I just don’t know what she sees in you.
What on earth does she see in you?
EIGHT
When I open my eyes, the light is filtering through the half-closed curtains, blinding me. I can tell just by its position in the room that the sun is new; the morning is young.
I don’t know when I fell asleep; I don’t even know how I managed to accomplish this feat except through sheer exhaustion. My body succumbed to the need even as my mind refused, protesting this decision with a series of nightmares that begin to replay as I sit up, closing my eyes against the glare.
I spent the night outrunning an indecipherable natural disaster. It was that vintage of vague dream-element that makes sense only in the dream and none at all upon waking.
I couldn’t stop running.
I had no choice but to keep moving for fear of being decimated by the impending calamity, searching all the while for Ella, from whom I had been separated. When I finally heard her voice it was from high above: Ella was sitting in a tree, far from danger, staring happily at the clouds as I ran for my life. The disaster—something like a tornado or tsunami or both—increased in intensity, and I picked up speed, unable to slow down long enough to speak with her, or even to climb the tree, whose trunk was so impossibly tall I couldn’t understand how she’d scaled it.
In a desperate effort I called her name, but she didn’t hear me; she was turned away, laughing, and I realized then that Kenji was sitting in the tree with her. So was Nazeera, who’d no doubt flew them both to safety.
I screamed Ella’s name once more, and this time she turned at the sound of my voice, meeting my eyes with a kind smile. I finally stopped then, falling to my knees from overexertion.
Ella waved at me just as I was pulled under.
A sharp knock at the hospital door has me upright in a moment, my mind on a delay even as my instincts sharpen. I notice only then that Ella is not here. Her rumpled hospital sheets are the only evidence she ever was.
I drag a hand down my face as I head for the door, faintly aware that I’m still in the clothes I was wearing yesterday. My eyes are dry, my stomach empty, my body exhausted.
I am wrung out.
I open the door, so surprised to see Winston’s face that I take a step back. I seldom—if ever—speak with Winston. I’ve never had any specific reason to dislike him, but then, he and I are ill-acquainted. I don’t even know if I’ve ever seen his face from so close a distance.
“Wow,” he says, blinking at me. “You look like shit.”
“Good morning.”
“Right. Yeah. Good morning.” He takes a deep breath and attempts a smile, adjusting his black glasses for no reason but nerves.
Winston, I’m baffled to discover, is very nervous to be near me.
“Sorry, I was just surprised,” he says, rushing his words. “You’re usually really—you know, like, put together. Anyway you might want to take a shower before we get going.”
I’m so unable to process the absurdity—or the audacity— of this request, that I close the door in his face. Turn the lock.
The pounding begins immediately after. “Hey,” he says, shouting to be heard. “I’m serious— I’m supposed to take you to breakfast this morning, but I really th—”
“I don’t need a chaperone,” I say, pulling off my sweater. This hospital room is one of the larger ones, with an en suite, industrial bathroom/shower combination. “And I don’t need you to remind me to bathe.”
“I didn’t mean it as an insult! Damn.” A nervous laugh. “Literally everyone tried to warn me that you were hard to deal with, but I thought maybe they were exaggerating, at least a little. That was my mistake. Listen, you look fine. You don’t smell or anything. I just think you’ll want to take a shower—”
“Again, I don’t need your advice on this matter.” I’m stepping out of my pants, folding them carefully to contain the small box still trapped in the pocket. “Leave.”
I turn on the shower, the sound of which distorts Winston’s voice. “Come on, man, don’t make this difficult. I was the only one willing to come get you this morning. Everyone else was too afraid. Even Kenji said he was too tired today to deal with your shit.”
I hesitate then.
I abandon the bathroom, returning to the closed door in only my boxer briefs. “Come get me for what?”
I feel Winston startle at the sound of my voice, so close. He equivocates, saying only: “Um, yeah, I can’t actually tell you.”