In My Arms You Shall Hide

Chapter 5

Dorian

T hrough the blue-tinted haze of my dreams, Katherine stares up at me from inside a mason jars. She’s nearly lost in the chaos of branches and moss. I hold her jar in my hands. She’s speaking, saying something, but her voice doesn’t penetrate the glass.

Then, something seizes the jar from my hands, sending Katherine tumbling around inside. When I look up, I see the darkened face of my father, and he towers over me as if I’m a boy again.

When I reach out for it, he holds it over my head. I can’t see his eyes. It’s as if they’ve been scratched out. A piece of metal sticks out of his neck, blood everywhere, dripping down the sides of the jar. His fingers leave scarlet smudges on the glass.

My father upends the jar and dumps Katherine out onto the ground. I grab for her, faltering to the dirt, words stuck in my throat. I want to shield her with my hands, but my movements are sluggish.

My father’s foot is faster. He crushes her beneath his shoe, and for a fraction of a second, she cries out in terror, her voice tiny and barely audible. A crunch cuts her scream short, and blood spreads out from beneath my father’s shoe.

My dream haunts me all the way to the hospital. I try to discount it; my father has been a regular feature in my dreams well after his death. And even though she slots effortlessly into my new daily routine, this is the first time Katherine’s been featured in one. Only now, it seems, she’s crawled into my cerebellum and made herself a home there, even if it puts her at odds with what haunts me.

She’ll be released from the hospital in the next day or so, and not a day too soon, either. I accumulated a decent chunk of vacation days, but with my voicemail and email inbox filling up, I can’t put off returning any longer. I still receive texts from my coworkers bearing the brunt of the workflow, and they’re none-too-pleased over my absence.

As I enter Katherine’s room, I immediately notice Dana’s windbreaker thrown over the chair in the far corner, with her purse hanging there by its thin strap. Her daughter sits alone in the hospital bed, meaning that she can’t be very far.

And when I turn my attention to Katherine, I survey her injuries. Twenty-two days, and she continues to heal. Most of the bruises have started to yellow, but it’ll take longer for the brush burn and cuts to heal completely.

The doctor mentioned that her ribs and lung were on the fast track to a full recovery, and she could rest at home for the remaining duration. It’s her head that concerns him; so far, she’s demonstrated all of her cognitive functions beautifully, and her long-term memory appears intact.

However, she has moments of confusion that bother everyone—myself included. I suspect there might be other side effects she’s lying about and sweeping under the rug.

These issues, as well as my dream, are the first things that come to mind when I realize she’s been crying.

Katherine perks up the moment I enter the room. She smiles sweetly, but the puffiness of her red eyes are impossible to miss.

“Is everything alright?” I ask, walking to the bed, trying to remain as neutral and detached as possible.

She nods dismissively. “Everything’s hunky dory. How are you?”

I glance back at her mother’s bag, not intending to sit and chat until the mystery is unveiled. “You were crying.”

“No,” she lies, using the top cover of her blanket to dab her dry cheeks. The blankets are wet with twin tear stains. When she catches my stare, she gives in. “Okay, only a little. There was a really sad movie on, and it got to me.”

I lift my eyes to the darkened television screen showing our reflections. When I return my gaze to Katherine, she offers a bashful half-smile.

“I won’t pressure you,” I say, “even if you’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m actually pretty good if given enough time to prepare.”

I steal a breath and make my way to the left side of her hospital bed. Her weary blue eyes follow me, waiting for me to sit. Instead, I raise my hand to her face. It might be juvenile to be bothered by such an unusual dream, but it feels good that she’s unharmed.

Delicately, I trace a line down her healing cheek with the back of my index finger. Her eyes were even more brilliant when she cried—blue contrasted by red. Is it wrong to find such a thing so beautiful?

“I can’t expect honesty from you if I don’t grant you the same.”

Katherine blinks at me. “Dorian?”

“I went to that gas station because it was one of the last places that I’d felt safe as a child,” I confess in a low voice. “I think I was chasing that sense of comfort and nostalgia, but it didn’t help, as you saw.”

