Chapter 14 — The Stitches
1265 Words
Aliyah’s POV
Dawn creeps into the forest like something, afraid to be seen.
A pale gray glow threads through the branches overhead, brushing across Adrian’s face. It was too pale, too still, and too fragile.
We’ve been moving for hours.
Adrian’s weight grows heavier every minute. His steps stumble more. His breath is thin and uneven, each exhale was a quiet plea for mercy.
“Adrian,” I whisper, adjusting his arm over my shoulders, “just a little more. There’s a clearing up ahead.”
He tries to answer, but it’s only a faint hum. His head dips forward, brushing the side of mine. His legs buckle.
“Adrian!”
I catch him barely. His body sags fully, sliding out of consciousness.
Panic flares through me, sharp and blinding.
“No, no, no... stay with me, Adrian!”
He doesn’t respond.
His eyes flutter, only halfway open and unfocused. His lips part as if trying to form words.
“Aliyah…” he manages. His voice was hoarse and cracked. “I… can’t…”
His knees collapse completely.
I hit the ground with him, my arms wrapped around his torso to stop him from hitting the dirt face-first.
“Adrian!” My voice breaks. I shake him gently. “Open your eyes. Come on! Look at me!”
His lashes tremble, but he’s fading fast.
I glance around wildly.
The forest is thinning. The light grows stronger.
There! On a slope, I'm seeing a shape.
A structure.
Maybe a cabin? Or a shed? It's something old, weather-beaten, and half-swallowed by vines.
Relief surges in me like a shockwave.
I get under Adrian’s arms, bracing myself.
“Okay,” I breathe, voice shaking. “Okay, it’s not that far. I can do this. I can do this.”
I start dragging him.
His boots scrape against leaves and dirt.
My muscles scream. My breath tears at my throat. But I have to manage. Because he didn't stop when it was me who was in danger.
Because he shielded me with his body while the safehouse exploded with gunfire.
Because somewhere between all the running and hiding and danger, my heart slowly became his without my permission.
“Stay alive, Adrian...” I whisper, half in prayer, half in fury. “You hear me? Hey!”
By the time I reach the shed, my arms are trembling violently.
I wrench the old wooden door open with my shoulder. It groans, half-hinged and stubborn.
Inside is dust, old tools, a broken window, and collapsed shelves. But enough to be a shelter.
I pull Adrian in and lay him down on the floorboards as gently as I can.
He groans softly, and weak.
My heart nearly stops.
“Adrian,” I whisper urgently, “stay with me. Please.”
His forehead is clammy. His pulse is too fast, then too slow.
He’s losing too much blood.
I tear open my backpack that I managed to bring from the safehouse, hands shaking so hard I drop half its contents.
I find the small med kit Adrian insisted on packing days ago.
I peel his shirt further open. Blood has dried and smeared across his skin, but the wound is still bleeding under it.
It’s messy, deep, and unpleasant to the eye, but I have to stop the bleeding.
“Okay,” I whisper, forcing myself to breathe. “I can do this. I have to do this.”
Adrian stirs, his voice barely there.
“Aliyah…?”
“I’m right here,” I say, brushing hair from his forehead.
His hand lifts, trembling, blindly searching. I catch it and press it to my chest.
His lips curve faintly.
“I’m going to clean the wound,” I whisper. “It’s going to hurt.”
He gives a weak, humorless breath of a laugh. “I can handle it.”
“Then this won’t be a surprise.”
I disinfect the wound. Adrian’s entire body tenses, a strangled sound escaping him.
“Almost done...” My own voice cracks.
“Aliyah…” His brow furrows. “Don’t… don’t cry.”
“I'm trying,” I lie instantly.
He tries to give the ghost of a smile. “You’re… horrible at lying.”
I swallow a sob and grab the sterile needle and thread.
“I have to stitch this,” I whisper. “You need to stay as still as possible.”
His eyes drift, half-closed. “I trust you.”
My throat tightens so fast it hurts.
I begin the first stitch.
Adrian gasps, arching off the floor.
I press my free hand against his chest to steady him. “Just a little more—”
He tries to focus on me, his breathing is sharp.
“It’s okay,” he whispers. “Do it. It's far more endurable than losing you.”
But his voice slurs at the end. He’s slipping.
“Adrian,hey... stay awake.” I gently slap his cheek. “Look at me.”
His vision swims. “Trying…”
“Don’t just try! You have to do it,” I command through gritted teeth. “Stay with me.”
He licks his dry lips, eyes unfocused.
“Aliyah,” he breathes, “if I… if I don’t make it—”
“Don’t you ever say that.”
“I need… you to know.”
“No.”
He tries to lift his hand to touch my face—it falls halfway, and I catch it.
“Listen,” he whispers, voice fragile as ash. “I’m… in love with you.”
The needle freezes in my hand.
My breath leaves my body completely.
He swallows, eyes drifting shut.
“I’ve been… since the last time I saw you. And I’m so... sorry I dragged you into—”
“Adrian,” I choke out. “This is not the right time to talk about that.”
His lashes flutter.
“Aliyah…”
“I’m here,” I whisper. “And you’re going to live. You hear me? You’re going to live.”
A tear slips down his temple.
Not from the pain.
But from something deeper.
I finish the last stitch with shaking hands and press a bandage firmly over it. His breathing steadies barely, but it’s better than before.
I sag over him. My forehead touching his for a moment.
The world narrows to us.
His breath against mine.
His heartbeat is uneven, but still there. Still alive.
Until, another crunch sounded outside. It's soft, slow, and intentional.
My entire body goes rigid.
Then, we heard another footstep, and they found us.
I grab Adrian’s gun from the floor. His blood is still warm on the grip.
He stirs faintly. “Aliyah…?”
“Shhh.” I place a hand on his chest. “Don’t move. I’ll handle this.”
He tries to lift himself, pain twisting his face. “No—Aliyah—don’t—”
I lean down, lips near his ear, whispering fiercely, even if I'm scared.
“You trusted me, right?. Now, stay down and let me handle this.”
His breath trembles, but he nods.
I rise slowly, gun steady, with my heart pounding so hard it hurts.
The footsteps grow closer.
A shadow passes the broken window.
Adrian’s hand finds mine weakly, squeezing once.
I squeeze back.
Outside, a voice murmurs...
“Check inside. They couldn’t have gone far.”
My blood runs cold.
I plant my feet, raise the gun, and whisper to myself,
“Come for me, then.”
And the door begins to creak open.
- Writer
