Always Only You by Chloe Liese (z-lib.org).epub

my legs buckle and I sink to the floor, I can only hope he’s too busy to notice
that not even his miraculous sunshine can save this little cloud from being
swallowed up in the storm.
WITHOUT OPENING MY EYES, I ALREADY KNOW WHERE I AM. I KNOW BY THE
smell, the scratchy sheets, the threat of fluorescents nearby. Maybe a bathroom
light left on, the door wedged open.
The fucking hospital.
When I take a jagged breath in, my lungs feel less soupy than they did,
however long ago that was, when the warehouse went sideways, and my legs
turned to goo. I have no concept of time.
I can feel my hip throbbing like a son-of-a-bitch. I lick my lips and am
surprised to feel they aren’t chapped. I feel the warmth of a calloused palm
pressed to mine, long fingers wrapped possessively around my hand.
Ren.
My eyes blink open, slide right, toward the hand that he holds. I smile
involuntarily at the sight of him, sleeping. Slouched low in those wildly
uncomfortable hospital recliners, his mouth faintly open, smudges under his
eyes.
I’m weak. I can feel that. My body feels heavy, and I already want to go
back to sleep, but I want Ren to know I’m okay even more.
My nose itches. I scratch it and bump clumsily into an oxygen cannula. My
hand aches where the hep-lock is taped on, where the needle sends God-knowswhat
into my system. Antibiotics. Saline. Steroids. Pain relievers.
The prescription list is written in scraggly marker on the white board at my
feet. I can’t read it for shit. I just know it’s long. Ren shifts in the chair, stays
asleep, and I watch him. I’ve watched him sleep before, and maybe that sounds
weird. But sometimes I wake up before him and watch dawn paint his face, cast
shadows over his cheekbones, his soft lips, that smooth brow, relaxed in sleep.
His brow isn’t smoothed now. It’s furrowed. He’s worried.
I try to squeeze his hand but can barely do it. Clearing my throat, I rasp,
“Ren.”
His eyes snap open, dart my way, then widen. Sitting upright, he stands and
bends over me, cupping my face. “Hey,” he says. His voice is unsteady. His eyes
red-rimmed.
“I’m okay,” I whisper.