Things We Can't Say

15: you're freaking me out.

I'm not dead, luckily, but I feel close enough.

The second I open my eyes, a searing headache beats at my temples, as if someone's stretched a tight band from eye to eye. Lead weighs my limbs down into a cushioned leather seat, the pulse in my ears faint and rapid. Worst of all is the stinging pain in my right side, where the stilt dancer's knife dug in.

I let out a low groan, struggling upright. I blink, surprised to find myself in the narrow cabin of the jet: a luxury set up of spacious, cream-colored chairs, television screens, and a mini fridge. I turn my head towards the window beside me, slowly. All I see is blue.

Before I can even start to wonder how I'm not dead, and how I got here, a curtain at the end of the cabin whooshes aside, announcing the arrival of my brother.

Though his clothes are mottled with holes—at least the third outfit he's turned to shreds since we left home—and a streak of blood highlights his cheek, his eyes shimmer nonetheless when he sees me. "Vy, you're awake!" he says, bounding towards me. He sinks into the chair nearest mine, studying my face. "I was so worried. Not that I didn't think you were going to wake up—I think you're very strong. But still I was worried because, you know, I think that's just who I am."

"Thank you," I say, ruffling his hair with a trembling hand. "Thank you for worrying."

A flicker of confusion passes his face for a moment, before he smiles. "Do you need anything? Are you thirsty?"

"Water would be okay, I think. Thanks."

Jamie scrambles to his feet again, fingers to his brow in a mock salute. "Aye aye, Captain."

He ambles to the mini fridge, dropping to a crouch to rifle through the contents. The emptiness of the plane dawns on me then; despite the spaciousness of it all, the seats around me are all vacant. "Jamie, where is everybody?" I say, then add, stricken: "Where's Lucci?"

"Mr. Alonso and his friends are in the cockpit, and Lucci's in the kitchen, hoarding all the microwave meals," Jamie answers. He whirls, raises his arm as if to toss the water bottle at me, then thankfully reconsiders. Instead, he crosses the aisle, handing it to me. "We all wanted to give you a chance to get some rest."

The water is ice cold, sending a shiver throughout my whole body. Cautiously, I graze my injured side with the tips of my fingers. The skin is swollen and tender, but roughly sewn shut. I pull my hand back again with a wince.

Jamie's just watching me, a curious glint in his eyes. "Mr. Alonso has a doctor on hand," he tells me. "Didn't you know? So the doctor lady took good care of you and sucked the silver out of your system and then sewed your wound shut. Do you feel better? The lady said you'd feel better after you slept."

I chuckle. "I do feel better than when I was just stabbed, yes. But believe me, I'm far from one hundred percent."

"That's okay," Jamie says. "How about eighty percent? I think eighty percent is a good number for right now."

I consider it. "Seventy-five, maybe?"

Jamie pauses. "Lower than I was hoping for, but at least it's not seventy."

"True."

Jamie grins at me, but it's a bittersweet one, the rueful grin of fear not yet entirely relieved. He takes my hand, his palm warm where mine is cool. "I'm glad you're okay," he says, holding my gaze. "I'm really glad you're okay, Vy, because you scared me. For a second there I thought I was going to lose you again, and then I'd be all alone."

It's not so much the words that settle like a stone in my chest, but the look on his face as he says them. I've never seen him look so forlorn, his pale eyebrows just slightly furrowed, the edges of his smile beginning to droop like wilted flower petals. I've never seen him look like this, and so long as it's up to me, he'll never look like this again.