Page 24

Della

I keep losing my sense of time.

I’ll be staring out of my windows at the rainforest view outside, and it’s daylight. I know it’s daylight. Then I’ll blink, and it’s pitch black, my eyes are dry, and I don’t know what time it is.

It keeps happening, and I don’t know how to stop it.

I blink, and someone is knocking on the door.

I curl up into a tighter ball, ignoring them, hoping they’ll go away.

It used to be easier to scramble to my feet, stuff myself into a bathrobe, and take food I wouldn’t eat before I crawled back into bed. Now, I’ve lost the strength to move. And the will.

The knocking stops, and I breathe out a sigh of relief that I don’t have to get up and pretend again. I can’t today. Maybe tomorrow.

Footsteps move away from my door, and time skips again.

It’s not dark blue skies outside my window.

It’s bright sunlight. Almost too bright to look at.

A small brown bird lands on the sparkling silver balcony edge. I’m almost positive it’s staring right at me.

I wonder what it thinks of me.

That I’m lazy?

That I should get off my ass?

“I can’t, little bird,” I whisper.

The bird blinks its tiny black eyes and takes off.

I watch it soar up into the sky, and then plummet.

Something about that little bird falling like that makes me panic.

I have to know it’s okay. I have to make sure.

I scramble to my feet. Too fast. I stagger, my knees shaking as tiny bright lights dance across my vision.

When the dizziness subsides, I continue to the window. I slide the glass door open and shiver from the cool breeze as I stand on the balcony, looking for the little brown bird.

It isn’t there.

“Where did you go?” I have one leg over the railing when I realize what I’m doing.

Flinging myself back, I sink to the floor and stare through the glass of my balcony, shaking and panting so hard that my chest hurts.

“I’m not okay,” I whisper as I hug my knees. “Something is wrong. I am not okay.”

A knock sounds from my door.

“Della?” It’s Levi.

Suddenly, I’m noticing other things I missed before.

A big basket of rotting fruit on the dresser.

Everleigh brought me that…

When? A few days ago.

I think.

I told myself I would take it downstairs so the alphas could have some because it was too much for me. But I didn’t eat a piece, and I didn’t take it downstairs.

“I’ve brought some food up for you,” Levi continues.

I hear the soft clatter of something being placed on the floor. Metal chinks against glass.

“If you need anything else, I’m downstairs. Okay?”

The silence drags on for nearly a minute.

When I don’t respond, I catch the faintest sigh, and then the footsteps move away from my door again.

I look at the basket of rotting food and the tiny fruit flies circling it. The longer I sit still, the more I smell myself.

I look at the hospital gown, and I can’t remember the last time I changed out of it. Everleigh brought me a bag of new clothes to wear, and it’s still untouched next to the dresser, along with the small white paper bag filled with medicine from the hospital.

Soft footsteps pull my gaze back to my door.

I wait for a knock, maybe Levi asking me if I need something else, or to collect the food that I never brought into my room.

The light hasn’t changed, so if I lost more time, it wasn’t a huge chunk of it like before.

But the knock on my door doesn’t come. Someone is out there. I hear their soft breathing, and I don’t know if it’s Levi, Professor Vincent, or Xavier.

I count down the seconds as I will them away.

I’ve reached fifty when they leave.

I don’t want to get up. All I want is to stay curled up like a prawn, my arms locked tight around myself forever. That’s all I want.

But this isn’t me.

When someone hurts you, you hurt them back.

That is me.

You fight even if you will lose.

That is me.

But this …

Forcing myself to my feet is a battle I don’t want to fight, but I make myself do it.

I keep wanting to sit down or crawl back into bed and stay there forever. I don’t because I might lie down and not move until I’m gray-haired and old.

My reflection in the bathroom mirror is a stranger. Wan face. Dark circles. Pale skin.

Not me.

I unwrap a toothbrush from a bathroom cupboard, load it with toothpaste, and brush my teeth.

It takes an eternity.

Then I slip out of my hospital gown and walk into a massive white and gray stone rainforest-style shower and turn on the faucet.

When cold water blasts me, I shiver. When it hits my back, I flinch and wince.

There was an ointment I should have been using, and because I haven’t, my back hasn’t been healing. Maybe it’s even infected.

Without waiting for the cold water to heat up, I reach for the body wash and scrub my armpits, arms, and chest. I leave my back alone and don’t bend to scrub my legs. I’m so lightheaded that it would be a mistake.

My hair is too much effort. The water will have to be enough.

As I step out, I wrap myself in a towel and head back to the bedroom.

I sift through the bag of clothes that Ever brought for me, pulling out underwear, a pair of loose gray sweatpants, a blue T-shirt, and a hoodie.

After raking my fingers through my hair and wincing when they snag on tangles, I leave my hair down to dry on its own.

It’s dark outside.

When did that happen?

After resting for a bit, I pick up the fruit basket and leave my room for the first time. The tray that Levi said he was leaving for me is gone. He must have taken it away when I didn’t collect it.

Downstairs, I move quietly, not wanting to talk to anyone.

I needn’t have bothered. Most of the lights are off, and it’s silent. The only person moving around is me.

In the kitchen, I open three cupboards before finding where they keep the trash bags, double bag the fruit, and throw it away. I put the big basket on the pantry floor.

I’m exhausted. More than I should be for having showered and thrown out the trash.

I find a packet of crackers and fill a glass of water. Then I sit at the kitchen island, staring ahead as I force myself to eat a cracker, sip a little water, and eat another cracker.

I keep thinking about the bed upstairs, how comfortable and warm it is, and how safe it felt when I was up there with the door closed.

Wouldn’t it be better to crawl back under those covers and pretend the world doesn’t exist? Wouldn’t I prefer to continue skipping chunks of time so I don’t have to think about three men who need to die?

About what they did to me.

Yes.

But when someone hurts you, you hurt them back.

You don’t crawl under the sheets and hide.

The hum of a deep male voice on my right drags me out of my thoughts. It’s coming from behind the only closed door in the entryway, where light creeps from underneath. I consider ignoring it.

Then the voice rises.

I’m getting up to return to my room when a word stops me.

No. A name . An unexpected one that pierces through my hazy, flat thoughts.

I stand in the dim kitchen, and I struggle with what to do.

Crawl back under my sheets or investigate? The old Della wouldn’t hesitate.

This Della is a stranger I don’t recognize.