. “I messed up. I should have taken his threat more seriously from the start. I should have…” His voice catches, the rhythm foreign, so out of his natural, calm, composed character.

Despite the desire to press my palms to his chest, I refrain, signing, “It’s nobody’s fault but mine. I should have stayed home. I should have waited for you.”