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HONORA DESCENDED THE stairs with an unspoken fear lingering in the air around her. She couldn't shake it away. It clung to her clothes and her skin, even her frantic itching at her arm couldn't remove it. As soon as she'd left the comfort of Jack's room, it'd consumed her senses and followed her every movement. With each step she took, each individual step down from the top floor, she hoped the anguish would disappear. It never did.
Because, truthfully, she didn't have hope for herself. Yes, she had hope for everyone else in the world. She believed anyone could be better, do better, even if they had done the worst thing imaginable. But herself? No, she was the exception. For whatever reason - whether it be an insecurity or just downright anxiety - she could never believe in herself as much as she needed to.
Jack believed, and that should have been enough. But it wasn't. Her hands shook as she gripped onto the bannister. If she didn't, she was sure she'd fall towards the ground floor, and the caesarean would remain unfinished and both Red and her child would die a long, painful, neverending death. All because of Honora. And death wasn't something she could undo.
She felt like she could breathe again as soon as her shoes hit the floor. The hospital was busy that day, as it had been since the strict ban on alcohol had been placed over the colony. Honora knew that a change had been necessary, since the small town had been spiralling out of control, but did that change have to involve such violence? Such butchery? Such murder? No. Honora could think of a million ways to do better.
But not now, she told herself in her head. Think about Red. Think about the baby. The possibility of killing people fell over her like a blanket with glue on the sheets. She tried to fight against it, but the glue was too strong, and the only way to wash it off was to save a woman and a child who meant the world to so many people.
