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It was Leah’s idea. Of course it was hers, you would never think of a museum and say ‘Hey, that looks like a cool place to go have a double date at!’.
But you’re there and even if it is very boring, Shelby’s hand is in yours the whole time and Fatin promised you’d get drinks later, and you’ve all started this weird game where every time there’s a room full of paintings you’ve got to choose someone you’d fuck, so it's okay. It was especially fun in the renaissance period, where most of the painting were dudes and Leah and Fatin, being the resident token bisexual and pan respectively, had to admit to wanting to fuck Jesus while you and Shelby just pointed to different inanimate objects in the backgrounds. Even Shelby laughed.
//
“Wait.”
You’re walking behind Leah and Fatin, your mind a hundred miles away, when Shelby pulls from your intertwined fingers, getting you to stop right as you’re passing next to the ladies’ room, between the Egyptians and the Romans’ sections.
“You need to pee?” you ask, looking at the door behind Shelby. She smiles – a wicked smile that already has your stomach filling with a warm, tingly sensation – and says, “Just thought we could add a little excitement to the tour, what do you think?”
You spare a small glance at Leah and Fatin’s figures, already losing themselves in the crowd as they bicker about something you’re too far away to catch. You smile before following Shelby inside.
//
Fatin’s still laughing as the four of you make it out of the building. Shelby’s face is bright red, and you hug her to try and ease the tension on her shoulders, “it’s alright Shel.” You whisper while smiling in spite of yourself.
“I can’t believe it!” Fatin says between heaves and chuckles as you all start down the street to the right, “The museum’s bathroom? You’re always finding new ways to surprise me Goodkind!”
Shelby groans, burying her face on your shoulder as Leah laughs along with Fatin and you bite your lips to try and not follow their lead.
“We just made out!” you protest, knowing very well you didn’t just make out, but from the looks of Shelby, she won’t be able to stand the embarrassment of their friends discovering what else you did while they admired old paintings and statues of naked dudes.
“Yeah, right, Shalifoe. We actually know you, remember?” Leah gives you a stern look before dissolving into laughter once more, “Can’t lie to us.”
You roll your eyes, making a point of walking ahead of them, with Shelby in tow, and ignoring their copious teasing.
You’re walking down a narrow street now, away from the museum and towards that bar you’ve always liked with the dim lighting and the good music a few streets away. The sun’s coming down low, right in front of you, and it’s kissing the horizon and painting the sky with amazing strokes of red, purple, pinks and greys, so you tap Shelby’s shoulder to try to get her attention. She raises her head instantly from your shoulder, a smile and raised eyebrows on her still-a-little-red face, “Look.” You simply say, pointing to the sunset. She turns and gasps.
“Oh, Toni, it’s wonderful!”
A moment passes before, “Not as wonderful as you are, Baby!”
You turn instinctively, fire lighting on your chest, your muscles tensing in a second as your eyes survey the street. The voice comes from the other sidewalk where a group of about six men stand, talking and laughing amongst themselves as they look over at you. They’re young, about your age, and dress in fancy coats, sporting douche-baggy haircuts. You stop on your tracks and hear Leah and Fatin quieten as they approach you, the four of you instinctively drawing closer to each other before picking up your pace. But then one of the men breaks from the group and you guess it’s the one who called out to Shelby because he’s headed your way. You feel her hand on yours shudder as she grasps your arm with the other, “Toni.” She warns. You turn to her, “It’s okay.” Before letting go of her hand and stepping forward. The rest stop walking and wait for you.
“So, are we all heading over to a party of something? ‘cause I’d be happy to escort the lot of you, maybe buy you some drinks, what’d you say?” he’s smiling smugly, his hands stretched outwards. You feel the anger inside of you burn all the way up your throat, begging you to act up, but you swallow it down. It’s been years since you’ve exploded like that, you’re better now. You’ve learned how to deal, how to cope. But the instinct, the immediate response, it’s still there.
