Chapter 4 Nil #2
Even hours later, walking still feels like borrowing my own legs.
I get winded by stairs and by thoughts I don’t want to unpack.
But I’m upright long enough to sign my discharge papers with a name that feels like a stranger’s.
My chest locks at the letters in ink. For a minute, I think about tearing the paper in half.
But I didn’t claw my way back to be stopped by some letters.
After all that, they get me to a plane and drive me to a port. Before I know it, my feet are on a gangway, and I’m standing in a ship where I share a cabin with Stan.
“A luxury cruise for twelve traumatized science experiments?” he jokes. “Overcompensating much? Not that I relate. Zero overcompensation here.”
I don’t even have the energy to react. He hasn’t stopped talking since Em left us here.
Right now, I’m sitting on the top bunk, breathing through the dizziness while the ship moves in a lulling way. Stan doesn’t seem to notice that I haven’t commented on anything for a while. Or maybe he has and doesn’t like silence.
“You know your sister got married, right?” he blurts out.
“She was my first call.”
“Yeah? That’s good.” He huffs. “And here I was thinking maybe the coma wiped your memory of how phones work.”
He leans back on the edge of my bed.
“Well, it’s official.” Stan groans. “She’s Mrs. Murderface now. And I’m the idiot who cried into the cake.”
A laugh punches out of me. “That bad?”
“Okay, maybe I’m being dramatic. I only cried on the inside.” He tips his head back to look at me. “Guess that’s part of why I said yes to this science cruise. Needed a distraction. Or a lobotomy.”
His smile’s crooked and ridiculously warm.
“But having you as my mandatory roomie is a nice surprise.”
“Hm, weird thing to say.”
“That’s how this pretty mouth of mine works.” He turns and folds his forearms on my top bunk. “Weird words. Big feelings. Terrible impulse control. But hey, knew you’d make it. If anyone could survive falling off a cliff, it’d be you.”
I go still, staring at him. Stan looks a lot like Kai, more than he resembles his monster of a mother. “She’s not dead, is she?”
He sobers fast, frowning. “Nope, still comatose. That’s my mother for you. But you tried. That counts.”
I stare at my fists on my lap. “It was supposed to be the end.”
“Yeah,” he says. “But you’re here. That’s what matters more.”
We let the silence sit for a while. With Stan, that seems like a special occasion.
“How was it?” he asks. “The coma, I mean. You remember much?”
“Bits,” I say. “My sister’s voice. Kayla’s. Yours.”
Stan’s elbow bumps into my knee. “Mine?”
“You told me to fight. Made jokes. Complained about hospital food.”
His eyes light up. “That’s good. Thought it’d help, y’know?”
“You helped,” I say. “Visiting me like that.”
“You would’ve done the same. Hell, you did. You saved all of us.”
“I only wanted to save my sister,” I whisper. “She saved me. Took the worst so I could run a little freer.”
“Yeah, I…” Stan looks down, jaw tight. “I wanted to save her too.”
“You did.”
His head snaps back up. “What?”
“You made her laugh again. Made her feel something after everything Clo took from her. That counts too.”
He blinks at me, looking stunned, like I’d handed him something he wasn’t sure he deserved.
I get it.
“I didn’t think anyone noticed,” he whispers.
“You’re a big, loud guy, Stan. Hard not to.”
“God, I’m so glad you’re alive.” A slow grin spreads across his mouth. “So you gonna see her anytime soon?”
“When I’m ready.”
He nods. “Yeah, hopefully, that’s soon.”
The ship sways. Stan stretches his shoulders. They look broader than I remember.
“Do you snore?” he asks. “Cause if you do, I might smother you with a pillow and blame it on my mama trauma.”
“You could try,” I say, smiling a little. “I’d win that fight, though.”
“Mean.” He chuckles. “Hot, but mean.”
I don’t have much else to say, but I keep my eyes on him. I lose track of time and take in the way Stan looks at me like I’ve been around all along.
“Good night, Nil.” His grin stretches wide. “Nice new name, by the way.”
He moves back to his bottom bunk, and a minute later, he’s asleep and…snoring.
But I don’t mind. It’s much better than the noise in my head.
My eyelids get heavy, but the feeling in my chest is worse.
His snores get louder. I let out a silent laugh. I stay awake a little longer, letting the gentle sway of the ship guide my thoughts.
