I don’t plan to make that mistake again.
“That’s a really good idea. It could be good for them to have each other.”
She smiles at me. “Are you going to be okay if I leave?”
Exhaling, I feel the full weight of the day and everything that’s happened. I am absolutely not going to be okay. But Annie has done enough. “Yeah,” I say.
“You’re not going to draw a blood sample and try to take it to the lab to study?”
I should be offended that she thinks the first thing I’m going to do is leave Luca now that he’s alive again, but I guess I can’t be that indignant.
I hold up my hand, making theStar Treksign. “Scout’s honor.”
Luca sleeps for twelve hours; I do not. I can’t. He wakes only to eat and drink a little before falling back asleep for another solid eight hours.
I’m trying not to panic and remind myself that of course he’s exhausted; every system in his entire body is working to recover in unison.He wasdead,Emery. Give the man a break. His vital signs are good; his coloring is good. He’s even started lightly snoring. Now all I can do is wait, get something to eat, and try to get some sleep, too.
I change out of my favorite dress and aggressively shove it and the ruined lab coat in the trash. I manage to eat a bowl of cereal and drink some water; I log every medical detail from the moment Luca was injected until now. The sun comes up, goes down, and comes up again, and still, sleep eludes me.
I long to curl up beside him, to rest my head on his chest, to hear the sturdy thumping of his heart, to gain calm and reassurance in the familiar comfort of our bed. But as far as he’s concerned, we’re strangers. If I sleep, it’ll have to be on the couch.
But then what if he wakes up and needs something? What if his temperature or pulse takes a nosedive? What if he dies… again? I quickly smother these thoughts in Bubble Wrap, tuck them in a box, and hide them away in a drawer in my brain labeledTHINGS TO FREAK OUT OVER LATER.
Unfortunately for my restless energy, there isn’t much to do around the house. As the weekend passes, I fold a basket of laundry and unload the dishwasher. I order some groceries and update Annie; I continue to log Luca’s vitals. I organize my closet, and his.
Annie drops off Honey on Sunday afternoon and reminds me that she put the compound in the back of my fridge for now. She still doesn’t know what we should do with it, and frankly, neither do I.
When Annie leaves, I follow Honey around as she explores the house and investigates a sleeping Luca before happily curling into a ball at his feet.
She is the picture of contentment. Meanwhile, I am losing my goddamn mind.
Desperate for more ways to stay busy, I drag myself to the kitchen.
A recipe is nothing more than a series of measurements, times, and steps. One would think that I, a scientist, could handle that. One would be wrong. Creating Compound Y? A fascinating project. Making waffles edible? Brain circus: all clowns, no ringmaster.
Even so, I carefully thumb through Luca’s recipe box and attempt the pastina soup he makes when I’m sick. The finished product is… well. It’s sort of the right consistency, but it’s gray. Honey doesn’t even want it, and I distinctly remember her once trying to eat her own barf. If I feed Luca this, he’ll really think I’m trying to kill him.
Pastina abandoned, I’m thrilled when Luca wakes long enough to drink a glass of water and eat a peanut butter sandwich.
“How are you feeling?” I ask softly, reaching up to brush his hair off his forehead.
“Tired,” he says. “And hungry.” His words trail off like he’s been drugged, which… he has. Not only is he taking a narcotic for pain, but his body is also working overtime to heal. I prop him up while he eats half the sandwich with his eyes mostly open, the second halfwith his eyes drifting closed, and only the bottom crust remains when he’s out again, slumped against my shoulder. I know I need to lay him down, but my heart is so full it’s ready to burst, so I give myself just one more moment of physical contact. Carefully, I massage his hands, his forearms—to aid hiscirculation, I tell myself—and then settle his limbs onto the mattress. I tentatively brush my fingers through his hair and thank the universe for letting me have him back, whispering a hundred promises about how I’ll never lie to him again. He doesn’t hear a single one.
12EMERY
As the sky brightens Monday morning, I begrudgingly admit that I need to get to the lab. I can’t stand the thought of leaving Luca at all, especially before he’s even awake. That said, Robert Pattinson does a diagnostic sweep of all security systems every seventy-two hours. If I’m lucky, I can wipe the log of our activity before he reports an anomaly that will draw any attention. And if I leave soon, I can be in and out of the building before anyone is there for the day.
But about twenty minutes later, Annie lets herself in and finds me still standing over Luca like I’m leaving for war.
“He probably won’t even know you left,” she says from the doorway. “If he just had his meds he’ll be out for at least another four hours.”
“I know,” I say, but don’t move.
She crosses the room and stops beside me. “He’ll be okay, Em.” She looks down to Luca’s chart in her hands. “His vitals are blowing me away. I wish we could get him in the BioVIVE again and compare today’s scans to Friday’s. Imagine what’s going on in there.” She shuffles through my notes. “The way he’s bounced back is just—I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“It’s crazy, right? The thigh injury looks weeks old, not days. His vitals don’t show any signs of stress at all.” Glancing at my watch, I sigh. “I guess if I’m going, I need to get on with it.”
“I’d do it but I don’t have your clearance.”