“Not interested.” You simply say, raising a hand to stop him from coming closer. He’s clearly disappointed for a moment before his grin comes back on, “Oh, c’mon. Just one drink! I know your blonde friend over there would like it, wouldn’t you, hottie?”
“Leave us alone, please.” Shelby’s voice doesn’t tremble behind you. It’s stern and angry and you almost let your smile slip through your tough-guy façade as you imagine her angry face, her defined jawline set, her drawn eyebrows and her glaring eyes. “You heard her, man. Just leave us.”
But then you realize his friends have moved across the street, too. They stand only a few feet away from the guy, and are quickly approaching. Your brain races. No anger, you try to think, creative solutions, think like Dot.
But you’re not good at that.
“Oh c’mon, don’t be a buzzkill.”
“She said what she said, dipshit, now leave.” Fatin’s voice is louder than you expect as she steps up beside you.
“The fuck’s wrong with you, bitch.” He spits out the word as he steps up to her, a sneer tightly in place.
“Don’t call her a bitch, dipshit.” Leah calls.
“You’re bothering my friends, that’s what’s wrong.”
And suddenly he’s leaning forward, getting a hold of Fatin’s arm. The girl immediately pulls, her eyes exploding with a mix of emotions that put you into autopilot. You catch her anger, her regret, her fear, and you just punch.
You catch him in the jaw and he immediately lets go of Fatin. The taller girl stumbles away from him, holding her arm close to her chest and cursing as you regain your balance. You hand stings a little, but you keep your eyes on the guy, on how he holds his jaw and shoots daggers at you with his eyes before moving closer again.
You’re surrounded in a second. They’re tall and muscley and they’re all talking, laughing, teasing, calling, spitting. It’s hard to concentrate as fear and panic swell in your stomach. They’ve cut you from the rest of the girls and you hear Shelby scream something. You hope Leah’s smart enough to grab her and stop her from intervening. It’s bad enough that they’ve hurt Fatin. You refuse to even entertain the though of them touching Shelby.
“Kill ‘er Kyle.”
“What a lesbo, look at her.”
“Fucking dyke.”
They’re all talking, and all the voices come from different directions. You get dizzy just trying to catch them as they speak, turning your head every which way. One of them stops you, though, as the first guy says, “You fucking punched me.”
“And I’ll do it again if you don’t leave us alone!”
Alright, looking back, you realize it was a very stupid threat to make, considering it was a six versus one fight, but you couldn’t stop yourself.
It all happens in a matter of seconds, but it feels as if you’re watching everything in slow motion. You feel someone push you hard from behind before a fist connects with your face. You only have enough time to raise your hands, protecting your face from possible future attacks, when another connects with your stomach and a third – a kick, you think vaguely – connects with your shin. You’re stumbling to the floor when you feel the fourth hit. This one’s different, though. You’re falling, face first and arms outstretched to receive the impact, when a fist connects with your temple and you stumble to the side, and your head cracks against the pavement.
You’re dizzy when you open your eyes again. You’re not sure what’s happening but there’s a blurry face surrounded by a golden halo that’s looking down at you. You smile.
//
You hear the impact, rather than see it, and the sound of it is enough to have you screaming bloody murder. Leah’s grip on your arms loosen as you push forward. You’re punching and scratching at expensive coats in a second. There’s chaos. You hear Leah screaming that she’ll call the cops and Fatin daring them to get closer again, as you see them run.
They disappear in an instant and that’s when you see her. Her eyes are closed, and she’s curled into herself, laying on the curb. There’s a cut on her bottom lip and another above her left eyebrow, the skin around them slowly turning pink. But what freezes you on your spot, what makes you want to vomit and shiver and scream, is the liquid that starts flowing from under her head. It’s dark and heavy and it’s coming on so fast, and it’s so much.
You’re by her side in a second but hesitate on where to touch.
“Fuck, Shelby, here.” you hear Leah’s words, but they don’t make much sense. You look at her as your body start shaking uncontrollably, “What?”
