All I Have

Chapter 14 ~ I Really Hope my Father Isn't Carrying a Decapitated Head in a Box

Mum and I spend almost all of the remaining evening decorating the new room to be as comforting as we can make it, so maybe I'll be able to sleep in a proper bed come nightfall. I attend the stupid politics class, and I make an excuse about the teacher's background check, so that Asher is allowed to sit in with him. I think he learned more than I did, and he passed me at least twelve notes with little scribbles of questions he wanted me to ask the tutor.

Afterwards, exhausted, I collapsed into my bedroom, and even if sleep still didn't come to me, I felt safer somehow. I had to hide from Asher, who could see me from his balcony, when I went outside to read by the little light from the lamp out there. I made my way through the majority of The Great Gatsby for the millionth time, and remind myself to collect some new books from the library for nights like these.

In the morning, my grandmother wakes me up bright and early to alert me of the hospital appointment that Emilio had set up for me back in London. I had forgotten, and so had Asher and so we flew across the city in an agency car, and just about made it on time. The positive to our lateness meant that my grandmother hadn't had time to object when I wore a hoodie and tied my hair up.

The doctor said the shrapnel hasn't moved from my trip back in London last week, but it definitely did move from my attempts at gymnastics on our couch. I called myself stupid and tried not to cry, but Emilio reminded me that I can't live my entire life afraid to roll over in bed and do myself some harm, even if that is my reality.

Usually I hate these appointments, but this time it's not so bad, because I have a mother to come home and tell the news to.

When they called in the orthopedic surgeon Asher really went pale and (thankfully) quiet. In between the x-rays, he stepped out to call his superior, and within minutes there were a few more agents with tape recorders and notepads to get the full breadth of my injuries. My grandmother sent through orders to have me able to walk in church tomorrow no matter what.

It shocks me, at one point while I'm laid down on a hospital bed in a gown that covers all of me to protect royal dignity, and Asher is flipping through some protocols on his phone, that tomorrow is Coronation Day. More importantly, even though Asher disagrees, tomorrow is Christmas. Meaning today is Christmas Eve, and we've done nothing to celebrate.

I try convince Asher to let us ditch the rest of the appointment and do something to get us in the spirit, but he's so close to finishing the hardest assignment of his career without fucking up, he's not listening to me one bit. I considered making a run for it, like I did this morning, but Asher purposefully took my clothes to prevent this exact plan.

I think it's funny that he still doesn't realise quite how far I'll go for the Christmas spirit. If I have to show the entire country my butt cheeks to make myself feel festive, I will.

Instead, he brings me a gingerbread hot chocolate and calls my mum to ask if she'll throw a few decorations up before I get back. He does this out in the hall, but I've been listening in on his conversations all morning, this is just the first one I care about.

And mum's secretly done just that when I get back. She meets me in the kitchen for lunch and I tell her the results, and pretend not to notice the glitter and paint on the hands of Adanna and Tegean as they fuss over their meal. Lars' here with Ansel too, and he even goes as far to hug me when I say hello, which I can't say has ever happened before.

Mum raises her eyebrows, oblivious and impressed, even more so when Lars remembers to ask how my appointment went. Asher however, frowns at his sudden acceptance of me. Dad walks past mid awkward hug and has to double back to check what's happening.

Dad's carrying a box and when Lars is finished with whatever the hell he just pulled, he asks us to follow him up. I trudge up the stairs after him, noticing the way that my back aches from being prodded all morning with latex hands and hard metal instruments. I have a feeling that they're going to want to operate soon, even though it will be their seventh attempt with the same outcome, and just one more scar.