Page 109 of Forever We Fall

Panic seizes my throat in an angry grasp.

I shift to sling my feet off the side of the hospital bed. Pain lances my vision. Just as soon as the pain comes, it’s overridden.

“Hota,” I whisper his name, not to wake him. Mostly, I say it to reassure myself he’s here.

When I could no longer keep hold of my consciousness, he’d been in a heated debate with the nurse about his right to be here. That he was my family and wasn’t leaving me alone.

I’d wanted to tell her as much, but my mouth wouldn’t work. Neither my eyes nor my hands were functional. I just blipped. Total system reset.

I flex my fingers. They respond, sliding toward Hota’s head. The silk of his hair meets my fingertips. I drag my thumb over his temple.

My fierce protector. My best friend. My guy.

Mine.

I slide my fingers fully into his hair and let unconsciousness drag me back under.

When I wake next, it’s nearly as peaceful.

My hand is being lifted from my body.

The frantic beat of my heart rattles through my chest. I jerk against the pull. A feral shout leaves my rusty voice.

He’s back. He’s got me. No. No. No.

My eyes fly open, and I see a nurse, but my mind is so fucked.

“Hey.” Hota shoots across my body. He grabs the nurse’s arm and yanks it off me. “He doesn’t like to be touched, especially without notice and especially with so little care.”

“Why they let you stay, I have no idea.” The old woman huffs. “You’ve been nothing but a menace. Shushing us. Second-guessing us.” She jerks her hand away.

I open my mouth to speak, hoping my voice will hold, but the nurse backs toward the door.

“I don’t have to put up with this.” She lifts her chin.

“Asking consent is not difficult.” Hota stands by my side. “It should be common practice. You obviously don’t like it when someone grabs you without consent.”

The woman hisses a breath. “I need to get his vitals.”

“Then ask him if you can.” Hota crosses his arms over his chest. He looks disheveled in a way I haven’t seen him in a while. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his clothes, the clotheshe had on at the field, are rumpled. His hair is loose from its knot and falling over his right eye and down his neck.

The school has a haircut policy, but since he’s the big shot wrestling champ, no one messes with him about it.

The nurse clears her throat. “I need to check your vitals.”

“Questions usually have question marks at the end.” Hota glowers.

I don’t say anything. The edge of panic still has my insides jittering and my throat tight.

“And children usually have manners,” she snaps.

“Good thing I’m not a child.” His eyes, usually so kind and inviting, glint like barely crusted lava. Deadly.

“May I please check your vitals, Mr. Judge?” She sounds like the child in the equation.

I hold out my arm, knowing that nodding wouldn’t feel good because of the pounding in my skull.

She’s careful not to touch me more than is required. “How’s your pain on a scale of one to ten?”

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