Leah hands you her jacket, wrapped around itself to form a make-shift pillow, “Press this against the cut on her head.”
For a moment you don’t know how to respond, but then your brain clicks, and you grab the jacket and then grab Toni’s head, as tender and careful as you can with trembling fingers and only one hand. You pull her onto your lap and place the bundle against her head. You touch lightly until you find the spot where the blood seems thicker, and you press.
After a moment, the jacket’s soaked.
“Jesus, Leah, there’s so much of it.” you mutter, hyperventilating. You feel Leah’s hand on your shoulder as she kneels beside you. She’s shivering, too, her eyes locked on Toni’s blank face. She’s blushed, tears flowing down her cheeks, as she tries to reassure you, “Fati– Fatin’s calling an ambulance and cops and– and they’ll be here just wait–” but her voice is trembling so much she can’t finish her thought.
But you’re not listening. Something’s pressing hard against your chest, gripping your heart with a force unknown to you. It’s like it’s trying to squeeze everything out. You watch in horror as the blood covers everything around you. The jacket, your hands, your coat, your pants, Toni’s clothes…
You haven’t prayed in years, not since the island. You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t, not after how your father had used God against you, convincing you of… of everything.
But now, as Toni’s face turns paler by the second, and her eyelids flutter uncontrollably, but they just don’t open; now, you pray.
Because she looks worse than when she was dehydrated, back on the island when you still hated each other and they’d all eaten those mussels, worse than when she had had a fever threatening to end her life without a second glance, and you’re desperate. She’s pale and trembling slightly, and so gone you reach over to her neck to feel her pulse and confirm she’s still breathing, still here. You think of a life without Toni and your throat closes up, your vision starts blurring around you, and you cry, desperately.
“Please God, fuck. Don’t let her die…”
And you mutter and whisper under your breath, you beg Him to help her. “If there’s only one good thing You can give me,” you whisper, “let this be it. Only one thing and then I’ll spend the rest of my life paying back for it, just help Toni. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up, I promise, just save her now.”
You keep mumbling until, out of nowhere, her eyes flutter open.
“Toni!” you call as your eyes catch the brow of her iris. The pupils are blown and unfocussed and she’s frowning, like she just can’t make sense of what’s going on. You lean over her, your hair creating a curtain that separates you two from the rest of the world, and you say “Jesus, Toni, please look at me, are you okay?”
She leans a little bit closer and inspects your face with a strange look on her face, like she doesn’t recognize you.
And now your brain goes back to that pill, that fucking pill she wouldn’t take even if it was the only thing that could save her. So stubborn, you think for a moment with tender annoyance, so strongheaded and brave. You managed to save her then, even if it took all you had to push her down and force the thing into her mouth, and then force her to swallow.
You’re starting to fear there’s no such straight solution to it this time.
“Shelby?” she speaks slowly and confused, like the word feels funny on her lips. She continues moving them, but no more words come out. Then, her eyes turn white and her head bobs back, falling onto your hands once again.
“No, Toni! Come back, please, Toni!” you scream at her, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead, to her cheeks, to her lips, as if somehow this will bring her back, “Fuck, Toni, don’t do this, just wake up!”
You hear footsteps around you and feel a hand come to rest on your shoulder then. You look up to find Fatin, eyes blown wide with fear and hesitance and a phone clutched to her right hand, “I called an ambulance, they’ll be here any second now.”
“Fuck, those things always take like 20 minutes. More so now with all the evening traffic.” Leah sighs, falling back onto the pavement beside you. Fatin moves to her side, clutching her hand before leaning over Toni’s limp body, “How is she?” she asks.
You stutter nonsense for a moment before Leah reaches out to grab the hand you had over Toni’s chest, “It’s okay.” She mutters. You take a deep breath before trying to answer Fatin’s question again, “She– She opened her eyes, but she looked so lost… I– I don’t know. She fainted again almost immediately afterwards.”
