Page 78 of Was I Ever Free

Then I’m laid flat on a car seat. An engine running. Voices shouting togo, go, go.

I’m chased by darkness, my consciousness in a losing battle with oblivion.

Then suddenly I know for certain that I am dying.

Because Lucy’s here.

Her warm hands on my marred face.

Tear-soaked lips on my own.

I must be dying.

Because heaven tastes like Lucy.

40

The machine’s steady beep reminds me that Bastian is alive. I have not slept in twenty-four hours. I cannot. I have been sitting here beside him, hoping he knows I am here. Will it even make a difference? Does it even matter? Every time I close my eyes, I am assaulted with the image of Bastian, bruised and bleeding. The terrifying realization that someone had done this to his face—his eye… The horrific vision of his empty eye socket. Barely conscious, laying limp in the back of the van while Connor screamed at Kenzie to get us to the nearest hospital.

When I can no longer bear those thoughts, I pull up the picture I took of him at the beginning of the trip. Of him leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette. I stare at it for much too long, as if it holds the cure to all my pain and heartache.

He has been unconscious—or asleep, I am not sure which—since he came out of surgery six hours ago. His doctors say he had a lethal dose of barbiturates and amphetamines in his system. And if, as the doctors suspect, the drugs were somehow used as a form of torture, Bastian might suffer from long-term psychological damage but they will not know for sure until he wakes up. That plus the shock of losing an eye—they do not think he would have survived much longer if we had not gotten him out of there.

I have never felt this hopeless. Never felt such an all-consuming pain for someone else.

I was in shock when I first saw him. I am still in shock, I think.

Lenix is sleeping on Connor’s lap on the sofa near the window. I do not think Connor has slept either. He has had the same haunted faraway look in his eyes since we got here, mostly silent, as if stuck in a memory while still anxiously monitoring his cousin’s wellbeing. Then I remember that Lenix once told me that he found his best friend Byzantine in a similar state, years ago. My heart only aches more.

Kenzie has been in and out of the room. Never staying long. Always hovering near the bed but never really getting close to Bastian’s inert body. Something tells me he is feeling guilty since it was Kenzie’s favor that got him taken in the first place.

Good. He should feel guilty.

I know my anger should be directed at the Gravediggers. At the evil men who did this to Bastian, but Kenzie is an easy target for my turmoil right now. He has not been able to look me in the eyes since we got here and if I am being honest, I do not want him to.

Not now. Not when Bastian is still lost to me. Still so far away.

A small rustle pulls my attention back to the hospital bed. My tears are a steady stream while I watch Bastian struggle in his sleep. His eyebrows are knitted together, and I just hope he is not in too much pain. The now crushingly familiar feeling of hopelessness wraps itself around me like a too-hot blanket. He looks so frail like this. He has lost weight. Sallow skin and gaunt cheeks. A large bandage over his left eye covers most of the damage, but you can still see the red and sensitive skin on his cheek below poking through.

I do not know what else to do but wait. Anxiously, I wonder if I would even be the first person he would want to see when he wakes up. Maybe I have deluded myself into thinking he feels the same way I do, that this was not all just an elaborate deal to pass the time while on the road.

But then I remember our first kiss, the closeness and warmth I felt that night, and how perfectlyrighthis lips felt kissing mine.

No. I did not make this all up.

Leaning closer to the bed, I find his hand and press my forehead against the back of it. It is colder than usual. It does not feel right, like he is not fullyhere, existing in his body. As if a large part of him is somewhere else, far away.

Far away from me.

Feeling like my thoughts are too tight in my skull, I breathe slowly in and out, my head still resting on his hand. My first instinct is still to pray, reach out to God, and ask for strength. But it does not feel right. Not anymore. Especially now. But then Bastian’s steady voice comes back to me, from that day we sat in the abandoned church.

Prayer is just prayer.

I decide what it means.

Although the word prayer now makes me uncomfortable, the act feels too familiar to ignore. But today, I do not direct my thoughts to God. Instead, I whisper them into the scratchy hospital bed sheets and direct my words to Bastian, and hope he can hear them.

I pray that he can hear me, and how much I need him to be okay.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com