Chapter 139
Ellie POV
The days blur together inside the hospital room.
Morning light.
Afternoon shadows.
Evening darkness is creeping across the walls.
Healers come and go constantly.
The same questions asked by different people.
The same careful hands are checking my vitals, adjusting blankets, and offering reassurances that sound more like things they want to believe than things they actually know.
Because the truth is...
I can't leave.
Not yet.
I can't do much of anything without Dominic.
This might be the most frustrating thing that has ever happened to me.
Sarah visits often.
She always brings flowers.
Bright ones.
Colorful ones.
Like she's determined to force some kind of life back into a room that feels too quiet.
She talks about school.
About gossip.
About things happening around campus that I would normally care about.
Normally.
She tells me about teachers asking when I'll return.
About classmates wondering how I'm doing.
I smile when I'm supposed to.
I laugh once.
Just once.
And somehow that single laugh leaves me exhausted.
My family comes too.
My mother sits beside me constantly.
Too close.
Her fingers are always wrapped around mine, as if she lets go, something terrible will happen.
Maybe she's right.
Maybe something terrible has already happened.
My stepfather stays farther away.
Usually near the door.
Always moving.
Always pacing.
Always muttering about healers.
About incompetence.
About how none of this would have happened if people had just listened to him.
And then, inevitably, he brings up Dominic.
How accepting the bond would fix everything.
How I wouldn't have to suffer anymore if I just stopped fighting.
That doesn't surprise me.
What surprises me is how much it bothers me.
Because even now...
Even with my body failing me...
I can't stand the idea of being forced into something just because magic decided it was easier.
A bond.
A prophecy.
A goddess.
Whatever this is.
It still feels like another person is deciding my life for me.
The healers do what they can.
Pain suppressants.
Cooling spells.
Breathing exercises.
Anything.
Everything.
The relief always comes in small waves.
Just enough to remind me what it feels like to breathe.
Just enough to remind me what normal used to be.
Then the pain returns.
But there is one exception.
One thing that works every time.
Dominic.
He offered, awkwardly, to come every day after school.
I said yes before I could think too much about what that meant.
Because honestly?
It was the only time I felt like myself.
Not a patient.
Not a problem.
Not a failing healer who couldn't even heal herself.
Just me.
Now it's routine.
He always arrives quietly.
Like he's afraid of disturbing me.
Which is ridiculous.
Because I always know when he's here.
Before I hear the door.
Before I see him.
My body knows.
And that is the most terrifying part.
The sickness disappears the moment he walks in.
Like someone flips a switch.
Like my body has been waiting for him.
He usually takes the chair beside my bed.
Long legs stretched out.
Shoulders relaxed.
Trying very hard to look casual.
Sometimes he brings homework.
Sometimes a book.
The first time, he brought nothing.
And he spent two hours pretending he wasn't bored out of his mind because he didn't want me to feel guilty.
We didn't talk much then.
We don't talk much now.
What are we supposed to say?
"Hey, sorry, my body literally stops working unless you're nearby."
"Mind hanging around forever because apparently I need you to survive?"
Absolutely humiliating.
So instead, I work on assignments while he reads.
Now and then, he looks up.
Checks on me.
Quickly.
Quietly.
Like he thinks I won't notice.
But I do.
I notice everything.
The way his eyes move to my hands when they shake.
The way he watches my breathing when I get too quiet.
The way he studies my face as if he can somehow force the sickness out of me by staring hard enough.
When the episodes hit...
When my vision blurs.
When my hands tremble.
When the room starts spinning.
He doesn't panic anymore.
The healers explained that touch helps.
And even though it is unbelievably embarrassing...
He just reaches for my hand.
No hesitation.
No teasing.
No smug comments.
He simply holds on until the worst passes.
And somehow...
It works.
It's the worst thing.
And the best thing.
I've ever experienced.
One afternoon, he's gone.
Just for a little while.
And that's when it hits.
Harder than usual.
The pain spreads slowly.
Through my joints.
Through my muscles.
Deep into my bones.
The late-spring sun streams through the windows, but I'm freezing.
Sweat beads along my forehead.
My teeth chatter.
I curl into myself beneath the blankets, arms wrapped around my stomach.
I refuse to cry.
Because crying makes it worse.
But then the thought slips in.
Quiet.
Unwanted.
Dangerous.
I hope Dominic comes soon.
My chest tightens.
Not from pain.
Something else.
Something colder.
Is this really my life now?
A life where I only function when someone else is close?
A life where my own body is dependent on another person?
My fingers curl into the blanket.
If I keep saying no...
How long can I survive?
This doesn't feel like living.
It feels like waiting.
Waiting for him.
Waiting to be okay.
Waiting for my body to stop betraying me.
I bury my face into the pillow, breathing carefully.
"Stupid Moon Goddess," I whisper.
Because if this is what freedom looks like...
If freedom means counting the minutes until someone else arrives to make me whole again...
Then what was the point?
What was I fighting for?
The thought spirals.
Gets darker.
Heavier.
Until—
The door clicks open.
My heart lifts immediately.
Hopeful.
Stupidly hopeful.
And I hate that I know exactly who I want it to be.