Chapter 21 - Em #2
“You’re really warm,” he whispers, brows knitted in worry. “And the swelling’s worse in your hands since the airport.”
I look away, though I’m not sure why. He follows the movement, gently guiding my chin back toward him with his other hand.
“I want to check your pulse too,” he murmurs. “Lift your head for me.”
I do, my eyelids lowering as I stare at his slightly troubled expression. His fingers slide to my neck, precise and practiced. The contact sends a familiar calmness through my chest, one I’ve relied on more times than I can count. He watches my face as he counts.
His brows draw together deeper. “Quite high, Em,” he says after a moment.
“I walked quickly,” I say.
His piercing light blue eyes move over my face. “Have you been drinking enough water, Em?”
“Yes.”
“And eating regularly?”
“Yes.”
He doesn’t look convinced. His hand slides from my neck, down my spine, and then to my waist, the other brushing lightly along my jaw. “Tell me, Em, has your vision blurred at all lately?”
My spine shivers from the lingering warmth of his fingers. “A little.”
“And your nausea. Has that returned?”
“It never left.”
His eyes move down to my mouth. “These symptoms, Em… They’re not something we can ignore. Have you been taking the pills I gave you?”
I draw in a breath that doesn’t feel full. “That’s what I want to talk about.”
“When was your last dose?” he asks before I can ask my question.
Silence stretches between us. I don’t want to answer his question, because I haven’t taken any in a while, not since the pill spilled open on the corner desk and smelled sweet when it should’ve been bitter.
And besides, that’s not what’s pertinent. I’ve been dying to know if Idris did something to the pills he made for me. If what he’s been giving me is real or not.
My ribs grip around the question. I swallow my nervousness down and force my shuddering voice to ask, “Idris… Did you give me placebos?”
His thumb stills at my jaw, his hand at my waist flexing. Then, unexpectedly, his smile returns, as warm as ever. “Em,” he says, his gaze opening. “I’d never give you placebos.”
The words seem genuine enough, yet my body doesn’t relax.
I study his eyes while the silence holds. Light blue, clear as the sea, and as open as he’s always been with me. The expression alone suggests he’s telling the truth. Even so, curiosity presses harder than relief ever could.
“Then why are they sweet…?” I ask carefully.
His smile doesn’t waver as he speaks. “Because it’s a compound I made for you, Em.” His tone stays patient, but his pupils dilate when he leans closer. “The perfect formula of clean Kysergic Synesthesine you made, and I…”
He stops to laugh lightly, so light that it’s a warm breath between us.
My eyes almost flutter close, and I nearly close the space between us. I want to return to our routine, and to be by his side the way we’ve always been.
But the need to know is stronger, so I wait until he continues.
Idris hovers closer. “Em, all I did was add some more into the formula. A pren—”
He blinks in surprise for a few seconds before clearing his throat and continuing on.
“A multivitamin and other supplements, such as folic acid and iron. And a low glycemic saccharide to support absorption.”
He lists the contents how he’d describe how he makes my coffee. Except as perfectly as he makes it, I don’t know why he’d change the compound of my pills.
“Does that mean…” I whisper, “that I have a dysfunction?”
The question seems to catch him by surprise. I see it in the lift of his brows and how fast his smile disappears. “A dysfunction? In you, Em?” His words leave him in a hurry. “No, nothing like that. What would ever make you think that?”
I don’t answer right away. My thoughts are lining up possibilities, searching for what he hasn’t said.
“I was preparing to explain,” he continues, “a lot of things, actually, but I wanted to wait for the right moment when—”
He stops himself with a huff of breath, more amused than frustrated.
“Em,” he says, “there’s nothing wrong with you.”
His fingers lift to my cheek, the touch so achingly familiar that I realize now how badly I missed him. His thumb brushes beneath my eye, behind the bottom frame of my glasses.
“I wouldn’t change one single, miniscule thing about you, Em.” A faint smile curves the bow of his lips. “All of it’s just to make sure your body has a little more support while you’re handling everything.”
His words pass without much emphasis. Still, my pulse jumps under his hand.
“I know you push yourself, especially when things feel out of your control,” he says. “I only wanted to make things easier for you. That’s all.”
He lowers his head. His mouth traces the line of my cheek.
My hands grip his shirt before I realize I’ve moved them there.
Idris exhales against my skin, the sound low. “Em,” he murmurs. “It drives me crazy when you’re in kissing range.”
