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I wake before she does, my eyes slowly opening as I realise I fell asleep sitting up. She’s still cradled into my chest as if she’s not moved for the entire night. My neck aches, my back is just as sore, and I try to stretch myself out without disturbing her.
She’s so peaceful sleeping. But I move her over to the other side of the bed, needing some space. My lion protests, but I ignore him.
I don’t know who the fuck he thinks he is, getting an attitude lately, but I’m not interested.
I turn my head, cringing as the pain flares. But it doesn’t bother me when it’s the only thing I can feel. I crack my back, roll my ankles, and get a bit comfortable.
I’m not sure how much later it is when Nora starts to get a bit restless, and I try to make myself smaller so I don’t continue disturbing her.
But then I get pissed off. Why do I care if she’s restless?
It’s her own fucking fault.
She wouldn’t even be in here if it wasn’t for her trying to hurt me.
But when she tries to peek under her eyes, I smirk. She’s now just pretending.
Another one of her manipulation tactics it seems.
“I know you’re awake,” I say, trailing my finger down her cheek.
She sighs, her eyes flying open, but that’s it. She just lays there. She doesn’t speak. I wonder if she’s maybe in shock from last night.
For someone as weak as her, it must have been traumatic.
“Are you in shock?” I ask, poking her in the forehead.
Her nose scrunches, and she shakes her head slowly. That’s it, though. That’s the only movement she does.
“Well, what’s wrong with you?” I demand, not liking the way she’s woken up. Her vacant expression, the heaviness that seems to weigh on her, the lack of energy despite sleeping for about ten hours.
I don’t like it. It agitates my lion, which then agitates me.
“Nora,” I snap. I’m grateful for Orson for the first time in my life. Writing her name on her suitcase was genius. Otherwise, I’m not sure what I’d have to call her.
She grumbles a little under her breath, but I don’t understand what she’s trying to say. Not when she’s not speaking coherently. I lower my head and strain my ears to listen properly.
“Just leave me,” she whispers, and I frown.
She does understand that she’s in my bed right now, right?
In my room.
She’s asking me to leave my own fucking room? What, so she can hunt for the knife back that she tried to stab me with last night? Does she think I’m stupid?
But then she lets out a small sigh, her face tensing up, and it sort of seems like she’s in pain.
“Are you sick?” I ask, and she shakes her head before slowly nodding. Her eyes are dazed, and there’s a paleness to her honey-brown skin that wasn’t there on Friday. Hell, it wasn’t there yesterday, and that was after waking up from being drugged. There’s clearly something wrong with her. “Well, are you or are you not?”
It can’t be both, and if she is sick, then I need to get her help. Her sickness could be because of the drugs I gave her. The ones that were intended for my brother.
Unaware that I’m hanging onto every breath she takes, she frowns, pursing those heart shaped lips of hers, the bottom lip wobbling ever so slightly. I hate the way she looks, so depressed, especially since I don’t know how to fix it.
“What’s wrong with you?” I ask, and she slowly rolls onto her back as if it takes so much effort.
“Is this about last night?” I ask as softly as I can with my hoarse voice. Her eyes widen as if the memories are only just hitting her again.
