The Medoran Chronicles~ A Fanfiction

Part 13

    ALEX'S PERSPECTIVE:

  Alex shoved her face into her pillow so hard, her eyes watered.

  At least, she tried to convince herself if was the impact and not inner turmoil.

  She hated feeling so weak, so like she needed somebody else to come and magically save her, but she couldn't help it. I've ruined everything. He made a mistake, admittedly a big mistake...A really big mistake, but he tried to apologize, to fix it, and I just rejected him without an extra thought! Her breath came in short, ragged gasps. Her chest was tight and though her face was swimming in salty tears, her throat was as dry and tasteless as sand.

  How, how had she let go of him? 'I've got to go,' she murmured into the grim silence. But she couldn't. She couldn't go. Alex spent nights repeating a single thought: it'll all pass, it'll all pass. So many nights and days in that ward where she never got out of bed or returned any of the smiles offered to her. It all blurred into a mix of memories she could never recall completely. She knew she was being unreasonable; letting go should be easy. 

At least, it would be when it all passed. When it passed. It was months, spent rolling through unimaginable grief that hurt more than traevarg's darkest corners could ever hope to. The grief was the ocean, and whenever she thought her head might break the surface and breathe, a wave crashed her down into depths deeper than ever. And the waves never stopped. 

It was only when Ales's when her lungs were full and her heart giving in to the ridiculous hurt, that she realised... This ocean was relentless. Truly. It wouldn't stop until she forced it to. There was only one way to do that. 

 The wind rushed through the windows in what she hoped was a sound of agreement.

  Plucking up courage she didn't honestly have, she internally called, Xira?

  Alex felt his presence enter his mind. She gave him a brief review over the past few months in which Traevarg's power had blocked their telepathic communication.

  Why? he asked.

  I don't know...I didn't know. I didn't know what I was saying, or why, and I didn't mean any of it...Or maybe some of it, I just don't know. I don't know. Just...Xira, just hurry. Please.

  Mortal basically-a-teenager hormones ruining everything. Yet again. Alex heard him think. Nevertheless, by the time she had slipped out of bed and used her Meyarin speed to sprint out of the hospital and into the refreshingly bitter cold of the night, his hulking form was waiting.

Not sure Fletcher would agree with you running off into the night with your wound. He scratched his own shoulder, where blood was dried and a few scales were displaced from her infection. And nor do I. Ow. Fletcher had promised that her scar wouldn't hurt, but on it throbbed heavily.

  Right now, she replied. Fletcher is genuinely the least of my worries.

So they soared through the starry, twinkling night until they arrived at the small patch of woods that surrounded Alex's house.

  Good luck.

  I'll need it, Alex replied. She slid down Xira's wing-tip on her hip. For one gleaming, impossible moment, the burning cerulean of his eyes contrasting against an inky pupil was all that existed. The turquoise flame threatened to consume her, and she found herself wishing that she could drown in them. Then, the wind blew through the trees huffily and he sailed away.

  Well? Go, the dreakon told her minutes later, in which time she hadn't moved a muscle. A breath of black fire spilled into the sky like a fallen ink-pot. I can still see what you're seeing, you know, Alex.

  Shut up, Xira! Alex cried internally, trying to shove his presence from her mind— unsuccessfully. She strode across the gravel path that wound through the forest. She let herself be lulled into a false sense of calm, hating that this bliss would have to end...and what she would have to face when it did. Too soon, she'd reached the house.

  Alex's fingers gripped at the handle, before, against her will, they yanked themselves back. What if it's already too late? What if I've ruined it? I probably have; he's probably not here. What if he's with someone else? I should just go back to bed and forget about it...But how am I meant to forget? Ugh, I really have ruined it! her traitorous thoughts yelled at her. She concluded her mental battle with a tugging, almost spiteful pinch to her elbow.
 
  Refusing to lose her newly found illusion of confidence, she strode through the door.