You choke as you speak but manage to end the sentence, if only barely. There are tears coursing down your cheeks in a continuous flow and you curse the ambulance for taking so long. You look around and find the street empty and then sun already gone, the last of its rays dimming as time passes. It’s dark and chilly, and the lamppost not nearly enough light for the situation. Not even a group of passersby to help you out. You’re alone, the four of you, just like you were back then…
“Fuck!” you curse, as the memories start washing over you in tandems. Or maybe not the memories, since the only image your mind can replay at the moment is the look on Toni’s face as she reached out to punch that guy – both surprised and angry, almost feral – and then the sound of her head against the pavement. But you do remember the feelings, the emotions. The desperation, the solitude, the anger, the frustration. The cold, too, and the doubt, and the uncertainty.
“Toni, wake up.” Leah calls, her voice deep in that apparently calm tone she wears when she feels as if control’s slipping away slowly and she’s watching it go. Fatin seems to recognize the tone, too, since her hands fly to Leah’s shoulders and she starts cooing in her ear, but Leah shakes her head, eyes locked on Toni’s nonresponding face, “Fuck, Shalifoe! Wake the fuck up or I swear to fucking God I’ll punch you so hard you’ll wake up anyways!”
Surprisingly, her outburst has Toni stirring. She’s muttering nonsense, eyes still closed, but her hands are moving, grabbing and reaching for anything. Your hand shoots out immediately, your mind back on high alert as you grasp her fingers – so cold and trembling – and you speak, “Toni, wake up, it’s me, Shelby. Just open your eyes love, please.”
Your other hand reaches for her cheek, your finger caressing over the soft skin of her jaw. Too late you realize it’s covered in blood and you stain the clear tan underneath.
“Shelby?”
Your eyes turn to hers as you see them opening. She can’t seem to focus on anything yet, but she’s speaking now, so that’s good, you tell yourself. Keep her speaking.
“I’m right here love. I’m right here.”
“I love it when you call me love.” She slurs her words a little and smiles softly, her eyebrows rising as her eyes flutter closed a moment later. Leah shakes her up a bit and Toni startles. You shoot Leah a dangerous look, but she just shrugs, “We have to keep her conscious.”
“Alright. Toni? I need you to stay awake, you hear me?” you try to call to her, but her eyes are unfocused and rolling onto the back of her head almost constantly, her head wobbling and bopping as she tries to move it.
“I’m awake.” She mumbles, eyes closing.
“Okay, Toni? Remember the lychee tree?” Leah’s voice sends you reeling. You’re blushing even if embarrassment is the last thing on your mind. You look at her with questions on your eyes – you’d told them years after it happened, of course, but why the hell would she be bringing it up now? – but she, again, shrugs as Fatin, in spite of herself, smiles a little.
But Toni laughs. “Shelby and Toni, sitting on a tree, K-i-s-s-n-i?-g-i-s?.” she mutters, a little confused by the end.
“Yeah, we kissed, didn’t we?” you sniff, trying to keep your voice from sounding even more watery than it already does, trying to keep the tears and fear at bay and concentrating, instead, on Toni.
“And remember that time Fatin disappeared? And we all thought she was dead, but the bitch was just getting water?” Leah continues, “You remember that?”
Toni nods before stiffening, her lips pressing together as she hisses, “Ouch, fuck.” You try to accommodate the jacket-pillow under her head, and she turns to you, eyes opening for a moment as she stares up and a small, dopey smile pulls at her lips, “Pretty.” She mutters.
Beside you, you catch Fatin bumping Leah’s shoulder, “Hey!”, but Leah laughs, “You could’ve at least warned us you were going out to explore.”
“You were mad at me!”
“You were.” You concede, “And remember when Leah went all crazy on me?”
“Oh, c’mon, it was suspicious that the same person brough in not one, but two suitcases full of everything we needed!”
“I was cleaning my teeth! And they just kept randomly washing up to shore!”
