Page 8 of Exiled

“If he is resting, please allow him to remain asleep. He needs his rest so that he may heal more swiftly.”

“All right. Thank you, Doctor.”

A nod. “Of course. And if you feel dizzy again, please, page the nurse. You are in a hospital, after all.” A gentle smile in farewell.

When he is gone, I softly open Logan’s door. Tiptoe in.

Beep—beep—beep.I know that sound. It echoes in my skull, in my gut. In my memory. I feel disoriented once more, but shake it off.

Logan is sleeping on his back, the bed inclined upward slightly. Pressure bandages are wrapped around his head, covering his left eye and cheekbone. His mouth is slack. Arms on top of the thin white blanket.

I want to cry.

He has been through so much, and now, again, he is near death. For me. Because of me.

My eyes water. Sight blurs. Hot salt burns my vision. I am weak in the knees, unable to support my weight. Sick to my stomach. I wasn’t queasy when Dr. Kalawat asked, but I am now. Queasy. Unsettled. Dizzy. My mouth waters, saliva running, pooling against my teeth. My stomach tightens. My gorge rises. I barely make it to the adjoining bathroom. My gut rebels, convulses, and I forcefully empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet. Again. Again. Until there is nothing left but bile and saliva. When it seems as if my stomach has quieted, I rinse my mouth at the sink, wash my hands.

Logan is awake when I return to his room.

“Isabel?” His voice is rough, scratchy.

I pull the visitor’s chair close to his bed. Take his hand. “I’m here, Logan.”

“You got... away?” God, he sounds so weak.

I try to smile. Squeeze his hand. “Sort of, yes. Don’t worry about that.”

He smiles back. Gestures toward his bandaged eye socket. “Arrggh. I’m a pirate.”

I can’t help but laugh at that. “God, Logan.” I lean closer. Shudder. “I’m so—I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

His hand squeezes mine. His other flutters like a sparrow and finds my shoulder. “Ssshhhh. Don’t be. I’m here. I’m alive.”

“You almost weren’t. Because of me.”

“But I am.” His gaze flicks to the bathroom. “You’re sick?”

I lift a shoulder. “I don’t know. It hit rather suddenly. I’m fine now.”

“If you’re sick, you shouldn’t be in a hospital.”

I frown at him. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“You’ll just get more sick. Lots of germs in these places.”

“I’m not sick, Logan. I just... felt queasy. I don’t know what it was, but I’m fine now. I’m not leaving your side. Not until you leave the hospital.”

Logan tugs at me. Shifts to one side, making room on the bed. I lie beside him, on my side, wedged onto the very edge of the bed. His arm curls around my waist. For a moment, at least, I can pretend to feel at peace. In Logan’s arms again. Listening to his heartbeat. Except for the monitor beeping, I could almost pretend we’re in his bed, at his house. Tangled up together. No worries. No lies. No mistakes. No missing eyes.

He sighs. “About Caleb—”

“I don’t want to talk about Caleb. Don’t worry about him.”

“Always worry about Caleb. He doesn’t let go. Doesn’t forget.”

“I know. But I’m here now. With you.”

“For how long?”