Chapter 7
Cassandra
I’ve been through a lot of shit in my life.
Shit that I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy.
Yet, none of it equaled the wave of overwhelming panic I’m experiencing now.
My head lolls helplessly against a chest, my limbs dangling from my center like foreign objects strung to a stick.
The dead weight of my own body pulls against me, like I’m sinking down, down, and I can’t ever pull myself out.
The numbness blazes bright like a sick imitation of sleep paralysis, but my other senses are recording too vibrantly to be anything but real.
The only thing centering me is the bizarre familiarity of the arms that hold me. My nose flares as I suck in a deep breath of that deep, spicy scent that has surrounded me since I had first collapsed. Since everything had gone dark.
“Alright, we’re here.”
A face morphs into my line of sight. I gaze up at the man currently functioning as my car seat. It’s a rather nice face. His eyes look navy in the low light, and they flicker with the same curious, deep meaning they did that one night, so many months back.
Just a few hours ago, I had been riddled with fear of running into him again, and yet here I am now, practically attached to his hip and hoping like hell he doesn’t leave me all alone.
Life is weird.
When it looks like he’s readying himself to move, my fear spikes, jaw clenching to say something. I try to grab onto his arm, to beg him to stay with me, but nothing happens. Not a single muscle obeys the plea. The utter failure fills me with dread.
The car appears to roll to a stop, though I can’t see up to the window to confirm. A loud click resounds from the front, the driver exiting the vehicle. My terror plateaus when Mikhail changes his grip on my back. Like he’ll open the door. Like he’ll toss me right out onto the street.
I throw my gaze up to his and blink twice. My final stand. I repeat the action. Again and again. Until there’s no break between one blink and the next, and my frustration drips down my cheeks in salty tracks.
No, no, no.
“Hey, whoa, what’s wrong? What happened?” His cool hands press to my temples. “You’re safe, I’ve got you, remember?”
Safe. The muddled word washes through my mind, but it can’t clean the lingering worry that he’ll leave me alone like this. Vulnerable. Broken.
A ridiculous whine somehow escapes my throat, the raspy, fractured sound stretching through the car like a mockery of a word.
Somehow, though, Mikhail’s eyes soften with something that looks like understanding.
He stops moving. His palms still press to my cheeks, and the grounding pressure prickles my skin.
“I’m not leaving you. We’ll go see the doctor together, and then I’ll find somewhere for you to rest.
A hand buries itself in my tangled hair, coaxing out a breath of hope. He said we. We are going to see the doctor.
“What do you think, Menace?”
The words are soft and inquisitive, and I press my lids closed before cracking them open once more. The action earns me a small smile, and relief courses through my veins.
I can’t recall much from the trip upstairs, other than the soft purr of an elevator and a warped jumble of voices, but I could tell the second we breached the apartment threshold because I practically melted like a snowman in the blasting heat.
Now, I lie bundled on a comfy couch in the softest blanket I’ve ever felt, absolutely engrossed in trying to move my stiff fingers.
I’d sacrifice anything in my possession to be in control of my own limbs again.
My life goals have never been so narrowed.
True to his word, Mikhail hasn’t so much as left my side since the car.
Even now, he’s stationed on the floor next to my legs, dark brows pinched in tense concentration.
Though some part of me is a bit wary of his help tonight, I’m in no position to be anything but grateful until I can regain the ability to walk away if I want to.
Another part of me is also painfully aware that I’d start bawling again if he left me for even five minutes, because I feel so damn useless in this state.
A loud knock cracks against the door.
I tense, and the small measure of calm I’ve gathered dissipates in the warm air.
“It’s just the doctor,” Mikhail whispers, tugging the blanket up to my chin.
My breath loosens.
The newcomer is a short man with graying wisps of sideburns, and he strolls right to me, immediately reaching for my buried wrist.
If I could flinch back, I would. The thought makes me want to cry again.
“Hands off.” The finality of Mikhail’s voice whips through the room, so different from the soft tone he just used with me, but I internally sigh at the halt of contact.
“Pakhan, I have to check her vitals. I’m going to need to touch her to do so.” The doctor’s voice comes out in a nervous stutter, but he obeys Mikhail, stepping back from me with his hands raised. A little bead of sweat builds on his receding brow.
Pakhan?
“You will touch her as little as possible to ensure she is healthy, and then you will give her something to help flush out the drugs. Any deviation, and I’ll have you out before you so much as beg for forgiveness. Understand?”
As exhilarating as it is to witness the effect of Mikhail’s tone, I just know I’d hate to be on the other side of the command. The doctor visibly withers like a weed in a blaze, his gaze dropping low in an obvious show of submission.
“Understood, Pakhan.” He says, once again addressing Mikhail with that strange word. I wonder what it means. “I…I’ll need to check her pulse to make sure the drugs didn’t slow her heart rate.”
Mikhail looms over me, a protective shadow at my side, and raises his brows in a question. After a few seconds, I realize he’s waiting for an answer.
I can be brave.
I blink once for yes.
His fingers work efficiently to brush back that blanket and lift my palm, offering the doctor the inside of my wrist. His features bleed into a tight grimace. He watches the doc the entire time his two fingers rest against my pulse, and I study the exchange aptly.
The awkward exam continues much the same, Mikhail’s unwavering focus tracing the doctor’s every movement until he finally steps back.
The death glare he uses on my behalf slowly starts to transition from scary to oddly comforting.
I guess I’ve never really had someone in my corner before when shit hits the fan.
Even though it’s probably just because of the life debt he thinks he owes me, I’m relieved to have his watchful gaze at my back, protecting me while I’m useless and frightened.
Mikhail and the man start discussing something in low tones, but my small burst of energy from before is fading fast, and I can feel my consciousness morphing back into the kaleidoscope from the bar. Pinks, bright oranges, and deep blues blend into every object around me.
A warm breath of air against my ear has me opening my eyes. I didn’t even realize I had closed them.
Mikhail’s face dances in my blurred vision. “You can rest, Menace. He’s just gonna give you an IV to flush out the drugs. You’ll be just fine.”
My lids start folding over in exhaustion once more, and the low rumble of his voice is like a heated blanket and a warm glass of milk.
Before I slip under, I strain the joints of my left arm, the same fingers I’ve been trying to move for the last hour, and I’m shocked when the limb starts to obey.
Stretching my palm through the waves of resistance, I manage to grasp onto my shadow’s arm with the very tips of my fingers.
His eyes widen, and he covers my hand with his own. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says slowly, enunciating the sentiment. Then he shocks me by linking his pinky finger around my smaller one, only to lean into my ear. “Promise.”
The word is the last thing I hear.