Breaking
954 Words
*Briony*
I pray for death when I think I'm going to live, and I pray to live when I think I'm going to die. I pray as I heave up my breakfast. I pray when I have nothing left to heave but my body insists on trying anyway. I pray when I'm shaking from the cold and when I'm burning with fever.
I pray Wade won't leave me. It's the only prayer answered to my satisfaction. He stays with me throughout my ordeal, lying constantly.
He tells me the worst is over when it isn't, so I don't give up. He tells me the chills are a good sign, then says the fever is good. Using a cool cloth, he wipes the sweat from my brow, cheeks, and throat, all the while saying I will be alright in his deep voice.
I decide that I love that voice, even when it lies. It has a soothing, calming quality about it. I imagine the horses respond well to it. I want to live long enough to watch him train a horse, my horse, the horse he promised me when I felt certain I would die.
I watch him now as he gently washes the mud from my calf. His brow doesn't furrow as deeply at the sight of the discolored and slightly swollen flesh as it had when he had examined it before.
I wonder if anyone had cared for him this tenderly when he had been injured. I can't imagine with all the war casualties that anyone would have found time for a fifteen-year-old boy so badly wounded. I am surprised he came through his ordeal.
But he has survived, and I am determined not to let a little snake claim my life.
"Did your father take care of you when you were hurt?" I ask.
He visibly stiffens. He so hates talking about the war, and yet it is such a part of his past and Chase's. How can I understand the men I will live with if I don't understand their history?
"Our pa was dead by then. Chase saw after me." He mumbles.
"Chase seems to have a habit of taking care of people." I say.
He nods slowly. "He has a knack for it. He'd have taken better care of you than I have."
"I can't imagine how he could have," I say as I place my hand over his. His eye is red-rimmed, his face haggard. "You need to sleep," I say.
"I will as soon as your fever breaks." He mumbles.
I sigh. "When will that be?"
"Soon." He promised.
Soon could be any moment, any day. Soon could be when death comes.
"Tell me something nice," I say. "Something nice about the place where we're going."
He touches the damp cloth to my throat. "Flowers. You'll see beautiful flowers come spring: blue, red, yellow. Not as pretty as those you sew, but pretty just the same."
"What else?" I ask.
"There's nothing to block your view of the sunset. You can just watch it sweep across the land, making you feel so small."
"I am small." I point out.
He lifts a corner of his mouth. "Yeah, you are small."
Smiling softly, I touch the corner of his mouth. "A smile. I thought I would die without ever seeing you smile."
"You're not gonna die." He says.
I lift a brow. "Chase will have your hide if I do."
Leaning low, he brushes a strand of hair from my cheek. "Damn right, he will."
"Can't let that happen," I say as I drift off to sleep.
*****
He has the longest eyelashes I've ever seen. I've never noticed before, but as he sleeps with his face pressed to the cot near my hip, I can clearly see the length and thickness of his lashes. His hair is thick too, it reminds me of melted chocolate, curling over his ear, resting against his chin. He needs to shave.
Staring at his profile, I no longer try to imagine how he might have looked if he had never been wounded, but I find myself mourning what he might have had. A life that included a mate and pups. A smile that would have warmed many a she-wolf’s heart. A laugh that would have rung out strong and true.
I've never heard him laugh, have only seen a ghost of a smile. He isn't mine to care about, but I do care. I want to hear him laugh. I want him to smile without feeling self-conscious. He has fought to give me back my life. Giving him a smile is a small payment.
I comb my fingers through the thick strands of his hair. It's coarser than mine, as though the wind and sun have battled against it.
He awakens with a jolt. "Your fever broke."
I smile softly. "I know. You were sleeping."
He sits up and stretches his shoulders back. "How do you feel?"
"Tired." I admit.
He nods. "You'll be weak for a couple of days."
"Have you ever been bitten by a snake?" I ask.
"Nope, but it happens now and then to men on the trail." He says.
Wanting to keep him talking I ask. "Do you take care of the men then?"
"Nope. The cook usually does the doctoring. Think you could eat a little something?" He sounds hopeful.
"I'll try. Are we going to travel today?" I am not sure I have the energy.
He shakes his head. "Nah, we'll let you rest for a couple of days."
"Won't Chase worry if we're not there on time?" I ask.
"I don't think he'll start to worry unless we're not there within a month."
- Writer
