Page 6 of Should the Sky Fall

“One of the rooms upstairs is nice and dark. It’ll be better for you. And the bathroom is just next door.”

Weighing the pros and cons as much as his fogged-up mind allows him, he opts for the stairs. After the miserable trip up, Olivia opens the first door on the left. She wasn’t lying. The room has no windows and is blissfully dark.

Inside, he collapses onto the single bed. The blanket is a bit thicker and warmer than he’d like, but he drags one over himself anyway, needing to feel surrounded. Contained.

A gentle hand runs through his hair. It feels so good.

“I’ll bring you some water, okay? Do you need a bucket?” She knows the drill. Dawson’s migraines were a regular occurrence when he was a teen. They’d happened further apart as he got older, but never went away completely.

“An icepack, if you have it.”

“Sure do. Do you have your pills?”

“Left them at home.”

She sighs. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

He can’t tell at which point she actually comes back with the water and an icepack because he starts to drift off seconds after the door clicks shut behind her.

Just before he sinks under completely, he hears it again, the same thing that’s been echoing in his mind for a while now. Every time he feels like he’s drowning, whenever things get so much that it’s hard to breathe, it’s there. Just one word, whispered in the silence, so close he swears someone is there with him, speaking right into his ear. Like a secret. Like a promise.

He lets the darkness envelop him, pull him under, chasing away the pain and leaving behind only a blissful void.

Soon.

Chapter 2

Olivia’ssittingonthebed when he wakes.

“Hey.” Her smile is sad. “How you doing?”

He rolls onto his back with a groan and throws a hand over his eyes. “My head doesn’t feel like a ticking timebomb anymore.” Now it’s just a good, old splitting headache. “What time is it?”

“A little after six.”

Fucking great. Visiting his sister once in a blue moon only to sleep through it. Way to go, Dawson.

He pinches the space between his eyes, hoping to alleviate some of the tension. “I slept through your birthday. Liv, I’m sorry—”

She waves a hand, making a dismissive sound. “Nothing to celebrate about getting old. I’ll take the presents, though. Speaking of, thank you for the tapestry. I love it.” He knew she would. She loves covering the walls until there’s not a single inch of space left. “Although I’d have preferred a Dawson original. I miss hanging up your stuff.”

Dawson closes his eyes, turning away. Thinking of his art always awakens that hollow ache in his chest. “I haven’t painted in a while.” It’s been years, all of his paint long since dried out. “Haven’t felt inspired.”

“That’s a shame. You’re so good at it.”

His eyes burn. He can’t even pretend it’s from the headache. “I…” As the fog clears from his mind, something else clicks. Dawson shoots up, horror dawning on him. “Shit. Oh, fuck.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m late.” Kicking the blanket off, he throws his legs over the edge of the bed.

Olivia stops him with a hand to his chest, lifting an eyebrow. If he wasn’t used to her teacher-face, it’d intimidate him. Who’s he kidding—it still scares the crap out of him.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I have to—” He points a trembling hand at the door.

“No fucking way.” She stands up, her hands on her hips. “You look like you’re gonna keel over if you try to stand up. If you think I’m letting you drive, think again.”