Still Sleeping
Ryan
“Who are you?” Cade asks, his voice dripping with disbelief as I glare at him.
“I already warned you to keep your filthy hands off of her. If you’d just listened, she wouldn’t be in this mess right now!”
He looks at me, stunned, when he realizes I’m here without my mask. I had been in the cabin, and then this horrible feeling twisted in my gut like a knife, telling me I needed to get to her. I rushed out of the shower, barely threw on clothes, and ran through the whole damn camp looking for her. And here she is, stuck in this ridiculous group therapy session with him. I watched her guide him through an obstacle course, and then, when it was her turn, he led her down some other course instead.
“You? You’re him?” he gasps in shock. He has a look of realization that I am the same person outside Aviana’s cabin many nights ago.
“Yes, me,” I growl, irritation seeping through every word. “Now either move out of my way or—”
“You aren’t taking her anywhere,” Dr. Carter interrupts, trying to sound calm, but I’m done.
“We need to call the medical team. We can’t move her, in case something’s broken.”
“Too bad,” I snap, not giving a damn. But before I can move, Dr. Carter steps in, crouching beside her, his fingers quickly checking her pulse, assessing her neurological function and running over her limbs doing a passive range of motion.
“She’s got no obvious fractures and she seems stable,” he mutters, more to himself than me. “But—”
“That’s all I needed to hear.” I cut him off, scooping her into my arms before he can finish.
“Wait, we should still—”
But I’m already turning on my heel, ignoring his protests. I’m not wasting time waiting around for a damn call.
By the time we get to the cabin, she’s still completely out of it. Her body is limp in my arms, her breathing too shallow for my liking. I lay her down as gently as I can on the bed, the clean sheets barely rustling beneath her.
“Avi, please,” I whisper, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face. “Wake up, Little Bird. I can’t lose you.” My voice cracks, the weight of everything pressing down on me. “I’m so sorry—for everything. Just… please, Little Bird, open your eyes.”
Tears blur my vision, but I blink them away, swallowing hard. I stay beside her for a moment, watching, waiting, willing her to move. When she doesn’t, I force myself to stand and grab a chair from the dining area, dragging it back to her bedside.
I don’t forget my mask. If she wakes up, she can’t see me like this. But right now, none of that matters—only her.
I sit beside the bed, gripping my hands together so tightly my fingers ache. She’s too still. Too quiet. Every few seconds, my eyes flick to her face, desperate for any sign—just a twitch, a shift, anything to tell me she’s coming back. But she doesn’t move.
Her breathing is shallow, and I find myself matching each inhale, each exhale, as if somehow that will keep her here with me. The silence in the cabin is unbearable, pressing down on me like a weight I can’t shake.
I reach for her hand, hesitating before finally wrapping my fingers around hers. It’s too cold. Too lifeless. I rub slow, gentle circles against her palm, trying to bring some warmth back into her skin. She doesn’t react.
The longer she stays like this, the harder it is to sit still. My leg bounces, my hands clench and unclench. I push myself up, pacing the room, running a hand through my hair before forcing myself back to her side. I don’t want to be away from her. Not even for a second.
I consider getting her water, maybe a damp cloth for her forehead, but what if she wakes up and I’m not here? What if she needs me, and I’m off doing something useless?
No. I can’t risk it.
I sit back down, leaning forward, my elbows on my knees, and let out a shaky breath.
“Come on, Little Bird,” I whisper. “Come back to me.”
A soft knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts. My jaw tightens as I glance down at her—still motionless, still too pale. I don’t want to leave her, even for a second. But the knocking comes again, more insistent this time.
“I’ll be right back, Little Bird,” I whisper, barely moving. “I’m not leaving you.”
Reluctantly, I stand, forcing my limbs to cooperate, and stalk to the door. I yank it open, already on edge, and find Cade standing there, hands stuffed in his pockets, rocking on the balls of his feet like he’s bracing for a fight.
I narrow my eyes, my voice low and sharp. “Why are you here?”
His shoulders straighten. “How is she, Nightshade?”
The way he says my name grates on my nerves, like he has any right to ask about her. My fingers twitch at my sides, barely restraining the urge to slam the door in his face. “Why do you care?” My voice is colder than before, laced with barely contained fury.
