Page 42 of Trigger

“Thorsen,”I said, shaking him. “Drink this.”

Noreply.

“Hey,wake up,” I tried again, only louder.

Finally,he raised his head, looking at me in confusion. His eyes were bloodshot blue.

“Isthat you, Carter?”

“Yeah.Drink this.”

Surprisingly,he did what I said.

“Thanks,man.”

Whenhis head sank into the pillow, I headed to the door, only to stop abruptly.

Was iteven safe to leave him alone? What if he falls off the bed again? What if hehurts himself? What if he dies?

Imulled it over, chewing on my lip. I didn’t want to stay but leaving him aloneseemed irresponsible. Unnecessary too. We spent three days and nights lyingnext to each other in that bunker. One more night meant nothing, especiallyconsidering his present condition. Besides, no way would I let him die on meafter everything we had survived.

Quietly,I climbed into the bed and lay down next to him, careful not to touchhim.

Untilhe falls asleep.I told myself.Then you can go.

Thelast thing I could remember was the sound of his uneven, raspy breathing, andthen… nothing.

When Iwoke up, his arm was thrown over me. Leg, too.

“Yeah,I don’t think so,” I grumbled, pushing him away, but it only made him movecloser to me. His limbs returned too.

“Mommy?”he murmured, snuggling against me. “You smell so good.”

Hell,no.

“Stopdoing that,” I said, feeling emotionally and physically drained. “I’m not abovehitting a sick person.”

A softsnore was his only reply.

Ishook my head in disbelief, staring at the ceiling. It was only a dream, wasn’tit? The bunker. The darkness and the cold. Hunger. All of it, including thepresent moment. It was just a nightmare, and I would wake up soon.

I wasin and out of sleep when I felt Thorsen trembling next to me. Or better yet, onme, since various parts of his body were tangled with mine. I felt his foreheadand realized he was still burning up, so much so that I considered taking himto the ER. His eyelids were moving rapidly as if he had a nightmare, and hisT-shirt was soaking wet.

I broughthim more pills and somehow made him drink them. I helped him take off his wetT-shirt and replaced it with a dry one. When his head sank into the pillow, I noticeda frown on his face. My gaze slid over him as I searched for the source of hisdiscomfort, only to spot a hair tie in his bun.

“I’llremove this,” I whispered. “It looks uncomfortable.”

I tookoff the hair tie and ran my fingers through the long, blond strands, untanglingthem.

“Isthis better?” I asked him to see if my assumption was correct.

“Mhm,”he murmured, looking more relaxed. “Don’t stop.”

“I’mnot stroking your hair,” I exclaimed, laughing nervously. “Are you insane?”

Heshivered instead of replying.

Whatif he dies tonight? Like… from a fever or something. Do I want him on myconscience?

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