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And until now, that was okay. I could take care of myself. What happened when I couldn’t? The only thing I could hope was that I wouldn’t know. That whatever was happening in my head would be so complete and so all-encompassing that it would drown any piece of who I was.
“Murderer.”
The next two words, a repetition of the first, came fast. All at once, I was back in the nightmare. A man stood in front of me, tall, strong, chest gleaming with sweat. His shoulders heaved as he tried to take a breath. I knew what was about to happen. I’d seen it twice already. Whatever he held in his hand fell to the ground, clanging metallically. He choked, reached for his throat, but slowed and I watched his skin change colors.Tan to white to gray, flesh to stone.He stared at me, but there was no awareness in his eyes, only the sightless milky color of death.
The light flicked on, and I blinked against it. I was in my apartment, held cradled against a chest. I gazed up, confused, and found Orestes staring straight ahead. How I had gone from one man to another, I had no idea. Exhaustion hit me and I let my head rest against his heart. Closing my eyes, I focused on his heartbeat.
Except… it wasn’t there.
There was no rhythm, no thud. Nothing.
Too confused and scared to make anything of it, I shut my eyes. “I need it to stop.”
“I know.” I’d never heard anyone speak with more understanding. Orestesdidknow. This stranger who’d saved my life spoke with complete conviction. Almost like he’d been through it—whatever this was—himself.
“Perhaps we bring her to hospital?” I almost smiled at the Britishness of Pollux’s speech.To hospital. Pollux wants to bring me to hospital.
“I didn’t even get time to enjoy it.” I hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Orestes lowered me to my bed, and I braced myself until the familiar soft sheets touched the palms of my hands. I had no time at all here, living my dream. One month in Oxford before something inside me snapped.
“If I leave, it might go away,” Orestes said.
The mattress shifted. “Then leave.” Pollux’s words were too harsh.
“No.” Opening my eyes, I met Orestes’ wide, golden brown gaze. “It’s not you.” It wasn’t. This was something wrong with me, an intrinsic flaw that had been there all my life but had waited until now to appear. It was so hard to think through this haze, like swimming through pudding. “It’s not fair.” I’d never hurt anyone on purpose. Never stolen anything. Never killed anyone, despite what I hallucinated. I didn’t deserve this.
Not fair. Not right.The ideas didn’t come from me. I didn’t think them in my voice, but I heard them all the same.
Cold air filled the room, like Pollux or Orestes had opened the window and an arctic wind flew right in. It washed away the haze so abruptly, I gasped and opened my eyes, half-expecting to find the room covered in ice.
Instead, there was only Pollux and Orestes leaning over me, studying me. Their features matching: white lips, teeth grinding hard enough to make the muscles near their ears tic.
“You should go.” The words left my lips quickly.
I pulled myself up, standing on shaking legs that I made move through sheer force of will.
After flipping on the electric kettle. I stared at the Formica countertop. Pollux and Orestes didn’t make a sound, but I could feel them behind me.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Pollux reached past me to grab the handles of two mugs. There was a third next to it, but he left it. “I’ll stay. Make sure you’re all right.”
It was hard to swallow. No one had ever done this for me. As a child, I’d taken care of myself. Those nights I’d had the stomach flu, I washed my own face, and changed the sheets on my bed while my parents slept. I could measure out cold medicine before I could read the back of the container.
I counted on no one.
So I didn’t know what to do with Pollux’s small kindness.
The kettle whistled. Rather than answer, I got the other mug off the shelf.
Pollux sighed, picked up the box of tea and placed a bag in each cup. “Go sit.” The words came out a growl. “Your hands are trembling. You’ll burn yourself.”
Why did he care?
My kitchen had a tiny circular table, barely big enough for me. Orestes and Pollux sat, and it went from small to ridiculous-sized. The mugs—which I bought because they could double as soup bowls, were better suited for dolls than these giants.
“There’s milk…” I pushed back my chair, but Pollux growled again, pairing it with a glare that had me sitting quickly.
He dropped the carton of milk a little too forcefully in the center of the table, followed by the sugar bowl and some spoons.
It was silent then, except for the clink of my spoon against the mug.
