Chapter 15 #2
All at once, he goes limp. The medication found its way into his bloodstream and offered solace where she couldn’t.
His hold on her loosens, and his body is a heavy weight in her arms. She exhales hard, having to shove her tears in again, wishing for that same relief to flood her nerves like it has for him.
She can’t rest, though. Not yet. Carefully, she lowers him to the floor on his back before grabbing a thin pillow off the cot to sneak under his head while two fingers find his pulse eagerly thumping against his skin.
At her side, she pulls out the Narcan she pilfered from the drugstore. Just in case. And she waits.
* * *
Nora isn’t sure how long she’s been growing roots on this floor.
Her legs and ass are already numb. She could leave him and wait elsewhere, maybe do something useful like gather all their minuscule supplies and try to make a meal.
He would never know she’s gone, and he seems stable, but nothing could tear her away from this spot until she hears his voice again.
When Theo starts to breathe heavier, his lashes flutter as his head rolls. Consciousness brings him back to the land of the living, and she leans forward in anticipation.
“Hey, you’re safe. You’re at the sheriff’s station in Barrow. I’m here with you, don’t be afraid.” She slips her hand into his palm and tries not to let her heart break all over again when his first reaction is to squeeze it tight. How many times has this happened, and he suffered alone?
“Nora? You didn’t leave.” He squints, running his free hand across his face. “Why am I on the floor?”
The implication that she could have left and never returned bothers her for a moment.
It’s a ridiculous nitpick. She can’t blame him for his semi-lucid ramblings, but things feel different now.
She held him in her arms while he cried and spent half a day on this floor making sure he didn’t overdose.
She kinda wants to know that he trusts her after all that.
“You were having an…attack. A migraine. I gave you fentanyl. You’ve been sleeping it off for a while now.”
His brows raise almost comically. “Okay. That’ll do it.”
“I know it’s not what you’re used to. Not meant for that kind of pain, but I figured passing out was better than a handful of ibuprofen. How are you feeling? Can you walk?”
“Tired as fuck, but otherwise fine. Better than usual.” He sits up with a wince, palming his head only to brush the bandaid she fixed at his temple, where he was intent on breaking it open.
“Come on, lemme help you into bed.”
The smirk on his lips is as instant as the flirt on his tongue. “Gonna snuggle up with me, too?”
She frowns, her anger bubbling up fast. “Don’t do that. You have no idea how scared I was.”
“Sorry. I um, I dunno how to feel right now. I didn’t want you to see me like that.
It hasn’t gotten that bad in a really long time.
” His tone goes soft, all that false confidence making way for concern as his thumb brushes her cheek in a tentative touch.
“And I do know how scared you were. Enough to cry for me. Don’t do that. ”
She’s spent a considerable amount of time on the floor while he was passed out.
Sobbing was her hobby of choice for most of it.
Which is something she never does anymore.
Not ever. But the reality of the situation hit her hard, and there was no hope of keeping it in.
There must still be a few dried tracks on her cheeks to give her away.
“Let’s get you to bed,” she chokes out again, shrugging away from his touch before it burns.
He wobbles a little when he stands, but makes it upright on his own before landing on the mattress with a thunk.
“Fuck,” he groans sadly, perhaps for no particular reason other than to say it.
She busies herself removing his shoes before opening the buckle on his pants, and that’s when he flinches, making a little noise of disagreement in the back of his throat
“I just want you to be comfortable, that’s all.” She pulls the belt out of its loops and drops it to the floor. “Do you need anything?”
“Don’t go.”
“I’ll be holding down the other cot next door. I’m not leaving.”
“No, I mean stay with me. Stay here?”
There is only sincerity and open vulnerability in his request. The problem now is that she wants to agree.
More than anything, she wants to curl up with him and waste the rest of the day together, and that’s how she knows she’s extremely fucked.
She’s so far beyond the point of no return when it comes to caring about this man, and that scares her to her core.
Integrating herself further into his life will offer nothing but heartbreak.
Still, the idea of saying no feels like an impossible task.
“Only to sleep, I promise. I don’t wanna be alone,” he tries again.
“There’s no room. That cot won’t fit both of us.”
“We’ll make it fit,” he deadpans, without an ounce of the flirt that should accompany that statement. “I won’t let you fall off.”
“Scoot over,” she agrees, knowing that slipping into this bed is the first step toward the kind of immeasurable grief she would love to avoid should anything happen to him.
