Chapter Eight Gordon and Andrea #3
“I know. It’s... It’s not something you will believe, Andrea. We don’t have to talk about it. Things can just end,” I whisper. She will see now. And she’ll go.
I’ll always have the feeling of her kisses, of her sitting in my lap, and of her soft voice, talking as the fireworks erupted overhead and the first flickers of love sparked in my heart.
At least I got to feel it, once. I know that makes me luckier than most other trolls.
“Things almost ended. I thought you died. I thought I killed you,” Andrea sobs, and the hacking, grating sound of someone crying through a smoke-damaged throat is one I know too well, one that she should never have to make.
I sit on the ambulance gurney, even though it creaks dangerously under my weight, and scoop her into my arms. “Don’t cry.”
“I told you to check, and you went in,” Andrea whimpers, arms clinging around my neck, “and then you were gone. The flames... A ball of fire. The firetruck was right there, but I couldn’t help you,” she sobs until her whole body shakes, and I squeeze her as hard as I can to still her, my head on top of hers, my breathing starting to speed up to match her frantic half-wails.
“Oh, Gordon. Gordon, are you really here?”
“Yes. So are you. You followed me into the blaze. Your injuries are all my fault,” I murmur, clutching her tight as I dare so she can feel me. Maybe her eyes are truly damaged. Or her nerves. Can she not feel my arms crushing her to my chest, my lips on her scalp through her singed hair?
“I thought you were really gone,” Andrea repeats, fingers digging into my back.
“No. I am here.”
“I thought I lost you. Just when I found you. It was... I think it was the worst feeling I ever felt. I threw up everywhere,” Andrea says miserably, burying her face in my soot-covered shirt.
For a long moment, I just rock her in silence. How can it be the worst thing? She barely knows me.
Unless, maybe, she feels the same way I do. That stubborn spark that is so much more than attraction. It’s fascination, and want, and need. But my needs are not selfish, or at least I try to make them so. I need her happiness. Her safety.
I need her to let me go if being with me is too upsetting.
Andrea lifts her head and studies my face. Hers is grimy, and her eyes are clouded. She blinks and rubs at them so hard that I grunt out a warning.
“Don’t hurt yourself.”
“You are green. Greenish-gray, like a mossy stone,” she gasps, face shocked.
“I know. I’m a troll. An ugly old beast that will not hurt you, or lay any claim on your heart. You don’t need to be afraid. I’m going to go as soon as you’re safely on the way to the hospital,” I whisper, slowly sliding my hands away from the little figure that stole my heart.
To my surprise, Andrea slams herself back into me. “No, I want to stay with you. I want to make sure you’re really okay,” she hisses. “The paramedic said you could keep an eye on me, remember?”
“Yes, I remember that part. It’s the monster part. That’s the part that you don’t want.”
“Who said that? Did I say that? No, I did not!” Andrea demands, pulling back just enough to glare at me, and then her face crumples. “I can’t even be mad at you for making assumptions. You could have been dead. I thought you were dead.”
My tone comes out angrier than I want it to, but it’s only because forcing away the best thing that ever happened to me after such a tiny taste hurts more than anything I’ve ever lived through.
“I’m not dead. I’m alive. I’m a living troll.
After you’re done being glad that I’m living, you’ll start to be disappointed that I’m not whatever human male you saw before shock opened your eyes to the truth.
Don’t feel bad. There are fairy tales and horror stories all around the world, legends and myths, and almost all humans believe they’re only stories.
It’s only a select few who see the truth—something like this happens, and their minds can’t hide from it anymore. ”
Andrea slowly wipes her eyes, sniffles again, and scoots back to study me. Even red and swollen, they shine with brilliance. Her slender fingers rub her temples, and I wince when I see the raw, shiny skin on such talented hands. “Gordon—”
“All right, kids. This is your ‘I’m a toasted marshmallow’ aftercare kit.
Your oxygen saturation looks good, but you’re going to need to take care of those tootsies and trim some of those singed curls.
Your throat and head are gonna hurt like hell, but in a few days, you’ll be okay, especially with the jolly green giant looking after you.
” Eddie’s timing is egregious, and his patter flows out with a blend of nonchalance and authority that I envy.
He turns from Andrea to me. “I ought to check you over, Lieutenant.”
“I turned to stone fast enough; I’m fine. I’ll take Andrea home and make sure she’s all right for the night,” I tell him, looking at Andrea. She’s still looking at me. Steadily. “If that’s all right?”
“It’s perfect.” Andrea wraps both of her arms around mine and smiles at Eddie Hyde. “Thank you for all of your help. I’m in good hands.”