Maybe I’m not the same person who went over that cliff. Maybe I’m someone who gets to take things step by step, without worrying that the ground’s gone under my feet again.
***
Waking today feels different. My limbs feel stiff but willing. My heartbeat doesn’t echo like it belongs to someone else.
I’m here, awake, trying to understand what that means.
For so long, my life moved according to someone else’s plan. First my parents. Then Clo.
And now I’m someone new. Still unsure what, but taking a step’s a start.
If I can’t figure out who I’m supposed to be yet, my sister can be the reason I keep moving.
She carried me through more darkness than I can be bothered to remember.
She deserves a version of me that doesn’t stay stuck there once I’m out of this ship.
The bunk under me creaks. “You awake, roomie?”
I grunt at Stan in response.
“This ship’s trash,” he starts. “I checked when I woke up from a nightmare. There’s no room service or breakfast in bed. What happened to hospitality? Human dignity?”
A smile pulls at my mouth.
He knocks the underside of my mattress. “Hey, Ocean Eyes. You composing sad poetry up there or brooding with your eyes closed?”
“Both,” I say, raspy.
His laugh comes fast and warms me up. “Good one, Nil.”
I sit up slowly. My legs hang over the side. My body complains, but I’m getting better at ignoring that.
Stan stands with his back to me and shrugs his uniform shirt on. His short hair looks like he lost a fight with the pillow, but it still works on him.
“You look like somebody rebuilt you out of protein powder,” he says, eyeing me.
“Speak for yourself, pal.”
He makes a face. “Pal? That’s rude. We’re shared-trauma roommates now. We’ve moved past pal.”
He bends down to tie on his shoes. I find myself staring at the back pockets of his pants.
“Anyway, listen, I wandered the ship at dawn. Could’ve been sleepwalking or stress. Hard to tell. Either way, I found the mess hall. No idea if the food’s edible, but we’ll find out together.”
“You didn’t eat?” I ask.
“I didn’t want to break my fast without you.” He bumps my shin with his elbow. “So what do you say, roomie? Ya hungry?”
It takes me a minute to check in with my body. Being awake still feels brand new. So hunger’s hard to feel. But he’s offering, and there’s something tempting in that. “I could eat,” I say.
“Hell yes! Let’s go get some proper breakfast before the doctors remember we’re supposed to be on a controlled diet or something.”
I climb down. Stan’s talking by the time the door slides shut behind us.
“This hallway? Haunted. Has to be. Spirits. Bad lighting. Same thing.”
I don’t comment, but he glances back to make sure I’m still there.
He keeps doing that every few minutes while he talks and we walk the hall until we head down the stairs.
By the time we reach the mess hall, a faint smell of coffee hits me.
Stan inhales loudly. “Caffeine’s close. I can feel it. My soul’s trembling for some beans.”
I huff out a quiet laugh. He looks pleased seeing that.
We stop by the doors. “So…” he trails off. “When’s the socially acceptable time to hit on your recently resurrected roommate? Asking for a friend.”
I blink at him. Last thing I need is to misread him and end up thinking I’m someone’s stand-in. But I decided a long time ago that Stan’s a flirt. Nothing to read into.
“Too soon? Bad taste?” His gray eyes are looking for my reaction.
“You sure you aren’t asking for yourself?”
His smile snaps back into place. “Knew you were funny, Nil.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. It’s your dry delivery.” He lets out a short breath. “While I’m over here, thinking it’s sorta funny fighting the urge to say stuff I shouldn’t.”
“You’re allowed to joke, Stan.”
“About what? The coma?”
“Anything, really.”
He goes silent for some seconds, just staring at me, and then he speaks up. “If I don’t laugh about it, I’ll implode. Or start quoting depressing poetry. And I refuse to sink to Sterling’s level.”
Another small laugh slips out of me.
He grins my way. “So…” he says. “What’s the verdict on the flirting thing?”
“You can hit on me, Stan.”
“Wait.” His eyes widen. “For real?”
“If you keep it light and funny.”
His grin turns wicked. I open the mess hall door. He follows me in.
The mess hall’s spotless and empty of people. The food’s laid out. Fruit, vegetables, meat, eggs, a pot of coffee, and some tea.
Stan points at the spread. “Early risers get the boring buffet first.”
We walk over to the buffet table. I eye the toast, poking it too. “Think it’s edible?”