Maybe one day, when I’m stronger, I’ll lay bare to her all the pain I’ve felt. It’ll take considerable effort to knock down that wall, as dense and tall as I’ve made it. Yet, when she stares at me with heartbroken eyes, I consider it might not be as impossible as I think.

And there’s danger in that desire. Not a month ago, I loathed Katherine. I wanted to hurt her. And now, I’m desperate to be updated on her healing and tests; I’m counting on her being in my future. For God’s sake, I’m touching her like I’ve known her longer than I truly have.

When I’m finished speaking, she lowers her eyes and lets out a shaking breath. “I’ve put too much stress on my mom because of all this,” she explains. I withdraw from her. “She doesn’t know how we’ll pay for all this.”

My face twists with something—likely anger—but I can’t be sure. “You don’t have to worry about that, Kittie. Let me take care of it.”

“I won’t,” she murmurs, crumpling her blanket into her fists. “Plus, that says nothing about being out of work for a couple weeks. It puts a lot of financial stress on her that she doesn’t need. She hoped to use her savings to fix up the house, but now she has to cover more of the mortgage. This really puts a wrench in things.”

It takes a few seconds for me to compose myself enough to speak. I don’t want to sound angry, to frighten her, but the words infuriate me.

“ This ,” I gesture over her, “is life. What occurs in it, the challenges, and the rewards are what we live for. You’re not to blame for the circumstances that befall you, Kittie. Don’t let her put that burden on you.”

Katherine’s lower lip begins to tremble.

“Peace is fleeting. Life is the wrench.”

I can tell by the suppressed tremble of her lips that she’s fighting more tears. She chooses to nod her head in understanding rather than speak.

I take my seat at her side. I may have wanted it before, but I don’t want her to cry. “Can I ask something?”

“Yes, anything,” she replies so quickly that I know to expect the truth.

I hesitate, debating how to word my question; I don’t want to offend her. “Dana seems like a pleasant enough woman,” I say stiffly, then glance up at her curious face. “She doesn’t seem like the sort to upset you like this.”

“It’s not her fault,” she mumbles. “She’s never done well alone. For as long as I can remember, I’ve done my best to take care of her.”

I lift a brow. “But she’s the parent, Kittie. You’re her child.”

“But not a child,” she then adds softly, smiling in a broken, reflective way. “I don’t think I used to be a child, even back then. And anyway, she’s not abusive. She always made sure to pull her weight in our household. How can I ask anything more than that? She needs me, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

I want to argue that it’s not her burden as the child to ensure that her parents are cared for, but I cling to her parental standard: not abusive. I linger on the word for a second, wondering if the absent father, who has yet to show up at the hospital, might have set the standard.

I open my mouth to inquire further, but footsteps wandering through the threshold hold my tongue.

Dana, carrying two plastic containers, stops short when she sees me. “Oh, hello there,” she greets me with a bright grin.

I might’ve felt guilt that I’m not nearly as happy seeing her as she is to see me. Intentional or not, I hate that she brought Katherine so low. But who would I be to bring it up?

“Good morning,” I manage in a polite tone.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Dana begins and makes her way to the bed before handing one of the containers to her daughter. They appear to be packaged sandwiches from the hospital cafeteria. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Katherine squeezes the container so tightly that the plastic crinkles. “Mom,” she protests, her face reddening, “please don’t .”

Dana doesn’t heed her discomfort. “I hate to be this person, but Kittie doesn’t have any insurance.”

“ Mom ,” she calls in a frustrated voice. “I told you we weren’t having this discussion. Dorian, please, just tune her out.”

Her mother might have had my ire before, but now she’s claimed my curiosity. I have half a mind about where she’s going, but I indulge her. “What seems to be the concern, Dana?”

“I really hate to bring it up,” she says, ignoring the pleading look Katherine’s giving her, “but I didn’t know if there was a possibility to open an insurance claim or something? There’s no way that we can afford this.”