Heat spreads through my chest, down into my limbs, my pulse quickening where his body fits so naturally against mine. I don’t stop him when his lips nearly brush mine.
I tip my head up. Habit urges me forward. But I turn my face away. “I’m with Lix and Stan now,” I whisper.
“I know,” he says, smiling again. “I assumed as much.”
His smile lingers, but it no longer reaches his eyes the way it did a moment ago. His hand leaves my waist slowly as he steps back.
“I’ll speak with them,” he adds after a moment. “Only if that’s something you want. Only if it feels right to you.”
My head dips into a nod. The motion is small, instinctive, as though the answer had already formed somewhere beneath thought.
His breath catches. He masks it with his soft smile, warmth returning to his eyes. For a second, it looks like he might cross the distance again.
However, his attention drifts to the corner desk. To the pill container resting beside the equipment.
He studies my face as he speaks, as if checking the effect of each word. “You haven’t been taking them,” he says. “But I promise you they’ll help, Em. With the cortisol surges. When your body’s under prolonged stress.”
I step closer and press a brief kiss to his cheek, right below the curve of his cheekbone. It’s a quick thank you more than anything else.
“Okay, Idris, I’ll take them.”
The relief on his face arrives fast. He sighs, shoulders lowering.
When I pull back, his fingers lift to touch the place where my lips had been, lingering there as his eyes stay on mine, more black than blue.
But soon, he’s helping me swallow down one pill, while I rest my head on his shoulder, holding onto his arm.
I’ve missed welcoming his warmth this way.
***
The morning passes by quickly after, with Idris telling me about the past week he had.
Damon and the Adels managed the crisis by negotiating with many media outlets.
In the hundreds, he says. Both local and international.
But now, we can expect no news about what transpired on the ship to ever reach the rest of the world.
I ask Idris about Sergio and Gerald. He tells me that it won’t replace their priceless lives, but their families have been generously compensated and were sent further offers of comfort. I’m not sure what the latter means, but I trust Idris to have handled it with care.
“And Jon?” I ask about the surviving victim. “Is he well?”
“Darius has been communicating with him,” Idris answers. “It seems he’s doing okay, especially with the Kys you gave him.”
I breathe out a long sigh of relief that earns a wider smile from Idris.
“You didn’t have to worry, Em.” He stands, helping me up. “But in any case, while we’re here, do you mind showing me around?”
I shake my head, not minding at all while we turn toward the door and into the hall. He falls into step beside me as we walk down the corridor of bedrooms.
As I point out the rooms similarly to how Stan did days ago, he listens closely, occasionally brushing my fingers with his when we turn corners.
When we head toward the dining room, I give him a concise account of my week.
The sounds of staff moving around, setting the table for an early lunch—most likely to welcome Damon, Darius and Idris—are clear even from the other end of the long hallway leading to them.
He stops walking by the time the staff leave the table lined with steaming plates of food and sweating pitchers of chilled drinks.
Idris takes my hands in his and turns to face me. “I missed you,” he whispers with that same smile. “A lot, Em. I never stopped thinking of you, even for a second.”
It’s not possible, but I nod, accepting the sentiment. “I missed you too,” I admit. “Our routines…”
“Waking up to each other,” he supplies.
“I usually woke up first.”
He chuckles. “You did. Are you sleeping in late here? I hope so.”
“I am. It feels strange, but no one here asks for anything from me.”
“Wonderful,” he says. “Then there’s nothing to do than let yourself rest.”
His hand leaves mine and lowers to my abdomen, sliding downwards slowly.
“You’ve been holding yourself together through a lot,” he says. “Taking care of yourself isn’t indulgent, okay, Em? It’s necessary.”
I stare up at him, taking in his patient gaze, and lift my hand toward him in return, reaching for his chest.
But before either of us can speak, voices carry down the hall.
“—we definitely need to replenish after that round,” Kaye says, her words echoing.
She rounds the corner with Damon. His jacket hangs open, and there are lipstick stains along his jaw.
Idris turns toward them. “Good timing, you two,” he says. “Lunch appears to be ready.”
We move together into the dining room, while Kaye keeps talking, quite flippant. “Sorry if you heard anything from our room. We’re trying out a new bed. Dae keeps breaking them.”
Idris lifts his brows as he smiles, looking unsure how to proceed, so I simply sit across from him while Damon engages him in a whispered conversation.
Soon, the others join in turn. Lunch fills the dining room with sound and motion.