Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 631(@200wpm)___ 505(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 631(@200wpm)___ 505(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
“Willow, I’m asking you nicely. Get up and go to breakfast.” She raises a stern eyebrow.
“And I’m telling you I don’t wanna get up. Why’s that so hard to understand?” I jerk the blanket out of her grip and cover myself again.
“Willow, don’t make me call the techs. I don’t want to do it.”
“Fucking call them.” I close my eyes and a breath escapes me when I hear her retreating. It hurts my lungs and I curl up in a ball.
Maybe she’ll really bring in techs, security even. And maybe they’ll bring a needle. Maybe they’ll stick me with it, if I become difficult.
None of that’s scaring me. It should; I hate needles. But then, I see him behind my closed eyes.
Dr. Blackwood. The hero.
Maybe he’ll come and save me. Like he saved Annie. Yeah, I want him to save me. Just for today.
Please, God. Let him come save me.
I can hear the crowd gathering around my room. Murmurs and voices and footsteps. It’s agitating me further. I feel like they are laughing at me, pointing fingers. Don’t they get it?
I need to be left alone.
“Willow,” Renn calls; she must be in the hallway. “What’s going on? You okay?”
I hear Penny’s voice too, asking what’s going on. Even Violet’s talking in louder tones. If this were any other day, I would’ve talked to them or smiled.
I can’t move a muscle today.
Then I hear another set of footsteps and a voice that, despite everything, manages to make it through to me. “Willow.”
Dr. Blackwood.
He’s here, in my room.
Finally I lower the blanket, but only down to my nose, and take a peek at him.
He’s on the threshold, filling the doorway with his massive shoulders, his wingtips half in and half out, staring down at me with a big frown.
Is he here because of the commotion? Or does he really want to see if I’m okay?
“What’s going on?”
The nurse fills him in, but he doesn’t move his eyes from me, nor I from him. The more I stare at him, the more I want him to come to me and the more I want to cry.
No idea why I want to do the latter. But I feel like I can.
I can cry in front of him and he’ll lend me his broad chest, so I can rest my head on it. He’ll even let me soak his shirt with my salty tears.
He enters the room, and comes to stand by my bed, towering over me, like he did the very first time I saw him. Shifting the air, making space for himself.
“Get up,” he orders.
His voice makes me lose the battle with my tears and they well up in my eyes. “Please make them go away,” I whisper thickly.
Again, I’m not sure if I’m talking about the people crowding the hallway or these shadows and thoughts inside my head.
He watches me for a few seconds, roaming his eyes all over my face, with a tic in his jaw. Then he twists his torso to look toward the door. “Can you clear out the hallway, please?” he says to someone behind him. “I’ve got this.”
Slowly, the noises and murmurs die down and the people are taken away. I close my eyes and a tear seeps out, getting into my loose hair.
When I open my grainy lids, Dr. Blackwood is facing me. His chest swells and falls inside the confines of his shirt. “Get up.”
I swallow. “Would it matter too much if I just stayed here for a little while?”
“Yes,” he clips. “Breakfast’s in about fifteen minutes and you need to be there for it.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“It doesn’t work that way.”
“How does it work then?”
“There are rules, protocols. They need to be followed.”
I know about rules. I’ve followed them all my life. But then, what has that ever gotten me? This. This illness that never goes away.
Swallowing with difficulty, I take him in, his crisp pants and his polished shoes. I think of his charts. His pen, his glasses. The fact that he’s always working. The fact that he doesn’t have fun.
Lowering my blanket, I ask him, “Do you always follow the rules?”
He sighs. “Willow, get up.”
I would, if I could.
The thing is, I don’t think I can stand. And I’m not making this up. Sometimes my limbs don’t have the energy. I feel so exhausted and heavy that it seems like my legs won’t hold my weight. They shake, making me dizzy.
As always, I’ve tried to hide it, hide my episodes and bouts, as much as I can.
But in this moment when he’s here, I don’t want to.
I don’t want to hide from him.
Somehow, I move. I gather whatever energy I have in my body and raise my arm to him. Dr. Blackwood glances at it, then at me.
“Can you help me up?” I ask in a small voice.