“No!” she cries. Then, as if struck by something, Katherine winces, clasping her palm to the side of her torso.

I reflexively stand, reaching toward her as if I can physically do something about the pain. Her name falls from my lips without my input, as if it belongs there.

The pain clears from her face in the next instant. She lifts her chin to look up at me. This time, she reaches out to touch me, her fingers pulling at the fabric of my sleeve. “I’m begging you to ignore her.”

I scan her face. Why are you so terrified of someone taking care of you? I want to ask her. Why does being a burden horrify you?

“There’s no need to worry,” I insist, “I’ll have it taken care of.”

Katherine shocks me by glaring. She usually only saves smiles for me, and her annoyance amuses me. I refrain from chuckling at her expense.

“I won’t take a penny from you,” she declares, her anger almost sweet to my ears. “Do you hear me? Not a penny.”

I take her face in my hand again. It’s natural to touch her, to reach out to her. I hold her chin with my thumb and knuckle, softening my words to soothe her frustrations. “Your only concern right now is to heal.”

My conviction pushes her into silence. Her glare dampens.

Dana coughs in the corner, and the noise prompts Katherine to pull away from my touch.

“Thank you, Dorian,” she says, and I begrudgingly glance at her. “Now, we don’t expect you to pay for everything . I don’t want you going bankrupt or anything. I was thinking we could speak to your insurance for some options.”

“That’s unnecessary,” I reply, bored with ironing out the details. It’ll be a discussion later with the hospital’s billing department, but not in the same room with a woman recovering from a severe head injury. I retake my seat. “Like I said, I’ll have it taken care of. As for now, shouldn’t we keep the stress to a minimum? Wasn’t that the doctor’s advice?”

Katherine turns her eyes toward the champaign-colored walls, choosing not to look at anyone. “I’m so mad at both of you.”

Why does her anger make me want to tease her? I can’t be sure. I gingerly pat the back of her hand to get her to release the death grip on her blanket. “I promise you’ll get over it.”

“I really can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am for your help,” Dana tells me, and when she senses her daughter’s anger, she tries to flash her an encouraging smile. “You’ll have to find someone like Dorian, Kittie, and nail him down before he gets away. God knows I haven’t managed to find a man as mature and responsible.”

Strangely, Katherine’s face falls, and her cheeks redden. With a stilted, somewhat awkward laugh, she fans herself with her hand. “Oh, someone like him,” she says, clarifying. She won’t meet my eyes. “Because I’m a little too young for Dorian, I think.”

I pretend to do the mental math. I already know she’s twenty, and I’m well aware of the ten-year age gap between us. After a sufficient amount of time passes, I give a shrug. “You’re not all that young, comparatively.”

Katherine’s face darkens a shade, and shyly, she casts her eyes to mine again. There’s a touch of reluctance there and something else; a sorrow, a melancholy lamp-shaded by the ghost of a smile. “Still, I bet you get a lot of girls barking up your tree.”

This turn of phrase gives me pause. Is she insinuating that women were constantly giving me attention? I blink at her. “Oh? And men aren’t barking up yours?”

It had been a cheeky, playful comment, but she shakes her head slowly. When she responds, it’s an emotionless truth, with no self-pity on her face. “Not at all.”

Strange. Katherine has the sweetest heart-shaped face, her thin, long nose complimenting it perfectly, and a set of very expressive brows that choreograph every one of her emotions. Katherine is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen; how could men not be throwing themselves at her feet?

Why am I the only person here besides her own mother?

Then, it dawns on me. Did I find her beautiful like this before?

Dana quickly cuts in before I can fully process my physical attraction to Katherine. “Men are just as shy as women, Kittie. Don’t worry. There’s a man out there for you.”

“It’s not like there’s any competition,” she replies softly.

No, it’s not a competition, I agree with that. And I identify a weight in my chest, causing my heart to sink to the bottom of my stomach. It’s not a competition, I realize, in horror, because I will not deal with competing with others.

What’s gotten into me?