Just Him&I: In Universe of Cruelty

Part 15

— So, he doesn't even know I'm alive? — I thought he just didn't want to see me. But everything turned out to be much more complicated than I could imagine.
The nurse who was doing my bandages entered the room. With my whole appearance, I showed that she should come in later. She simply nodded and left. I continued looking out the window, where large snowflakes were falling.

— Can I see him? — I looked at him, with a full spectrum of hope. I bit my lower lip until it bled, already understanding that it was a no.

— Even I'm not allowed near him. What can I say about you? — I took a sip of water to moisten my throat. My stomach twisted unpleasantly. Blaming it on the withdrawal, I continued talking.

— Did he say anything about me — to you? — his hair slightly trembled from the open window. His lips were pressed into a thin line. And he tapped his foot as if he were a drummer. I involuntarily smiled to myself and continued to wait for an answer with interest.

— Yes — he paused for a moment, thinking about what to tell me. I raised an eyebrow and tilted my head a bit. — He told me you got into quite an unpleasant situation — my heart skipped a few beats, and I tensed, squeezing the glass tighter in my hands. I even felt it crack under my fingers.

— A guy called you to another country. Then he drugged you, robbed you, and threw you out on the street — I exhaled and nodded in agreement. He hadn't told him anything; I felt much better. A slight panic engulfed me. Horror — that word was more fitting.

— When the trial happens, will I be able to go? — I really wanted at least to say goodbye. Perhaps — that's not quite the right word. Just to see him, no goodbyes, I believe he'll be acquitted. I want to believe he'll be acquitted.

— I think I can arrange it. — A drop in the ocean. I rubbed my eyes and came to the conclusion that I wanted to sleep. His body was tense, his back straight, and his forehead was covered with wrinkles that conveyed his inner feelings.

— I have another question — he raised an eyebrow, waiting — Where is he now, did you find him — by 'he,' I meant the name Brock Rumlow. But it seems Steve understood me without words.

— Unfortunately! But we're working on it. It won't be as hard to find him as we'd like. But I promise you, I'll definitely find him. No matter what it takes. — he gently, almost weightlessly, took my hand and squeezed it. As if he wanted me to believe him and understand that he wasn't lying to me. And I did believe him; I don't know what made me do it, but I truly trusted him.
He's a wonderful friend and conversationalist; sometimes I wonder how lucky James is with him.

— Thank you — I whispered. Steve got up from the chair, nodded silently.

— I'm sure everything will be okay. We just need to believe in it. Life is no easy thing. — I managed to say. He had almost stepped out the door but stopped a couple of inches from the handle and turned back to me. His lips slightly trembled, and his gaze was tense.
Not at all like James's, his was more intimidating. But now his face showed regret, either because they couldn't catch Rumlow or because his friend was in prison. How could he have allowed this? I could see that question in his eyes, eating him up from the inside, just like it did me.

— I know.. — it had long since grown dark outside. Only the colorful garlands, which I looked at with fascination, blinked somewhere in the distance.
Magic, blooming on the bustling streets. The sky floated in shades of purple and deep blue, resembling a vast cold blanket. The street turned into a fairytale picture.
People, wrapped in fluffy coats and scarves, hurried along the sidewalks.
A winter evening in New York — it's a time when the city engulfs you in its mysterious embrace, giving each moment a special charm.

The hospital was shrouded in a coffin-like silence. Only faint footsteps of medical staff, whispers of nurses, and the monotone hum of monitors could be heard.
I quietly sat on the bed, which creaked under me. Noticing a small album (about twelve by twelve centimeters) and a black ballpoint pen.
The notebook reminded me of the one I found at James's place. It felt like leather, with engraved letters "Journal."
I opened it and turned over the thick, yellowed pages. I think it was meant for me. I didn't even notice when the pen appeared in my hands, and I began uncertainly sketching on the paper. Leaving black, intermittent lines.
From time to time, I focused my eyes on other items in the room, which weren't illuminated. The lamp was directed exclusively at my bed.
Line by line, a portrait of James appeared on the paper.
At first, everything was fine; I almost finished drawing the second hand.
Then the drawing began to change. His eyes turned empty, and blood dripped from his mouth. Thick, dark-red, bubbling blood.
He writhed on the drawing and vomited this blood. Clawing his face with his hands. He turned to me, seemingly looking into my soul. It was impossible to look at. I froze in place, unable to avert my eyes. Suddenly, the glass of water fell to the ground with a loud crunch, almost making me faint.
Fear engulfed my whole body, my voice stuck in my throat. I threw it aside, covering my face with my hands. Curling my legs under me, as if cornered.
I hummed the first song that came to mind, fidgeting with my fingers.

Летіла зозуля
3 гори та в долину
Та й сіла кувати
Коло мого тину

My voice was hoarse, and my throat hurt. But I tried to calm myself.

Зозуле, зозуле,
Десь ти горе чуєш,
Коло моєй хати
На калині куєш

I closed my eyes and tried to focus on something. I imagined my mother, whom I already recalled.
Her gentle voice, beautiful facial features. Delicate hands and gestures.

Зозуля кувала,
Правдоньку сказала,
Що моєї неньки
На світі не стало.

Swaying from side to side, my tone leveled out, and I continued singing. Although it was broken Ukrainian, the melody and singing skills were inherited from my mother. So the accent was barely noticeable.

Добігла до хати,
Стала на порозі,
Забилось серденько,
Покотилось сльози.

I opened my eyes and looked around; everything was in place. As if nothing had happened, the notebook lay on the floor, image up. It was just my imagination, the imagination indicating that I needed to sleep. It seemed I hadn't seen anything scary there.
There was only James, his chestnut, long hair. The drawing might have been black-and-white, but I still saw his piercing blue eyes. Thin, dry lips twisted into a smile. I looked around the room again and dared to get up and pick it up.
My heart pounded wildly as I took the album in my hands. I ran my fingers over his hair, moving to the face.

A knock on the door stopped my next actions, and I nervously closed the notebook and hid it under the pillow. God forbid anyone sees it. I didn't understand what was happening to me, quickly fixed my hair, and answered.

— Yes, come in! — the door quietly opened, and a girl (around twenty-eight) with a bright appearance and short hair entered the room.

— I need to change your bandage — I noticed her badge. Abigail — her name is Abigail. Since she's been coming to me, I'd never been interested in her name. I'd also never seen her sad or in a bad mood. Always courteous and smiling, unchanged today.

— Please... — I smiled back at her and sank into my thoughts.