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She sighed. "I'll tell him you asked for him. Can I get you anything else, miss?"
Weren't they listening to her? "Just Chris."
She frowned, then nodded and left.
Giselle ate her tasteless lunch after thirty minutes of waiting. The doctor came to check on her and told her she'd be discharged soon. Alex peeked in to ask if she was ready to hear his story, and she threw her shoe at him in reply. Ana came once more to place her the dinner tray.
And Giselle asked for Chris a few more times.
Wiping her tears away at midnight, she lay on her bed, purposeless, traumatized, and dependent. Her dinner tray lay untouched.
She tossed and turned, her nightmares keeping her half awake. She saw Xavier cutting himself on the arm and then bleeding, a manic smile on his face. His face morphed into Chris's as he stabbed his own neck with a butter knife. Giselle tried screaming for him but no voice came out. Instead, water poured out of her mouth, choking her, drowning her. Her chest contracted as she tried to breathe, but there was water everywhere.
She heard his voice echo from the depth of the ocean. Chris. He called her name again and again. She inhaled but there was only water that flooded her lungs, burning her insides.
"Giselle. Giselle. Giselle."
She tried to answer him but couldn't speak over the waves that crashed over her, throwing her body around. She thrashed her arms, trying to stay afloat but a large hand pushed her under the water.
"Giselle!"
She awoke with a loud gasp. Someone shook her body, her lungs burning. Inhaling sharply, she gulped down the steady flow of oxygen for a few moments. Then her eyes met Chris's.
"Giselle?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
She panted, trying to make sense of everything.Dream. It was just a dream.
"Giselle!" he called again.
"I'm okay," she whispered, her body hot yet shivering.
He held her for a few more moments, staring at her in horror, then gulped, let go of her, and sat on the chair beside her bed. It took her a few moments to be completely awake, her shoulders heavy.
Chris stared at her, his face stripped of any expressions. One look at him told her how much he'd suffered. Physically, he looked hurt, his face was bruised, and several cuts on his skin were now stitched. Mentally, he seemed worn out, his face gaunt and grim, and dark circles formed under his eyes. He looked drastically thinner.
He looked different, she noticed, disconnected.
Giselle's body protested with every movement as she sat on the bed. "Where were you?"
He took a deep breath and smiled. It wasn't his smile. "I was here."
"You didn't come to see me."
"I had some things to tend to."
"What things?"
He ignored her. "How are you?"
"What things?"
"Giselle."
Her hands fisted in her lap. "What things?"
He stared at her, his face emotionless. "I was practicing to gain control over my speech."
Her brows merged. "What?"
