October 19th, xxxx
SLEEPING AND WAKING UP by the girl's bedside has become an easy ritual, waking up before five in the morning he jams but doesn't join the troops five a.m.jog.
On his own, the exercise clears his head, a bath removes the sleep, he visits the girl, massages her, reads to her and then leaves before coming back late in the evening, massages and read to her again, sleep, wake, do it all over again.
On this particular morning, Kamil had just risen from the cushioned chair the Doc kindly placed for him, stretching tense muscles when the most miraculous thing happened.
Bowed to his waist, he lifts his head and Goddess, he's looking into swamp-green eyes bright like a cat's under dim fluorescent light.
Startling, he straightens, a hand to his lips as he slowly exhales, patiently and deliberately counting from ten. Countdown to zero, her eyes doesn't close but flutter from exhaustion that a tongue-tied Kamil flees from the room to beckon upon the Doc.
Off to the side of the room, he observes the Doc lead the girl through a series of exercises—motor, visual, audio and speech; grip is a bit weakened but will get better overtime, hearing is excellent, her voice come out a bit rough, speech snail-paced but coherent and she seems to have passed with flying colours because Doc nods and smiles encouragingly.
Gently, Doc probes the girl. Starts with,
"Do you remember your name?"
And suddenly, he's transported back to the past, back to fifteen years ago. Right here in this clinic on a bed softer than the ground, body warm through the hand gripping his, the first thought that crossed his mind when the woman neared him, her head a pool of dark locks.
She looks like glory. Plain, warm, secure.
The boy doesn't know what to say. He thinks his tongue is cut off, he thinks there's no thought in his head but he's certain everything hurts, is sure that when he wriggles his toes the bones there feel like knife stabbing.
He hears what the woman says and for some reason is captivated by the lush of her eyes; like a reflection of brown and green—later when he learns the word kaleidoscope, he'll call it kaleidoscopic eyes—that when the lights hits, it is either lighter, darker or somewhere in between.
When the woman glance at the tall woman beside her in the white coat, the boy is immediately aware of the crowd. A man stands beside her, a hand on her shoulder, a girl of fiery red hair chews on her thumb, repeatedly poking the soft flesh of his calf to the chiding of the man.
A child sits cross-legged by the wall, head hanging like a loose screw buried in a book he reads and the boys hears the calling of birds, feels the silkness of the beach sand but he doesn't recall why he smells salty water, why the sandcastle picture on the cover of the book evokes such truth in his memory.
Kamil jerks to present to hear the Doc saying, "We will answer your questions later. For now, we need to get you something to eat. Major."
He peels off the wall, loosens his limbs and tries to appear as nonthreatening and safe as possible. He must've succeeded because when he takes the Doc's position on the chair, the girl's eyes doesn't leave him.
"Hi. I'm..."
Alpha North
"but you can call me Sandcastle..."
How are you feeling?
"Major Sandcastle has been keeping watch over you, waiting for you to wake up," a smile, "You're a lucky girl, Lata. Hold on, you must be starving. I'll bring you food."
YOU ARE READING
Making The Alpha Submit (BL)
Werewolf"I can't do that," he says softly, staring absentmindedly in the whiskey glass, "I'm the Alpha." "So?" "So, I'm not supposed to be this.... submissive," he spits, eyebrow creasing as if the whiskey glass is a rotten tomato. "Come here." Kamil instru...