And they are absolutely stuck in a world with plenty of terrible opportunities for that to occur.
How could she deny him, though, when she is the only one who can offer what he needs?
He does as he’s told. Keeps a reasonable amount of space between them as she settles in to stare up at the popcorn ceiling.
The bed is relatively comfortable for a cot.
Some kind of paper-thin memory foam mattress covered in sheets that smell like him now.
Those pheromones are doing more for her stress levels than she’ll ever admit.
He does not reach for her, but she can feel his need for comfort nearly vibrating the bed.
She is weak. That much she’s coming to accept at record speed.
She is weak for him, and there’s nothing to be done about that right now except embrace it.
They’ve slept close before, but this feels brand new in the wake of shared trauma.
Nora rolls her head against the pillow, her eyes soft and her words gentle as she lifts her arm. “You can come closer.”
Why the fuck not, she reasons in her head. They’ve already blown past a hundred boundaries today. What’s one more?
He takes no coaxing whatsoever, and that surprises her.
She assumed he would be the last person to want anything resembling a proper cuddle.
But he is needy and tactile instead. That throws her for a loop as he moves in to press himself against her, his face puffing warm breath against her upper chest, and his hair tickling her chin.
It should be painfully awkward, yet somehow she’s never felt more like she’s exactly where she needs to be.
Her eyes slip shut, and she curls an arm up to stroke the soft hairs at the back of his neck while the other draws absent shapes along his bicep. “I’m so sorry I gave you fentanyl. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what else to do, and you were in so much pain.”
She knows better than anyone that sometimes it only takes once to create an addict. She exposed him to a substance without informing him of the consequences. If anything deserves an apology, it’s that.
“I’m not sorry. I was ready to take a hammer to my skull. You saved me.”
It doesn’t feel like she saved him. It feels like she bought him a brief moment of peace that comes at a hefty price.
“What the hell does it matter anyway if I start craving it? Nothing matters now. Not really. The whole world is ending, right?”
“Stop talking like that,” she hisses. “You might be ready to give up, but I’m not.”
“I’m not giving up. Only being realistic.”
“We’re so close to the wildlife center, and there’s an airstrip there, you heard Gwen.”
“Then what? Fly back into a more populated area?”
She goes quiet. Her face breaks, and her nose wrinkles as she holds in how badly she wants to cry all over again.
Fuck him for that, she thinks angrily. How dare he?
Maybe she lets out a little half-growl of frustration because he notices, shifting his weight against her to inhale hard as if she might leave, and he needs to grab one last breath of her scent.
“Mad at me now?” he says. “Good. Go with that. It’s easier.”
“Theo?”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up. For someone who didn’t want to be alone, you’re trying really hard to make me pelt you with a pillow before I go.”
“Fair enough.” He is only quiet for a few seconds, though, before his next question breaks through the silence. “You um…you knew how much to give me.”
She should be offended, but there’s no accusation in his tone, and she merely sighs in resignation.
“I know exactly how much. That’s a very specific skill, too, because it’s temperamental.
The smallest amount over the correct dose and you’re done for.
That’s who you’re in bed with right now, someone who can do the math on whatever drug you want to smoke, snort, eat, or inject, and don’t you ever forget it.
I thought about taking some too while I was watching you breathe. I almost did.”
“But you didn’t. That’s what matters. And you won’t.”
“You seem pretty confident about that.”
“I am. I trust you with my life because you’ve saved it. I’ll have to trust you with yours, too.”
She does sniffle then, so unused to anyone placing trust in her that she didn’t have to beg for.
“I’m not sure I even trust myself with mine.
I won’t take anything because I know you might need it.
I promise I won’t, but I’ll think about it, Theo.
I’ll fucking think about it again and again, and I dunno if that will ever go away. What if I fail one day?”
His words mumble softly against her skin and she shuts her eyes, nuzzling her face against his forehead. “You don’t have to handle it all alone anymore. I’ll be with you no matter what.”
“Yeah?” Her voice comes out childlike and hopeful with a hint of fear at allowing herself to believe that anyone could truly stay.
“Yeah.”
Any hope of protecting her heart from him is so far behind her now that there’s no chance at salvaging that backup plan. Instead, she might have to trust him with it instead.
She picks up that slow stroke along his spine in a gentle journey that has him melting against her until his body is as heavy as her eyes feel after such a long day.
She drifts off in his embrace, hoping that the rest of their journey won’t tear her apart thread by thread until there’s nothing left.