Fear

25

Dr. Thorne was quiet at first.

We walked in silence, side by side through the empty corridor, our footsteps the only sound echoing between the walls. I didn't look at him. I kept my gaze on the floor tiles, following the pattern like they'd lead me somewhere else. Somewhere better.

He glanced at me a few times. I felt it. Like someone trying to read a page you've already torn out of the book.

The silence between us wasn't easy, but it was easier than words. Easier than trying to explain what I'd just done — or what I'd asked for.

Finally, just before we reached the East Wing, he spoke.

"Emily," he started, his voice gentle but probing. "I know you're trying to hold yourself together. I can see it. But this... whatever this is between you and him... it's too dangerous."

I didn't answer. Not because I didn't want to. But because I couldn't. The words were there, somewhere, they just didn't want to come out.

"You're clever," he said quietly. "But he's not... normal. And I don't think it's wise to mess with him."

I said nothing. I knew what he was trying to say. A warning in his own way. But I was too far in my head to listen properly or take heed.

'I already know what I want from you, Parker. I've known for weeks.'

What could he possibly want from me? What kind of 'favour' could it be?

Only one thing came to mind, and I hated that that was where my mind went. I felt sick to my stomach just remembering his words.

"I've spoken with the others," Sam said after a pause, making me snap out of my thoughts. I looked up at him for the first time.

"The nurses want to keep you another day or two, just until the bandages come off. You just need monitoring a bit more before we can discharge you. I hope you understand."

I nodded once.

"I'll ask the nurses to take you to the washroom tonight."

That made sense. I felt disgusting. The sweat, blood, and dried tears, the smell of antiseptic, the ghost of Tyler's breath still somehow warm on my skin. I desperately needed a wash.

I mumbled a thanks. That's all I could muster. My throat was dry, like I'd been chewing gravel.

"I'll see if you can be transferred back to your room tomorrow, and I'll speak to James about resuming your therapy. I think you need it more than ever now."

We finally reached the double doors of the ward. One of the nurses opened them and stepped aside to let us through. The lights were too bright. Or maybe my head was just too full.

He didn't try to say more. Just gave me a sad look that meant too many things and none of them enough, then turned and walked away. I hated the way that made me feel. Like a child being left behind. Like I should've said thank you. Or sorry. Or something.

⸻

I sat down on the edge of the bed and glanced down at my arms, still wrapped in gauze. The fabric was stiff and discoloured with some kind of pinkish stain that wasn't quite blood. I didn't know if I wanted the bandages off. I couldn't bear to see the healed damage underneath. The scars left by the blade. His blade.

I took a deep breath as the two nurses on shift tucked me in, strapped me down, reattached me to the machines and muttered in code. The brunette one checked my pulse while the older blonde noted something on a clipboard. They didn't ask where I'd been. Maybe they already knew. Or maybe they didn't want to know.