Beside

65 - melt

ｃｈｒｉｓ

I'm leaving soon. I have to survive until then. If I die, they'll never let me leave.

Dr. Wells clears his throat from behind me. "Your numbers are getting better. It's good news."

I nod, stretching my arms above my head, fingers grazing the top of the window frame. My chest protests as the electrodes tug my skin. The sun's rising again. I slept almost the whole night.

"Chris, pay attention."

Fox is sprawled on my bed, one leg hanging off the side. His breakfast—a bag of fuzzy peaches—sits in his lap, the crinkling plastic filling the silence as he fishes out another candy.

"We're going to get ants," I say.

He lowers his voice dramatically. "Let them come."

Dr. Wells clears his throat again. I wince and turn around, giving him my attention. He's tall and bald and perpetually unimpressed.

"Your heart's doing better but you're not out of the woods. Rest is crucial. No strenuous activity. Avoid stress. I'm prescribing medications for arrhythmia and anemia."

The thought of being tethered to pills again grates against my hard-won sense of freedom. But I shrug. "At least I know how to swallow them without water."

My doctor doesn't laugh. Neither does Fox.

Wells adjusts his clipboard. "Sexual activity should be resumed slowly, and only when you're feeling ready. Listen to your body."

My lips curve into a grin as I glance at Fox and mouth, Slowly.

His expression is deadpan. "Don't even start."

Dr. Wells snaps his clipboard shut. "Any questions?"

"No, thank you," I reply, still grinning at Fox. The doctor nods and heads for the door.

"Faro's coming to visit," Fox tells me as I walk closer. "Chris, don't make me throw this candy at you."

I climb up, crawling over to straddle him. My fingers brush his waist, trailing the soft hem of his sweatpants. "You were watching me stretch."

"Was not," he says, tossing another fuzzy peach into his mouth. "I'm not falling for your little game."

He doesn't flinch when my hands rest on his chest. "Fox, can we please—"

"Not yet. But we'll get there. Slowly."

I don't want to argue. I don't have it in me.

I slide off him, settling into his side. His arm loops around me, pulling me close, and I let the steady rhythm of his breathing lull me into sleep.

My dreams are filled with enchanted forests and beams of light. Of shimmering gold and an ocean breeze.

ᖴO᙭

My shoes scuff against the hall as I grip the warm paper cup. It's ginger tea—something Chris has refused to try. But I made sure the barista added honey.

Chris had sent me home to make sure Charlie was okay. All things considered, he's doing well. He tilted his head when I called his name and licked a dollop of sunflower butter off my finger. The stitches on his head are clean, but the fur around them hasn't started growing back yet. He's a little unbalanced, a little unsure. But his tail still wags.

Then he puked on Noah's lap, who didn't much react.

"Go for a run with Cam," Noah told me before I left. "She needs it, and so do you."