I took my head away again. Again, the sound disappeared.
I made myself examine his face. His eyes were still closed, face still pale and bluish, lips slack.
Trembling, I reached for the hem of his shirt and lifted it up. Still dozens of holes—but they were pink, and closing before my eyes, slowly, chunk of tissue by chunk of tissue like some reverse-motion time lapse.
I was going crazy. I must be. I had been out here for hours.
Hours.
He had been dead for hours. I was going crazy.
“Adrian?” I whispered. Did I see his eyelids move, just the tiniest bit? “Adrian, honey, if you’re there, come back,” I whispered, holding his face in my hands. “Come back. Please come back. I’m here. Please come back.”
He frowned, very slightly.
Oh my God.
I put my fingers under his jaw, trying to feel for a pulse. An artery pressed very lightly and very slowly against my fingers.
“Oh my God,” I sobbed, hot tears splashing down my cheeks.
He frowned again. I laughed, clapped my hands over my mouth, and watched him. I was going nuts. I was going absolutely nuts. Joe and Rachel would commit me—they’d find me out here with Adrian’s body two days from now and they’d see me laughing and crying and talking to him and they’d commit me and I wouldn’t blame them.
He sighed a tiny bit, the creases in his forehead deepening.
“Wake up,” I whispered.
I rubbed his arms vigorously, thinking that maybe he’d get warmer or something. Maybe I just wanted to touch him. Maybe I was so scared that I couldn’t keep my hands still. Maybe I was going into shock.
His lips parted and he sucked in a thin, raspy, awful breath.
I held the side of his face, leaned down over him, tried to gather him as close as possible, keep him warm with my half-numb body. He coughed weakly, then violently, and frowned.
“Come back,” I warned him. “You promised me.”
He took in another breath. It sounded excruciating. It sounded like half his insides were torn up. I told him to breathe again.
He did. In and out, irregular and hoarse and slow and it was hard to listen to, but I stared at him like if I looked away he’d disappear.
He coughed up blood. I wiped his lips off with my sleeve. His eyes were racing back and forth behind his lids.
Finally, he opened them.
But as he stared up at the sky, it seemed as though he couldn’t see anything. Like the stars were his eyes and he was looking down at himself, at me, at the blood-spattered clearing, from an entire galaxy away.
“Come back to me,” I whispered.
And a few moments later, he did. His eyes twitched, unfocused. Then he turned, and saw me, recognition lighting up his face. Tears leaked out of his eyes and ran down his bloodstained skin.
We stayed like that for a long time. Staring at each other as he tried to breathe; coughing occasionally as his insides knit themselves back together. I ran my hand under his shirt to feel his injuries. They were raw and sticky, but closed.
“Caitlin?” he whispered in a harsh rasp.
“I’ve got you. Don’t talk, okay? I’ve got you.”
He couldn’t even nod, just stared at me, his eyes blurred with tears, hardly even blinking, as his breathing slowly became less and less jagged. Eventually it became regular; a clear, consistent sound.
“What?” I asked, when a tortured look passed over his face. “What do you need?”
His face contorted into an expression I didn’t understand. All he said was, “No.”
I brushed his hair back from his face, thinking he was delusional. “What do you mean no? No what?”
He shook his head weakly. “Go away.”
I pulled back. “What?”
His eyes snapped open, blazing silver. “Go away.”
I shook my head violently.
“Caitlin,” he whispered, looking panicked, “I will hurt you. I won’t stop.”
It finally dawned on me. He’d bled for hours—he’d been thirsty before his father had even shown up. He convulsed, sweat rolling down his temples, teeth clenched.
“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” I propped him up against my knee, pulling my hair away from my neck.
“No,” he whispered, gritting his teeth on the word, writhing in my arms like he was on fire.
“Shut up,” I said, and leaned over him.
He let out something between a groan and a snarl and then there were teeth in my skin, slicing through it.
And it hurt.
Oh my God, it hurt.
I held back a cry because if he heard it, he’d stop, and if he stopped, he’d die.