Drowning Beneath The Waves

Chapter 18

Nightmares plagued my restless sleep, fueled by my anxiety over Jonah. They all shared one thing: I kept seeing Jonah propped up between Waverly and her mother. Then my fear conjured up future scenarios, none of them pleasant.

Him dying before I got to say goodbye; him sustaining a grave and fatal injury in an attack on the palace—the list went on and on, the worst of them jerking me from sleep. A cry escaped my lips as my eyes flew open. For a moment, I couldn't remember where I was.

Then it all came back in a rush. I blinked the sleep out of my eyes as I looked around, the hospital waiting room slowly coming into focus. Aunt Nerissa put a hand on my shoulder, making me cringe. Nothing yet, sweetie. Jay just went to check with the doctor.

I swallowed as I rubbed my eyes. How long have I been sleeping? Glancing out the nearest window, I tried to gauge the time, but it was too dark.

Aunt Nerissa sighed. Three hours. As she finished signing, I glimpsed the fatigue in her face—dark circles under her eyes, the pallor of her skin. I'd be willing to bet that she hadn't slept since we'd arrived at the hospital.

The images swarmed me from every angle until I couldn't breathe. My breaths came sharp and fast—I recognized the signs of an impending panic attack. Tears blurred my vision as I put my head in my hands. I saw Aunt Nerissa raise her hands, mouth opening, but I couldn't make out the words.

That voice in the back of my head reared its ugly head yet again—and this time, I did not attempt to stop it. See? You couldn't save him. If he dies, it'll be on you. You won't be able to handle that guilt and shame. You've already fallen back into that depression spiral. Do you want his death on top of all that?

The worst part of it all was I believed it. I honestly thought that I was the sole cause of Jonah's death—that I was to blame if he died. I knew I wouldn't be able to handle the guilt and shame, yet I continued to let my anxiety and depression torture me.

A firm yet gentle hand on my shoulder jerked me from the panic attack. "Faye?" Mom's voice broke through the fog that had settled over me. Worry was etched on her face, yet she managed a strained smile. "Jonah's awake. He's asking for you."

Tears of relief and worry streamed down my face. Even when all I wanted to do was focus on the positive—he was awake and asking for me—my mind instead concentrated on the negative—I was to blame for his injury. My entire body felt heavy, burdened by an unseen weight.

Nevertheless, my desire to see him overrode my dread and fear. With Mom and Aunt Nerissa on either side of me, gripping my hands, we made our way to his room. The former spoke when we approached the door, voice low. "We'll be right outside." The latter kissed my cheek as I breathed deeply, then opened the door.

I was choking on a sob before I even saw his face. Concern flared in his eyes as Jonah glimpsed the agony on my face. "Faye," he said softly.

I rushed into his arms, unable to hold back the tears. Everything—the fear, blame, guilt, anxiety —was released from my body in a torrent of tears. He never let me go, even when the tears finally subsided, leaving me weak and shaky. "It's okay," he whispered against my hair. "I'm okay."

I finally pulled away, scanning his face. "This is all my fault," I whispered, voicing the traitorous thoughts inside my head. His eyes hardened, mouth set in a firm line as he read what was written on my face—everything I'd tried so hard to keep hidden.

He pushed himself to a sitting position, breathing sharply as he pressed a hand to his ribs. My eyes followed the movement; I'd been right in my earlier assessment of his injuries. He'd broken at least one rib. His eyes were filled with resolve when he looked at me.