Between Two Mountains

Chapter 21

"Okay, time to get back to work," I sigh, motivating myself off the seat.

If I'm not careful, I fall deeply into my own head and exist there, secluded, for hours on end, thinking. 

The questions and memories swirl around my mind, begging to be answered or let out.

But, there is a person in this room who needs my help. Who needs me to be active and present and that always takes priority.

The silence in the room brings my attention back to Lawton. I scan his bandaged torso and face carefully, noticing first that he no longer needs machines to help him breathe. 

The tubes that were attached to his throat and mouth are gone and so are most of the wires on his body.

The bruising on his face has almost completely faded; the remaining cuts on his eyebrow and cheeks flawlessly stitched up. A smile creeps onto my lips and I feel true admiration for him.

"Ichor's got nothing on you, huh?" I whisper, reaching for his chart.

From the scribbles and the messy margins, I confirm that he is doing much better, but no one knows how or why. The term "medical miracle" is scrawled harshly at the bottom of the paper.

I huff and get the sense that Lawton will be poked and prodded even more when he comes to. Looking up at his still form, I will him to heal for himself, when he is ready, not for them.

I put the chart back in the holder at the end of his bed and move toward the medical bag to finish taking stock of the supplies that I'll need for the rest of the week.

That's when the dizziness, that feeling of standing up too fast, hits me all at once and I have to steady myself on the seat's armrests. The lightheaded sensation grows and my vision begins to blur, as heat spreads up my neck.

"Whoa," I murmur aloud.

I'm forced to sit down and raise my hands to my face, feeling my feverish, burning cheeks and forehead.

The heat slowly expands down my arms, leaving a blazing trail under my skin. I grab the nearest water bottle and begin taking desperate drinks, my fingers, moist and trembling, clutching to it for dear life. 

I inhale and exhale rhythmically.

Then I feel it; the wolf inside me trying to claw through my human flesh.

Oh no, not here, please.

This is the last thing I need right now.

I dig my nails into the armrests of the chair and feel the sinews of heat shoot across my chest, the skin pulsating. I tightly close my eyes and breath in and out, trying to gain control of my body. But, the more I fight it the more my chest burns, my throat constricting.

They're supposed to occur sparsely and with more time in-between after we turn twenty-two. But, the few that do occur in the two months leading up to the ascending are more intense, in preparation for the transformation and since we have less control of our wolf.

Mental strength can help us through, they claim. Becoming one with the wolf that comprises the very core of our being. Letting it guide us to our life's purpose.

And yet, as the room around me shrinks, and the scorching sensation creeps down to my toes, I've never felt more human. I've never felt more body and flesh.

My body folds over on itself and I wrap my arms around my thighs, trying to shrink into myself and shrink away the pain. 

I inhale and exhale, counting my breaths.

I'm trying to contain the energy that I am sure this hot flash is emitting. I can barely hear the faint howling between the throbbing in my head.

I don't notice the shifting and moaning coming from the bed right next to me, unable to focus on anything except each painful minute passing so slowly.

I intertwine my fingers behind my head and feel them strain as I tighten and pull.

I am strong.

I will breathe.

My fingers begin to give and I feel a hand—smooth, hard skin—grab onto mine tightly.

A faint humming sounds in my ears, and everything else becomes muted. As if the air has been sucked right out of the small room.

My breaths come out in short, labored spurts as I feel the heat rescinding, traveling up my body and releasing my chest. The scorching trails of red under my skin begin to dim to a light ember.

Then, the strangest thing happens, the power goes out in the room—or maybe the whole building—and I let the darkness wash over me.

It takes the movement of the hand pressed against my own to convince me that I haven't just blacked out from the pain.

Engulfed by the dark, I feel the heat withdraw towards the point of contact, as if both hands are sharing this burden equally.

Minutes, that feel like hours, pass. 

My mind is quiet for once; my body is weirdly aware. Not aware in the way that it throbs during a normal hot flash, but alive and tingling with electricity.

Goosebumps prickle the skin on my arms and legs as the lights come back on and my heart thumps loudly in my throat.

A feeling of fear overtakes me for a moment. A fear of what exactly, I don't know. But, it is just as quickly replaced by a feeling I can only describe as peace. Or something close to it.

In this moment, I urge myself to look at the intertwined hands and see the other grip mine even more tightly, as if making sure it's really there.

My eyes move from the hand up to a tanned, bandaged arm and a boy with brown curls, sitting up right, facing me with his eyes closed.

The buzzing returns, surrounding the two of us in its harmonic sounds, and the boy opens his eyes, sensing and feeling everything that I am.

Something inside me shifts.

When our eyes connect, it feels as if an invisible string tethers us together, bonding his soul to mine. The string is red and made of metal.

His eyes are a deep, chocolate brown rimmed with black and filled with golden specs. They hold my silver ones captive in their gaze as he stares right through me, into me, calling to my wolf even.

My nerves are confused, wanting me to let go and run. But, my soul is moving towards his, and I find myself unable to break eye contact, unable to break our intertwined hands, and leaning closer.

The sounds of the world muffled around us, I can only distinguish the joint vibrations between us. Listening closely, between the humming, one word comes together, distorted, but unmistakable.

Mate.