Page 85 of His Black Onyx

He squeezes my hand tightly, still not looking at me but shaking his head violently. "No. You stay."

It's a command more than a request, not allowing any backtalk. I return the squeeze on his hand, offering a short-lived smile that goes past him.

We remain like that, holding hands as if neither of us would be able to stand without the other, and maybe that's true.

Lailah is fighting, desperately trying to hold on to that remaining blink of life still granted to her. It's obvious that she's trying to move, trying to let her head follow where her eyes travel.

And that direction has been the same from the first moment she woke up.

She's looking at us the whole time, only faintly reacting to the doctor when he addresses her. Her lashes are fluttering with effort as she tries to keep her eyes open while focusing on us.

"You don't have to speak, Lailah," the doctor says in a soothing voice. "Rest. Don't push yourself-"

"Get...," she breathes, grimacing under stress as she gasps for air. Her eyes widen, dashing back and forth between Nate and me, as if she was afraid we'd leave before she could say what she needs to share with us.

I can tell that Nate wants to speak to her, but something is stopping him. His lips are moving as if he was chewing the words instead of saying them. His face is distorted with pain, and I wish there was anything I could do to ease it. His grip on my hand tightens, when Lailah takes an especially deep breath, suggesting she's about speak again.

And she does. She gathers her last strength to leave us with a message that runs down my spine like a cold shower. It's a demand, a demand that asks for a promise I'm not sure I can give.

"Get it... done."

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