Page 156 of Hawthorne

“Later,” I counter.

“Stay,” he begs, squeezing my hand. “Don’t leave, please.”

“I am not going anywhere.”

Even if I wanted to, I can’t leave this place until I know he’ll recover fully.

When he finally gives in, losing the battle against sleep, I relax a little.

He’s going to be fine.

Pulling the big chair closer to his side, I make myself comfortable—as much as one can be in it—watching the rhythmic movements of his chest, listening to his soft snoring sounds. The little details of his sleep movements, like the flare of the nostrils or the slight hanging of his open mouth and the moving of his eyes underneath the lids, are comforting because they all indicate he’s alive and it all settles my worried heart.

Supporting both my arms on the edge of his bed, I support my head in them, surveilling a sleeping Vincent.

The weight that comes off my shoulders is enough for exhaustion to settle in instead, forcing me to lose the battle against sleep.

“You...rest...weeks.”

“Don’t wake…”

Whispers.

They sound faint at first, but with every new word, I get closer to consciousness, quickly making sense of the conversation around me.

Peeking one eye open, I see a doctor talking to Vincent.

“Your Grace will need to follow the directions strictly, down to the commas,” he warns.

“Yeah, yeah.” Vincent dismissively rolls his eyes, a contrast to his agreeing words.

“He will most definitely follow them,” I chime in, my voice still hoarse from sleep. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“I told you not to wake her up,” Vincent growls.

“Shut up,” I snap, straightening. “Could you get me everything in writing, Doctor…” I tilt my head, trying to read his name, “Lloyd?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I’ll...uhm...be back with it…uhm, later.”

He swiftly turns around and heads for the door, leaving the both of us alone. Neither of us speaks, and I look around, eager to find a clock that will tell me what time it is. Who knows for how long I have been asleep?

“Over twelve hours,” he answers my internal question.

“What?” I swivel my head in his direction, finally getting a good look at him.

He is no longer the groggy version he was before, and he seems very much aware of his surroundings. And the way his bodylooks stiff, alongside the constant frown on his forehead, tells me the pain must have already stricken.

He doesn’t answer right away, staring intensely at me. Consequentially, blood rushes to my cheeks. When his eyes move up, lingering, on the top of my head, I realise that I’ve just spent hours sleeping and haven't even looked in the mirror.

Hastily, I start to pat down my hair, and that’s enough to interrupt the awkward silence that has settled. The comment rolls off his tongue easily, ignoring my embarrassment. “According to the doctor, you’ve been sleeping for over twelve hours. And it’s currently eight in the morning.”

Wow.“Jesus. I must have crashed hard.”

He hums for a moment, then comments, “I thought I was hallucinating, you know.”

“I–”

“Thank you for staying.” He smiles.

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