You look down at Toni and she smiles. She looks better, you think. Her eyes, even if still dropping slightly, seem more focused and alert. Her hold on your hand is stronger now, too, and she’s breathing evenly.
“The thing I remember the most, I think, was Dot and that horrible tennis cap of hers.” Toni laughs, and she’s speaking better now, her words not slurring so much and her voice steadier and louder.
From a distance, the sound of sirens suddenly reaches your ears. You look up at the same time as Leah and you share a look. She stands immediately, walking over to the end of the street where the noise comes from.
“Hey, Toni? Baby, the ambulance is almost here, okay?”
Toni’s eyes focus on you as she frowns, and you see fear in them, for a moment, before she nods and gives your hand a squeeze.
It’s a blur, when the ambulance arrives. There’s paramedics everywhere and they’re pulling you away from her, asking questions and giving out instructions you can barely hear over the raucous sound of the sirens. She’s pulled onto a stretcher, tied down and then lifted onto the ambulance. You rush to sit down beside her, the doors close, and then you’re on your way.
The paramedic the rides with you asks you a load of questions. What happened? How long ago? Was she conscious? You try to explain everything the best you can.
Falling into old habits, you clutch the small cross you still carry round your neck. You don’t pray, but you do worry, your eyes set on her pale face, her closed eyelids, her pursed lips, turning purple as the place where she was hit starts to show just how badly they hurt her.
You want to punch something, kick, scream, liberate the fury that’s inside of you. You know this is how Toni feels most of the time and, even if she’s come to learn how to cope now, you still wonder how she does it. You feel as if you’ll explode. You imagine all the guys who dared touch her, all in one single file, and you picture yourself punching them one by one. You wish you could.
At the hospital, they rush her inside in a second, leaving you in a waiting room that smells too much of disinfectant and something else underneath, something sticky and metal, and it’s just too much for you to properly relax. So, you pace. You pace around, in front of the row’s and rows of seats where different people sit, some huddled together, some whimpering in pain, and some fighting off sleep and worry. The room’s walls are white and the overhead lighting’s blinding. Your head pounds, your eyes sting, and your throat’s raw from all the crying you’ve been doing. You’re exhausted already, but you can’t seem to get your stomach’s constant flipping and roaming, and your heart’s jumping and choking, under control. It feels like they’re having a party in your chest, or maybe a bar fight, or something. So you pace, the feeling of movement, even if it is faux and not leading anywhere, soothing you momentarily.
Some time later, you’re not sure how long really, Leah and Fatin arrive.
“I called the rest; they’ll be here any moment now.” Fatin announces while Leah reaches for you, clutching your forearm as she asks, “What’s happened? Did they tell you anything?”
You shake your head, too stunned to properly form any kind of word.
“You should sit down, Shelby.” Tries Fatin, a hand reaching for your shoulder. You nod, looking down and just then realizing the state of you. Your clothes are covered in dirt and grime and blood, and oh God, it’s so much blood. You’ve left a few footprints on the floor, even. You’re shaking violently and you realize your feet hurt.
Fatin leads you one of the chairs while Leah approaches the front desk to ask about any updates.
“Okay, Goodkind. I’m gonna need you to breathe, alright?” Fatin’s holding you by the chin, forcing you to look her in the eyes. You try to nod, and she hands you a water bottle, “Here, drink.”
Your lips only manage to graze the liquid before you’re pulling it away from your face, a few droplets falling onto the front of your shirt as you grimace, “Fatin, it’s alcohol!”
“It’ll calm you down!”
You roll your eyes, putting the cap back onto the bottle before returning it to Fatin, “I need to be sober right now, Fatin.”
“Suit yourself.” She mutters as she uncaps the bottle and takes a swig.
You shake your head, choosing instead to walk over to the bending machine that sits, forgotten, on the left corner of the room. You search your jacket for spare change, coming up with a dollar and 50. As you’re looking for some water, you catch sight of a purple package. You smile. C2, Takis.
