Page 32 of In the Net
But, still, not all of my worry goes away. Especially as her eyes flutter open, make contact with mine, and her first reaction isn’t to scream at the top of her lungs and treat my breaking and entering into her room as her excuse to do as much physical damage to me as possible before help arrives.
Instead, she just looks at me, her eyes dim and her expression blank. She just blinks slowly before asking, “Sebastian?” in a voice so thin and tiny that I have to strain my ears to hear it.
My lips tug into a frown. Instinctively, I bring the back of my hand up to her forehead, and my eyebrows jump when I feel how hot it is.
“Shit,” I grumble. “You’re burning up.”
All I get in response is a groan just like the one I heard from the other side of her door minutes ago.
She doesn’t even have enough energy to ask me what I’m doing here.
Forget that, she can hardly keep her eyes open. I’m sure she doesn’t have the strength to get out of bed to stay hydrated.
Maybe if I find her keycard, I can go to the shop down the street, buy a bunch of bottled water to put near her bed, some medicine, maybe something small to eat for later if she has the appetite, and then sprint across the city to make it to the Louvre in time …
A heavy sigh pushes out of my body. I know there’s no way I’m going to be able to enjoy strolling around the museum, looking at paintings and artifacts, when I know Harper’s lyinghere, way sicker than I’ve ever seen her, with no one to take care of her.
“Damn it,” I sigh, letting myself slide back and lean against the wall next to her bed in defeat. “Not like I’ll never have the chance to come back to Paris again and see it,” I grumble to myself, shrugging.
With a breath, I pick myself up, find her keycard, and go to the store. I bring back a bunch of bottled water, some orange juice for vitamin C and Powerade for electrolytes, and some medicine.
“Come on,” I say to Harper when I’m back crouching by her bed. “When’s the last time you drank anything?”
A long, weak hum vibrates in her pale throat. “I don’t know … yesterday?”
She’s finally able to string some words together, but they’re still so weak I wouldn’t be able to hear them if I took just one step backward.
“Yeah, that’s not good. The worst thing you can do when you’re sick is get dehydrated. Come on, sit up a little.”
Another long groan. “Can’t …”
I roll my eyes. “Even when you’re sick, you’re a pain.” I twist the cap off a bottle of water. “Come on, come on,” I raise my voice a little. “Just sit up enough that you don’t choke when I pour this down your throat.”
Something about that choice of words has my chest hitching and a little too much extra blood flow directing itself below my belt. I chase the reaction away as Harper stirs in bed and hoists herself up just enough for me to bring the water to her lips.
Even as weak as she is, she quickly sucks down half of the big bottle of water. She must have been dying of thirst. I don’t want to imagine how bad she would’ve gotten if I hadn’t thought to check on her.
“Sebastian?” she asks, her voice sounding a little stronger now that her throat isn’t bone dry.
“Yeah?” I ask, twisting the cap back onto the bottle.
“What are you doing here?”
My mouth tilts, a chuckle rumbling in my chest. “Good question.”
“Did you break in?”
“Possibly.”
She answers with another long, low hum. I’m sure it’s not a tone of gratitude, but surprisingly, it doesn’t seem to be one of disapproval, either.
“You really shouldn’t have left your window open like that,” I say. “All kinds of undesirables could sneak in.”
“You’re telling me,” she grumbles.
My mouth twitches. It’s a good thing she’s regaining enough energy to insult me.
“When’s the last time you ate?” I ask.
