Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
"Better?" he asked.
I managed a small nod at that, feeling some of the clouds part in my mind.
Malcolm grabbed a chair, moving it in beside my bed, reaching and holding onto my hand, just sitting with me while my overwhelmed mind slowly came to grips with what happened.
When it finally cleared enough for me to make my brain and body work in conjunction, I reached with my free hand to rip the oxygen mask off my face.
"Shep?" I asked, panic clear in my voice.
"He's okay. I just checked on him," he said, but he was hiding something from me.
About my own brother.
"What happened?" I asked, shooting upward.
"Hey, no. You need to rest," he demanded, putting a hand on my shoulder.
"No," I said, tossing the mask, and grabbing the IV pole, and dragging it with me as I made my way toward the door.
"Holly, please. I'll get the doctor to come to talk to you," Malcolm said, reaching for my hand again.
"Where is he?" I cried softly, looking around helplessly.
Knowing there was no talking me down, Malcolm's hand went to my lower back, guiding me toward the side, leading me toward another room where Shep was in a bed, hooked up to monitors and IVs.
"Can you get the doctor?" Malcolm asked, voice softer than usual as he addressed the nurse.
She gave him a tight nod as I moved to sit down beside Shep, reaching for his hand.
The doctor came back as Malcolm moved in behind me, a reassuring presence as the doctor said words that made the ground feel like it was falling away beneath me.
Words like overdose and lucky to be alive.
Malcolm was there to grab me and lower me back down into the chair when my legs refused to hold me up any longer.
I listened to the doctor talk for a while longer, telling me about Shep's leg, his back, about his prognosis.
All my brain could seem to process was that they didn't think I'd hurt his back further by pushing him out the window, but he'd need to see his specialist.
And that he was going to wake up.
That was all I could hear right then.
"Honey, please, can we go back to your room?" Malcolm asked, squeezing my hand.
"He can't wake up alone," I insisted. I knew that wasn't what he wanted to hear, but even if my mind was all kinds of conflicted about the events of the night, I knew that no one should wake up alone after a traumatic event. Even one they might have inflicted on themselves. Maybe especially not the kind they inflicted upon themselves.
"I don't understand," I admitted to Malcolm what felt like a lifetime later. I'd aged in those minutes, in those hours. I felt brittle and fragile as I sat there at my brother's hospital bed.
"What don't you understand?" Malcolm asked, rubbing a hand reassuringly up and down my back.
"This. Him. The fire. This whole night. I don't understand," I said, looking over at him. "So much of this doesn't make sense. Why was his door locked?" I asked, shaking my head. "He never locks his door in case I need to get to him."
"Maybe..." Malcolm started, trailing off, shaking his head as he looked away, like the thought was too terrible to say aloud.
"Maybe what?" I demanded, voice stronger than I felt in spirit right then.
Malcolm's breath sighed out of him as his gaze found and held mine. "Maybe he didn't want you to get to him," he suggested.
"You think..." I started, realizing why he didn't want to say it. "You think he tried to kill himself?" I asked. "And me?" I added, voice cracking.
"Not you. You could get out. But you couldn't get to him."
"No."
"Honey..."
"No," I snapped, jaw going tight. "Absolutely not. If that was the case, there was no reason for the fire," I said, feeling like that argument was solid.
"Maybe the fire was an accident. He took some shit, went out to the kitchen or something, and left a burner on or something. Then went back to his room, locked his door..."
It wasn't a bad argument.
And Shep had been struggling.
But could he really have been struggling that much without me seeing the signs?
Had I been too wrapped up in my budding relationship with Malcolm to see them?
My heart crushed in my chest at the very idea.
"Why didn't the fire alarms go off?" I asked, looking over at Malcolm. "There were two of them between the kitchen and the bedrooms. Why didn't they go off? They were working. I checked them not that long ago."
"I don't know, honey," he said, shaking his head. "Are you sure they didn't? A lot was going on."
"No. No, they didn't go off. I'm sure. Something woke me up. But it wasn't the alarm. And I just stayed there for a minute confused until I smelled the smoke. There was no alarm going off."