Threadbare by Elle E. Ire

Author:Elle E. Ire [Ire, Elle E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: science fiction
ISBN: 978-1-64405-364-5
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2019-05-18T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20: Kelly — For Love

Two years earlier….

VICK CORREN would live.

I woke in a standard hospital room, sweating and panting to catch my breath, the remnants of a nightmare replay of the last twelve hours fading: me screaming, doctors, needles. I’d come very close to emotional coma. Somewhere in there, I thought they listened to me. I hoped they did.

The oxygen monitor attached to my finger beeped an alarm, but it stopped when I took deep, even breaths, soaking in the smells of antiseptic and fear. I didn’t have a nurse coming in to check, but with so many victims of the bombing, the hospital was probably overloaded. To prevent further problems, I unplugged the oximeter and removed the pinching clamp from my hand.

For what I intended to do, I needed to be able to move.

I hadn’t disturbed my roommate, separated from me by a drawn pale blue curtain. Not necessary to look to know it was Vick. I could sense her familiar emotional signature, even buried under a haze of sedatives.

It made sense for the doctors to keep us together. My being there would calm her when she woke. Her constant living presence in my mind would ground me.

Stretching out the arm not connected to an IV, I managed to pull the thin barrier aside and study Vick. Just seeing her brought a wave of relief. She was whiter than the thin sheet, and tubes ran into both arms, but she lived. That’s all that mattered.

But she wouldn’t stay alive.

I wasn’t thinking of the immediate future. We lay in a room, not a cubicle in an ICU, so she’d stabilized. No. I thought of the way she’d come after me, despite the terminal’s imminent collapse. Of how she’d thrown herself across my body, the metal driving into her back, impaling her instead of me.

My shudder shook the mattress beneath me.

I would not let her risk herself again.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat up, the room swimming. Somewhere I’d find the energy for what I knew I had to do. The IV came with me, running some clear liquid, probably calming drugs, into my arm. Squeamishness prevented me from yanking the needle out. Vick wouldn’t have hesitated for a moment, but I wasn’t Vick.

The stand rolled. The wheels squeaked. With each screech, I was sure I’d either draw the attention of a passing orderly or wake Vick, and I needed to do neither.

Bracing my free hand on first the mattress, then the bed frame, I worked my way with my IV dance partner to Vick’s side.

My breath caught at the sight of her.

I wasn’t used to seeing her this way, even after riding beside her in the ambulance. The helpless figure on the bed bore little resemblance to the strong, confident soldier or the passionate lover. I hated it. It was wrong. My Vick should not have looked like that.

She was unconscious, so I couldn’t read her very well, which helped, but it didn’t stop the memory of emptiness, total loss, isolation, and loneliness.

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