Cade exhales heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. “Look, man, I care. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I do.” He meets my glare head-on. “I could stand here and apologize to you all night, but that’s not what’s important right now. What matters is her.” His voice is tight, strained, like he’s been carrying his own weight of guilt. “I care about her deeply. There’s something between us—an emotional connection I can’t even explain. And seeing her like this…” He swallows hard. “I feel sick about it. I feel guilty as hell. Can I just—can I see her?”
My fingers tighten around the door frame, knuckles aching from the force of my grip. Every part of me wants to tell him no. To shut the door in his face and make him live with the fact that he wasn’t the one by her side when she wakes up.
Because he didn’t catch her.
He let her fall.
And now she’s lying in that bed, unresponsive, because of him.
A bitter taste floods my mouth. He should feel sick. He should feel guilty. He should be the one pacing the room, terrified she won’t wake up. But instead, he’s here, asking for permission to see her like he has any right to.
But as much as I want to shove him away, I don’t. Because I know what it’s like to feel powerless when it comes to her.
I clench my jaw, forcing myself to take a breath before stepping aside. “She’s in the back bedroom,” I mutter through gritted teeth. “Her breathing is shallow. She hasn’t woken up yet.”
Cade nods once before stepping past me, moving toward the room with more urgency than I expected. I shut the door behind him, my fingers flexing at my sides before I follow.
He sinks into the chair I’d been in moments before, his posture tense but careful. His hand finds hers—too easily, too familiar—and I have to fight every instinct in my body not to rip it away.
“Come on, Avi,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “Wake up for me. Let me see those beautiful eyes of yours.” His thumb brushes over her knuckles, and my teeth clench hard enough to hurt. “I can’t apologize enough for not catching you. I never meant for any of this to happen. You trusted me—as a therapist, as a friend—and I let you down. I swear, I’ll do anything you want me to, just… wake up and forgive me.”
His words settle into the silence between us, thick and suffocating.
I cross my arms over my chest, barely holding back the storm raging inside me. “She trusted you,” I say, my voice low, dangerous. “And you let her fall.”
Cade’s shoulders stiffen, but he doesn’t argue.
The silence that follows is unbearable, both of us watching her, waiting for any sign that she’s coming back.
Then Cade speaks again, his voice firm. “I think we should get her to the medical wing.”
I tense instantly. “I’m not moving her,” I growl.
He turns to me, frustration flashing across his face. “Then I’ll bring the medical wing to her.” His voice is urgent now. “Nightshade, something could be broken. She could have a concussion. She needs help.” His eyes search mine, pleading, before flicking back to her, like if he looks long enough, she’ll miraculously wake up and tell us exactly what to do.
I don’t want to admit he’s right.
But she’s still too pale. Her breathing is still too shallow.
And no matter how much I hate the idea of letting him be the one to fix what he broke, I can’t take that risk.
I exhale sharply, my fists clenching at my sides. “Fine.”
The word tastes like defeat, but I don’t care. If it means getting her back, I’ll deal with it.
Cade doesn’t waste a second. He’s out the cabin, gone to get help, leaving me alone with her again.
I sink onto the edge of the bed, my hands hovering over hers before I finally let myself touch her. I press my forehead to hers, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Please, Little Bird,” I murmur. “Come back to me.”
The room is quiet except for the unsteady sound of my breathing.
And I don’t know if she hears me.
The only other time I’d seen her like this was when she was down with the flu for two weeks. I had stayed close, bringing her soup and crackers, making sure she took her medicine. Every few days, I offered to help her to the tub, running a warm bath for her before carrying her back to bed. And then I would sit there, watching her sleep, praying that when she woke up, she’d be back to her old self—asking me a million questions while helping me with Blaze in the barn, shoving me off the trail into trees just to get a rise out of me, or begging for help with her homework even though she knew I hated doing it. She always knew I was happier working on computers than struggling with her through algebra or literature, but she always found a way to rope me in, flashing that stubborn smile of hers until I gave in.
But now… now, I don’t know if she’ll wake up at all.
I keep my eyes on her, memorizing every detail, every rise and fall of her chest. It feels like only a moment has passed before Cade returns, but this time, he isn’t alone. A small group of medical staff follows him, wheeling in machines and equipment.
I step back, my muscles tensing. I don’t need people asking questions—who I am, why I’m here, and even more so, why I wear a mask. I take one last glance at her before slipping out of the room, disappearing into the shadows. I’ll be close. I’m not leaving her. But for now, I need to stay out of sight.