You buy them first, and then rummage through your purse for enough to buy your water.
By the time you return to Fatin’s side, Leah’s come back, too. As they see you approach, Leah announces, “They say she’s stable. They’re taking some tests right now, scans to make sure there wasn’t any internal damage, but it’s not very probable. They say we can see her in, like, twenty minutes.”
You nod, taking a deep breath and trying to take in her words, trying to allow them to soothe you. It’s hard, as the images return to your mind. Her pale face, the cracking sound, her lost expression as she laid on the ground, the confusion in her eyes. you wonder how they can make her better.
“Fuego?” asks Fatin, looking down at your hands. You remember the Takis and smile absentmindedly, your head still stuck somewhere down your memory, still uncertain of Toni’s wellbeing, still so, so scared.
“I thought she’d like some when she wakes up.” And your voice breaks even though you’re smiling. Leah hugs you immediately, “It’s okay,” she mutters into your ear, “She’s okay, she’ll be fine. I was so fucking scared too. I though we’d lose her. I can’t fucking lose her, she’s like my best friend. You all are.”
You nod, taking comfort in the physical touch, in the glaring sensation of being present, being held, of being safe.
The three of you sit on the chairs in silence then, and you take your time sipping the water and concentrating on the cooling sensation going down your throat.
Fatin’s got Leah’s hand in hers and periodically places soft kisses to her knuckles while the taller girl watches the front desk, watches as the nurses and secretaries and whoever else mill around, shifting papers, filing documents and receiving people. You try not to think about who’s hand you wish to kiss in the same manner, who’s eyes you wish to look into, who’s face you wish to touch, to stroke, to kiss.
Dot arrives a few minutes later, followed closely by Martha, Rachel and Nora. Fatin updates them all just as Toni’s name is called.
You slowly approach the nurse, a tall man with a stern face and a scar above his cheekbone. You try to swallow your fear, coaxing your own body into sitting still, your voice into holding enough to talk to him.
“I’m Toni Shalifoe’s girlfriend, is she alright?” you ask, and your voice trembles a little, but you call it a victory. The man looks down on his chart, “She’s in room 407, upstairs. You can go see her now, although I suggest–” he looks up at something behind you for a moment and you turn only to find the girls all huddled up a few feet away, listening in on the conversation, “I suggest you don’t go all in at once. Also, she’ll have to stay overnight, in case anything changes. Her situation’s not critical, but it’s not optimal either. Right now, she just needs to rest and heal.”
You nod and thank him and then ask for the closest stairs. As a group, you rush up to the 4th floor and frantically search for room 407. You find it at the end of the hallway but for some reason you freeze when you see it. A memory seeps in, then, blackening the reality in front of you and instead transporting you to an island far away, to a darker hallway with red doors and–
“Shelby, you should go in first,” Dot’s speaking, you realize, “and see if she’s up for some visits.”
You nod, still a little foggy. Someone holds you from behind, Rachel, and with soft yet firm hands she guides you towards the door, placing your hand on the knob, “You can do it, Shelby.” She says in that Rachel voice, full of confidence and facts, but also kindness.
Inside, you first find an empty bed and think they’ve given you the wrong room. But then you notice the curtain separating the space into two, and hear the beeping coming from behind. The blinds are drawn, there’s a small overhead light on but other than that the room’s pretty gloomy. You swallow thickly, stepping forward.
She’s laying on the bed with her eyes closed. There’s a thick gauze going round her forehead and down towards the back of her head, near where the skull meets the neck. Your heart clenches and you start breathing hard. Her face is puffed and bloated, and covered in purple and red. Her right hand is also thickly wrapped, and there’s an IV line running from her left arm to a bag on a hanger besides the bed. The beeping sound comes from a machine behind her that shows her heart rate, jumping and bowing as she breathes, slowly, calmly.
“Takis?” her voice is hoarse and low, and you want to cry right then and there, if it wasn’t for the disconcerting word. Then you remember, looking down at the package in your hands, the same one that’s caught Toni’s attention as she slowly blinks, her eyes barely opening more than a fraction of an inch.