“No clue. But we’re brave, right?”
After that, we fill our plates. Stan mutters commentary the entire time, insulting everything on the table.
We end up sitting at the far end of a long bench.
Stan eats loudly but doesn’t talk much when he’s got a pile of food in front of him.
“This is nice,” I mutter without much thought.
He smirks, mouth full. “I’m sorry, what? Say that again, so I can get it on the record.”
Brow raised, I frown at him a bit. “I said this is nice, Stan.”
“I knew you liked me.”
“Never said I didn’t.”
The way his teeth bite into his smirking lip makes me want to crawl back into bed, just so I can hide the heat that’s spreading on my face.
Lucky for me, he keeps his mouth shut about it.
We finish breakfast in silence. When we’re done, we get up and plan to head out.
Stan stretches and asks, “Wanna see the gym? Or the lab? I’m an excellent tour guide.”
“The gym,” I say after some thought. “You might need to spot me.”
His grin’s back. “Careful. That’s dangerously close to flirting.”
I stay quiet and follow him. Like earlier, he talks while we walk, pointing out everything like he really is some sort of tour guide.
When he pushes open the gym doors, he announces, “Behold! A sanctuary for gainz. With a z, for a cooler effect. Did it work? Did I sound cool? Don’t answer that. I know I’m cool.”
While he keeps talking, I look around. The gym’s cleaner than any place I’ve trained in. Rows of high-end machines. Mirrors on every wall. A corner stacked with drinks and snacks.
Stan strolls in and looks straight at me. “State-of-the-art stuff, right?” he asks, hands on his hips. “I’m talking about me, of course.”
I grab a pair of dumbbells that won’t tear anything in me. My mind remembers the motions. My muscles don’t, but they’ll get there.
Stan watches. “Damn, Ocean Eyes,” he says under his breath. “You move like you’ve been doing this instead of sleeping pretty for four months.”
“I used to train whenever I could,” I say. “Helped clear my head.”
“Right,” he says, eyes on my arms. “Super therapeutic. Great eye candy.”
I switch weights. My body protests but in a way that feels useful. Healing, maybe. Stan watches every rep.
“You want me to spot you, right?” he asks.
“Soon, when I’m on the heavier stuff.”
“I got you then,” he says, voice dropping. “Right now, I’m enjoying the view too much anyway.”
My grip almost slips. He catches the moment and chuckles.
After I finish a few sets, I put the weight down and breathe through the burn. Stan lies back on a mat, arms behind his head, shirt riding up for a peek of his sculpted abs and his v-line.
“Ocean Eyes, riddle me this,” he says, “You come out of a coma, and all you wanna do is work out?”
I sit beside him on the mat. “Pushing through it to get control of my body again,” I answer between pants.
“You’re doing great.” He turns his head toward me, gray eyes warm in a way I’m not prepared for. “Seriously. I haven’t taken my eyes off you since we got in here.”
“I noticed.”
“That’s the point, Nil.” His voice is almost a whisper. “I want you to.”
There’s a tug low in my ribs from hearing his words. Maybe I want him to notice me too.
Freedom felt like the end goal for so long. But being here beside him, sweat cooling on my skin, heat rolling off our bodies… I start thinking of a different goal.
Before I can form another thought, I catch the way Stan eyes my shoulders, dragging his gaze down my neck. “You’re hella tense.”
He presses two fingers into the base of my neck.
“See, right here.” His touch is so damn warm. “And looks like your shoulders are trying to crawl into your ears.”
He stands up and steps back, smirking. He offers his hand. I take it and get up too.
“Warm up with me, Ocean Eyes.”
I furrow my brows. “I just usually…start.”
“Oh, I know,” he says, slipping his hand out. “You rush into everything. Fights. Cliffs. My mom.”
With a short chuckle, I follow him to the stretch of gym where the treadmills are. He taps one to life.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have given me permission to joke too much,” he quips.
I step onto the treadmill instead of answering. He gets on the treadmill beside me.
For the next while, he keeps talking, filling up the space between us with his fast words. He offers to adjust my hips “hands-on, for science,” and the confidence in his voice is so ridiculous I let out some more breathless laughs.
His steps sync with mine, even though I know he could move faster. Guess he’s matching my pace.
My pulse picks up. I’m alive. I’m here. Moving step by step into whatever comes next. That’s what counts.