Chapter 171: One more day
Caspian spent the day working in the living room, but he was not doing it his usual head-bowed, concentrated, fingers-blur-of-motion manner.
Today, his lap held his laptop, but for over an hour, it rested there untouched. He simply gazed at me.
I attempted to ignore it.
But how was I to resist? The manner in which his eyes followed me with unwinking precision, with sorrow he was fighting to keep from his face behind a mask of patience—it was almost more than I could bear.
I was wrapped on the couch, blanket over my shoulders, my body throbdozing in some other, unknown way. Not pain, no. More a sort of. heaviness. As if whatever was within me was realigning, refashioning. I could not explain it. Could not ready myself for it. But I knew it wasn't nothing.
He brought me water every twenty minutes. Refilled the tea even though I hadn't finished the previous one. Turned the sound down on everything—his phone, the TV, even the light on the stove—if the light of the world was going to damage me in some way if he didn't.
"Caspian," I whispered as he passed by again.
"You're hovering."
He loomed there, backlit by the wet gray of late afternoon and glared at me.
"I know," he said.
I was flabbergasted.
"I said I wasn't going to do that."
"I changed my mind."
I blinked at him, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. "You can work from home in your own, you know."
"I'll do it when I know you're all right," he said. Then sat down next to me, computer still shut.
We didn't say anything to one another for some time after. He just looked at me. I nodded in and out of consciousness, not knowing if the spinning was in the brain or in the universe itself.
I shifted once when his fingers brushed against mine, his gaze following the contours of my face as though he could read the truth if he looked intensely enough. I tried to smile, but even that was costing me more effort than I could afford.
"Sleeping?"
He'd spoken so quietly that I'd have thought I was invading his inner life to catch the words.
"Maybe."
"What about?"
"You," I muttered, not because I'd meant to speak, but because my body was too tired to deceive.
Something had flashed behind his eyes in that instant. Something hard and soft and awful all the same.
I couldn't remember anything else about the rest of the day.
I do remember one time when I tried to stand up—just to have straight legs. I made it to the kitchen before the floor gave way. Caspian caught me when I was not even aware that I was falling freely. His arms were wrapped around my waist with some kind of strength that took my breath away, and for a moment, I did not know whether it was dizziness or him standing this close that caused my knees to buckle.
"You're going anywhere by yourself anymore," he said to me, face stern, eyes even darker than usual.
I didn't protest.
Later, I tried to use the bathroom independently. I said I was fine—I nearly succeeded in convincing myself I meant it for a few seconds.
But halfway down the hallway, the world began spinning to one side again. My vision became blurry. My knees just buckled this time.
And guns. Hard, thick, wild. His voice, calling my name like it hurt him. I had sensed the warmth of his chest before even opening my eyes. He had wound me against him, his raspy breathing, his hand at the base of my head as if he did not think the ground beneath me was solid.
"Lily," he whispered, over and over. "Hey. Hey. I've got you. I've got you."
"I'm fine," I lied, fighting to talk.
His gaze seared into my own. And there was no rage there—just horror. Silently expressed horror.
"That's it," he said quietly. "We're going in tomorrow. No more waiting."
I was angry. I wanted to fight. I wanted to say to him, I just need to rest. But as I gazed up at him—at the swallow his throat took, the trembling hands that held me into his arms—I saw something ugly and beautiful:
He was afraid that he would lose me.
And so was I.
He guided me to bed as if I were fragile glass, as if each inch of my existence mattered. As if the mere weight of me holding him would erase the fear that filled the room's corners.
I laid my head on his chest and listened to the rhythm of his tranquil heart.
"You don't have to lie awake half the night anymore," I whispered.
He kissed my forehead. "I'm not sleeping anyway."
"Caspian…"
No, he breathed softly. "Please. Scare me. Make me worry about you. I can't—Lily, if something is actually wrong, I need to know. I need to do something."
A lump had risen to my throat, but I stifled tears.
"I'm afraid too," I said, admitting it.
"I know.".
He pulled the blanket up over both of us, covering me in it in a snug cocoon. I could feel the press of his arm across my waist, his fingers tracing the curve of my side in soft pressure.
"I'll pick you up myself," he said quietly. "Early tomorrow morning. And I'll be with you the whole time. Whatever happens."
His voice lingered on the last word. Whatever happens.
I hid my face in his chest, foreheads together.
And in the darkness and quiet of it, when our eyes met, I saw all that we did not say.
The fear. The gentleness. The desperation that hadn't yet turned to hopelessness.
He kissed me—slow and steady and gentle—and I allowed myself to fall into it.
We didn't speak after that. But we didn't have to.
His heartbeat against mine said it all.
And for one last night, we built a broken home of arms around each other.