the girl with all of the choices

s e v e n t y - s i x

5234 words

april twenty-second- secrets are secrets no more

~ Addison ~

He was lying there in the bed, his skin as pale as I had ever seen it. I wasn't expecting it.

So I gasped.

Madam Pomfrey attempted to escort me over to his side, but my feet moved faster than hers.

I was standing at the foot of the bed, gazing down upon him when she finally joined me at my side. His white collared shirt had been unbuttoned, but remained on his arms, covering his mark and his scars. A large white cloth bandage had been wrapped around his chest, extending far underneath the blanket, probably at least halfway down his stomach. His eyes were closed, signalling that he was either asleep, unconscious, or... dead.

He was so fragile, so frail looking. He had never looked that brittle, that easily able to be broken in his entire life.

Except, he had already been broken. The damage had already been done.

I didn't realize that I was frozen, that I had stopped breathing until Madam Pomfrey placed her hand on my arm.

"Is he okay?" I asked, my words choked by desperate and shallow breaths.

"He will come to be," she said, her voice as sweet and thick as honey.

He's not dead.

"He lost a lot of blood, and he will need a lot of rest, at least the remainder of this week off from classes, but he is alive. He stabilized immediately after receiving the blood replenishing potion, and his condition has improved even more with the dittany. So, to answer your question, yes. He is doing relatively okay."

My breathing was shuddery as I turned to her. "Can I sit with him?"

"Of course, dear," she said, extending her arm out as an invitation for me to complete my request.

I didn't hesitate, desperately flinging myself over to his left side, my hand immediately finding his. I was so focused on getting to him, feeling his always frozen hands, recognizing his pulse in his wrist, twisting his ring, the ring that I got him, letting him know I was there.

I needed him to feel me, even if he was unconscious, which he looked to be.

I needed him to know that I was there.

He couldn't be alone, not anymore. I wouldn't allow it.

His skin felt like paper, the veins underneath it visible due to its translucence. His hands were usually cold, but I had never felt them this cold before. The one I was holding was fleshy ice. The nail on his ring finger still featured a small red heart that I had painted there during the holiday. He must have used a spell to keep it there without chipping. His palm was sweaty.

His hand simply wasn't his hand anymore.

I hadn't realized that the tears had begun to fall again, this time completely silent as they trailed new tracks down my features. I couldn't focus on me, I couldn't pay myself any attention because he was lying in this bed half dead. So I started to look him over.

The fabric of his sleeve was damp, most likely from the spillage of water from the sinks in the lavatory. The problem was that it was damp enough to become partially diaphanous, borderline transparent. I could see the outline of his mark on his forearm through it.

I quickly glanced around, looking to see if anyone was watching me before rotating his arm so that the part with his mark was face down into the sheets, hidden from the world's prying eyes.