A/N: Hey guys! Super busy! College sucks! Have a Creative Writing class that I have to write about 75pgs for before the end of the class. This probably isn't much consolation but when my semester gets over in two months I will be back to weekly updates. If not bi-weekly. As for dedication, ummmm, I think it'll go to _Aisling_xxx for her super nice comment last chapter.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The List
When they got back to the hotel Jacen immediate excused himself to go check on Roza. He’d turned to William, his eyebrows rising as if to say, ‘aren’t you coming?’ Will’d just turned and pretended not to see.
In all of this, Asim had been the most understanding. Usually Jacen was the first Will turned to, but this time- It was just- … Asim understood. Both Matthew and James had tried to talk to him, only to be swiftly and firmly cut off by the dangerous look in Asim’s eyes.
He’d just sat down in Asim’s room. He’d planned on staying there, he didn’t know for how long, but awhile. Jacen’s scream for James pushed him up and shot ice down his spine.
The sight of her, pale and limp, and he couldn’t breathe. He’d never been more scared in his entire life and it was only Asim’s near constant assurance that this was a “normal,” and “expected” reaction to her pain meds, that kept him grounded. He’d still insisted a hospital visit.
That’s when he approached the doctors, dredging up some small vestiges of hope.
* * *
I underestimated Will. I woke up in a room with too-familiar white walls, but the first things I saw were the oxygen line in my nose and the IV line stuck just above my left wrist. Then, I noticed the room. I’d never been there before, but I’d recognize the colorless, greyed décor anywhere. For a moment, I worried I’d had some sort of episode, but then my drug-hazy memories came of the last several hours and I remembered Will coming in, his arms curling under my head and knees. A quiet whisper of how everything was going to be fine now. That he was going to fix it. That he wasn’t going to let anything happen to me. It didn’t take long to realize, especially with the spaciousness of the room and the completely normal dullness of all my aches, that the only thing that had happened, that had warranted this trip, was William.
By the time he walked in, huge smile and Starbucks cup in either hand, my groggy sadness had morphed into indignant anger. I did not want to be here.
“Hey! Roza! You’re up! Claire will be so excited to see you. Her flight got in a few hours ago. I told her there wasn’t any need, but she insisted,” his voice lowered conspiratorially as he got closer to my bed, setting one of the cups on my bedside table before taking a sip of his own,
“I think James made out this whole thing to be way bigger than it is. Scared her a little. Thinks you’re going to die,” his voice barely broke on the word, “Can you believe that?”
The fact that his voice was steady just showed how deep seated his denial had already become and my glare immediately crumpled. I had expected anger, fear, grief, had prepared myself to be stern and scolding in the face of any. But I had not expected such a level of pretending that it wasn’t even pretending anymore.
“William,” my tone was one of caring, full of regretful pity, but he went on as if I hadn’t spoken, gesturing to the cup beside me.