You laugh, a soggy, pitiful sound, and approach, setting the bag of chips on the rolling table beside her bed. She tries to sit up, but stops a moment later, “Fuck,” she mutters, “I’m dizzy.”
“Shh,” you coo, reaching out to gently help her back down and instead pressing on the button in the bed’s control panel that inclines the bedframe.
“Damn, I love hospitals. They’re always so nice and fancy, I forget.”
You roll your eyes as you watch her, enamored once more by her soft, bright smile and the way she leans back on the stiff hospital pillow is if it was a five-star hotel, burying herself deeper into the cheap detergent-reeking sheets.
“Oh, baby, I really need to take you somewhere that’s actually fancy.” You whisper through your smile, your voice faltering for a moment. She frowns, trying once more to lean up towards you and failing as her eyes close and you see her swallowing thickly, mumbling something intelligible, so you place a hand over her stomach to try and calm her down, “Hey, shh, no, just rest. It’s alright.”
“You look like shit.” She says, eyes still closed. You snort because she’s the one on the hospital bed, and you’re the one who looks bad?
“Have you even looked into a mirror lately?” you chuckle. She laughs, opening her eyes once more. You reach up and cradle her cheek and she leans into the touch, eyes locked onto yours as she purses her lips and you see it; the fear, the exhaustion and the relief. It’s like looking into a mirrorball, finally seeing what you’ve been feeling reflected back on you. You lean closer, pressing your forehead to hers, and you can’t help the whimper that leaves your lips. She reaches up, hand covered in gauze, to grab your forearm with calloused fingers. Her other hand comes up to your waist and, for a moment, you just hold each other, drinking in the fact that you are together, that you are present, that you are safe.
“Don’t you ever do that to me again, Toni Shalifoe. You hear me?” and you’re angry so you scold her, all the fear and desperation being released in a few wet words as tears start falling again. She has the nerve to smile innocently before it falls and you see the regret in her eyes, “I’m sorry,” she says, holding you closer as you start sobbing lightly, “I didn’t think this would happen… I really tried to control myself but then he touched Fatin and I just– I couldn’t–”
You shake your head, and she silences, looking up at you, waiting patiently for you to speak.
“It’s okay, I know. I know you, that’s why I love you,” and you pause, looking up at her and trying to get over the fact that you almost lost her today. It brings on a new wave of nauseating grief that has you shivering. Toni moves a little and pats down on the bed, and you sit, and she pulls you in, and she’s cradling you, even if she’s the hurt one, “It’s just that… you scared me so much.”
You feel her kiss your head, “I was scared too.” She admits, “When I first woke up I– I was so lost. But, hey–”
You look up, leaning back so that you’re able to sit face to face. And she smiles weakly, “You were there for me. You saved my life, yet again.”
You chuckle through the tears and burry yourself into her chest, snaking your arms around her small frame. “Shit, wait!” she startles and pulls away and you stiffen, “They bruised my ribs, too.” She explains, offering a small apologetic smile.
“Fucking assholes,” you mutter as you lean back in, this time more carefully, listening for any grunt or discomfort Toni might show. Once you’re settled, your head on her shoulder, you kiss the skin there, where the hospital gown has fallen slightly off.
“I love you, Toni.” You mutter, “And don’t you fucking dare die before me, you hear me?”
You feel her sigh, maybe chuckle a little, before she says, voice sleepy and contempt, “I love you too, Shelby. and don’t worry, I’ve got us a hell of a future mapped out.”
You hum, encouraging her to continue.
“We’ll move somewhere nice when we graduate. With snow, and a lake, and a good basketball team.” You roll your eyes, “And we’ll get a ranch and live happily ever after.”
You smile softly, picturing the scene.
“We’ll have matching rocking chairs on our front porch?”
She nods, “And we’ll sit there drinking Gatorade as the sun goes down.”