Devils and Angels

xxxi. a nightmarish reality

l i t o s t

a state of agony and misery

in sight of one's own torment

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AFTER ANOTHER DAY SPENT FEELING as though I had been chained to that narrow death-trap they called a bed, I was finally allowed to move around. Crutches were propped up against my bed, ready for use, along with a volunteering Henry, who eagerly offered to go with me.

"Your leg's in a cast now, but you still need to be careful when sliding your legs out of bed," Henry instructed me, holding his hand out for support. "And you're dressed, by the way. Finn and Jessa brought your clothes and the nurse dressed you while you were out."

"Which time?" I remarked dryly, hopping onto the floor on my good leg and sticking my bad one out awkwardly. Henry remained sober-faced, and I realised that my cynical humour was jumping the gun on the situation.

"Take these." Latching onto my arm to keep me upright, Henry tucked each of the crutches under my arms and supported me as I tried to use them. It was bitter luck that I had practised on Finn's when he had broken his ankle, so I knew how to use them without breaking my leg more in the process.

"Thanks," I said, taking a wobbly step forward, followed by another. I kept going until I established a rhythm, before turning back to Henry. "Come on then."

"Coming." He shuffled forward, draped his arm around my shoulders and began his tour around the ward which Caspian and I were both confined to.

The effects of the concussion were impacting me less than before. I knew that when the lights and sounds weren't like spiders crawling into my eyes and my ears; when my limbs didn't feel heavy and sluggish, like liquid lead had replaced the blood in my veins. I knew it when the churning in my stomach had been replaced by stability, when the nausea I was feeling was only for Caspian and for no one and nothing else.

"Are you ready to see him?" He asked, one hand poised on the handle.

I swallowed, hesitated—,

Caspian is behind that door, Caspian who you haven't seen, Caspian who hasn't seen you, Caspian who was supposed to be somewhere else, Caspian who everyone's been lying to you about, Caspian who you're in a weird patch with, Caspian, Caspian, Caspian.

—then nodded.

"I'll leave you two alone then." He flashed me another small smile, pushed the door open for me and disappeared down the hallway.

When I first saw Caspian, I had to swallow every oncoming wave of emotion before their combined force completely bowled me over.

He was as pale as the bed sheets that covered his body, breathing quicker than the incessant drumming of my blood in my ears, trembling more than I had ever seen him do so before.

"Caspian?" His name hung in the air as I manoeuvred myself over to his bedside, the bottoms of the crutches clicking as they made contact with the polished hospital flooring. "Caspian?"

Only the silence of the near-empty room answered back.

Dropping my crutches, I fell into the chair at next to his bed and took his good hand in my cold one. Laced our fingers together. His were bony, trembly, worryingly cold. If I was honest, I didn't think I'd be able to tell his hand apart from that of a china doll's. He felt icy and lifeless. Porcelain.

His other arm was bent over his stomach, wrapped in a sling knotted to his shoulder.  

A long overdue tear dripped down my cheek. It fell onto his hand, but he showed no signs of even feeling that I was there.