Twenty-four – 01

[This post is from Thom’s point of view.]

Finding his way back to consciousness was a fight that Thom almost would have rather avoided. Everything hurt—more than it should have, in his humble opinion, despite having been—

What the hell had happened to him, anyway?

He tried to roll onto his side and stopped, keeping a cry of pain trapped behind his teeth. A chair scraped across the floor and he heard the sound as if through a tunnel, echoing, but louder than it should have been.

Thom groaned. It was too hot and too cold all at once. He couldn’t tell if he was sweating, if he had a fever or chills or something else.

Everything just hurt and his mouth tasted strange, the sort of strange he could perceive but not identify, couldn’t explain.

“Thom?”

He knew she was whispering but even the whisper seemed too loud and he flinched despite himself. Marin’s fingers touched his cheek, like ice against his skin, and in that second he knew that he had some kind of raging fever, that something was definitely, seriously wrong.

His voice came out as a rasping whisper. “Water?” He could feel light beyond his eyelids but even that hurt, sending lances of pain straight through his skull. He didn’t dare open his eyes, not yet, but at least he knew she was there, that he wasn’t alone.

How long had he been out? How had the fight out there ended?

Too many questions, not enough answers.

I don’t have the energy to ask, either.

She brought water, slipped the tip of a straw between his lips and he drank, more slowly than he would have liked, less strongly than he would have hoped, but still drank.

Everything hurt, even swallowing hurt, even the effort to draw water through the straw into his mouth hurt like hell.

What happened to me?

Her fingers were cold as she brushed his hair back from his face. He shivered, teeth starting to chatter. Her hand moved and he groaned.

“No,” he rasped. “No.”

“I’m not leaving,” she whispered. “I promise.”

He wanted to cling to her, wanted to take her hand, wanted to open his eyes and see her face, even though he knew the expression she wore all too well already—the worry, the frown, the concern and pain that would be dwelling in her eyes.

But his eyelids were too heavy and his head hurt too much. Everything hurt too much.

He felt her tuck the blankets around him a little more securely, felt her hand on his arm.

Marin pressed a kiss to his forehead and he squeezed his eyes a little more tightly shut as they began to sting.

“I’m staying right here,” she whispered. “For as long as you want me to.”

“Forever,” he whispered back, his throat tight. “Forever.”

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