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Time crawled forward, and still I could not move. Conrad came by at some point with a tray of food. He tried to invite me to sit at the small table with him to eat but I couldn't. He ended up just sitting on the bed with me and stroking my hair softly until I feigned sleep so that he would leave.
The lighting in the sky began to fade by the time the pressure in my abdomen grew so painful I could no longer ignore it. Feeling as if my bones were so heavy my joints would break and my muscles would tear with the effort, I forced myself to sit up. I swung my feet out of bed, eyeing the opening in the wall that led to the bathroom. I cursed it for being so far away.
I could do this. I just had to put one foot in front of the other. Why was this so hard? Meredith had said physically I was fine. I should be able to walk to the bathroom. I knew the answer. When Clair had died, a part of me had died with her. Apparently, the part of me that allowed me to get up in the morning and face the day. So here I was, unable to walk the few feet it took to go to the bathroom.
“Oh, for fucks sake.”
My head snapped to the door, which had been left open. Rycon stood in the frame, his yellow cat eyes gleaming in the fading light. “Can you please stop torturing us both and take a fucking piss? Do I need to carry you and sit you on the damn toilet?”
I waited for the snap of rage to come. I waited for a witty comeback to form on my tongue. I willed myself to tell him to fuck off or to get out of my room, but all I could do was stare at him.
“Godsdamn it.” He sighed and came forward. His motorcycle boots moved soundlessly on the ground, and he roughly scooped me from the bed and into the bathing chamber. He dumped me unceremoniously on the floor and left. “Let me know when you're done, and I'll put you back in bed.” He snarled from the other side of the wall.
I gingerly pushed myself up from the ground, getting up on shaky legs. I lurched for the gilded toilet. Which if I had been in a better frame of mind, I would have snorted at. Trust rich, royal, immortal beings with nothing but time and gold to do something as ridiculous as gilding a toilet. I settled down to relieve myself and took in the bathroom. Much like the adjoining bedroom, everything had been carved out of the rock into what must have been a mountain or a cliff of some kind.
The soft green moss grew on the walls here as well. The warm light which I had assumed was from a night light was coming from several floating flames that drifted lazily through the air. The large claw footed bathtub lined the wall next to the toilet, but a rainfall shower head fastened to the rock of the ceiling above the tub, leading me to believe that it doubled as a shower.
On the other side of the tub, a stream of water flowed from an opening in the wall that splashed into a small hot spring on the floor. The water was a cloudy white-blue and was bubbling cheerfully. These all seemed to be features that had already existed in this cave-like space which had then been fitted with more modern-day fixtures and accents. All while preserving the natural beauty of the room. Even in my depressive state, I could admit it was beautiful.
I finished my business and washed my hands, avoiding my gaze in the mirror. I didn’t want to see what I looked like. I didn’t want to see my despair reflected back at me.
I made my way back to my bed slowly. My body was stiff from lying in bed for so long. I drifted past Rycon, ignoring him, and fell back into the warm embrace of the silken sheets. The room was now lit with oranges and purples from the sunset. I was sure it was beautiful. I was even more convinced I wanted blackout curtains to block it all out.
Rycon hovered where I had left him by the entrance to the bathing room. I waited for him to leave but he didn’t move.
“What do you want.” My tone was harsh and unforgiving. I didn’t phrase it as a question, but rather a statement that demanded an answer.
“Nothing.”
“I can feel that you have something you want to say to me, and I can barely handle my own feelings right now, so if you could just get out with it -”
“I’m sorry. Ok?”
I froze. He was sorry? First of all, I didn’t know he was even capable of such nuanced human emotion. Second of all, it changed nothing. Clair was still dead. I felt like I was dead.
I didn’t give a single fuck that he was sorry.
5
“Get out.” My voice was hollow; even I could hear it.
“Why? So you can lie here and torture us all night?”
I rolled over slowly, painfully, and met his gaze. “Then make yourself useful and get Mer to bring me another potion so I can sleep.”
“I already asked her for more, and she told me no. She says you can’t have it every day or it will stop working. We need to keep it for emergencies. Like if you have a panic attack or something.” He explained. I opened my mouth to tell him to leave again, but he reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a gleaming silver flask.
“But I brought you a different kind of potion.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, and he flicked the cap, popping it open to take a swig. He tilted it towards me, silently offering me a sip.
“What is it?” I asked, pushing myself up, my curiosity piqued.
“Whiskey,” he smirked. “Want some? Drink enough of this and I can guarantee you won't dream.” I considered it for a moment. I had never been a big drinker unless you counted coffee. But the sadness pressed on me so heavily my bones ached, and I knew, when he left, if I closed my eyes, I would spend the night reliving the last moments of Clair’s life.
“Give it to me,” I said, and his grin widened. He sauntered over in the cocky way he always did, snagging one of the chairs on his way by.
He deftly twirled the chair on an axis into position and slid into it. Propping his dirty boots up on the bed as he leaned back, passing me the flask in one fluid motion.
