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By the time I’ve made it up to Penny’s and Francis’ room, it’s been evacuated of everyone else.
Leo’s sitting outside the room, waiting with Cassie. Freddie’s loitering by the door whilst Christopher and Casper are standing over the bed having some sort of hushed conversation with Francis.
“I really don’t think I should be the one doing this. I’m not a surgeon,” Georgina whispers to me.
“It’ll be fine. If anything, we can get him to the hospital first thing tomorrow morning.”
“I swear you’re meant to stitch the inside and then the skin. Fuck, I told you not to bring trouble to my door.”
“Georgie, it’ll be okay.”
Coming closer, she takes the large sewing case from me. It weighs a tonne for threads and needles.
“Are you really okay?” Her hand squeezes my forearm lightly. “I didn’t get to talk to you after Casper and I…I…God, I feel like such a twat.”
“I’m fine, but if you don’t help him, Francis might not be.” Putting an end to our chat, I hand her the box and follow Casper out of the room.
The last thing I want to do right now is talk about their conversation. Maybe it’s selfish and I’m a terrible person, but right now all I can think is how that could be Christopher in there. He could be the one that she has to stitch up.
Fuck, a couple of nights ago it was him.
Who stitched him up?
So much has happened so quickly that I can’t keep track of days and nights and hours and minutes. It all blurs into one. One fucking petrifying mess.
“I’ve never sewn a person before.” I hear Georgie’s faint worry. “I’m probably going to hurt you. I’m sorry.”
“Come on, Swan, I’ve seen you work a needle.”
“Fuck off and let me get in the zone, or I might sew your mouth shut too.”
Laughing, Freddie slides down to the floor by the door. His eyes never once budge from Georgina and Francis.
Cassie looks up at me as I stand outside with them. And yeah, she feels it too.
It could’ve been Leo. Or Freddie…Casper. It could’ve been worse.
Kit’s gone. Carina’s gone. I refuse to part with anyone else I love.
I’m done losing.
I’m done crying.
I’m done being broken.
Now I’m angry. I want to destroy.
If I can’t win the game, I’ll break the fucking board.
Chapter 33
Christopher
The fire is roaring, the light blues and greys of the room glowing amber. The gilded frames flicker in the dark like flames licking up the walls to the cream and dark wood-beamed ceiling. Strangely what should feel suffocating, feels…peaceful. The darkness and quiet allow my thoughts to spiral freely, where they need to go in order for me tame them.
Taking a sip of water, I focus on the soft blue eyes of the portrait hanging over the fireplace.
How did you manage to stay sane throughout all this? I silently ask Grandad’s portrait. I’m trying so hard not to lose it all again.
