He thrashed around, settled into an uneasy sleep, then worked his way back up to another shriek. He tried to put his arms up over his face, like he was protecting himself against a beating, and her heart broke a little to see that. Without another thought, she ripped off her gloves and caught his hands, desperate for contact with him.
“Nē, nē,” She shook her head, feeling the heat of his fingers against her skin. “You are all right. I am here, beloved.” When he settled down, she took the cloth again to wipe his forehead. As she put her hand behind his neck to support his head, she realized his head wasn’t wrapped – instead, hair had been shaved off.
They had been in the refugee camp for nearly two weeks, and in that time she had seen some of the most heartbreaking human conditions she’d ever witnessed, Darfur included. She’d won Michael’s life away from a madman and come within a hair of having a very makeshift tattoo cut into her forehead.
But seeing Michael for the first time without his black curls, that made her cry. Tears ran silently down her cheeks and dripped on the bedclothes for a long time.
He was still the handsomest man in the world to her.
-
The nurse sent her back to bed three times over the course of the night. All three times, Sophie returned to Michael’s bedside at the first sound of distress from him. The third time, the nurse sighed and let her go. Sophie didn’t notice her leaving the room.
“He’s not going to get better any faster that way.” She jumped at the sound of Anjali’s voice in the doorway.
“It makes me feel better,” she snapped.
Anjali looked down at their linked hands. “Where are your gloves?” Sophie pointed to the floor. “Idiot. Well, at least you kept your mask on. That’s something. Come on, you can’t be sitting here in front of him if he wakes up. I’ve had to shock him twice already, and I don’t want to do it again.”
Sophie looked at her in horror. “What do you mean, shock him twice?”
“He went into v-tach,” Anjali yawned. “Took two shocks to get him out. He lost a bunch of chest hair when I took the pads off. Bet he’ll be glad he was unconscious for that, huh?”
Sophie’s head swam at the thought of Michael’s heart failing, and she nearly toppled off the bed.
Anjali stepped quickly over to steady her friend. “Come on, you need to rest. Don’t make me restrain you.”
Reluctantly, she pulled her fingers away from Michael’s and followed Anjali back to bed, still dragging the IV pole. “Can you at least take the IV out?” Anjali consulted the chart, then removed the needle.
“Thank you.” Sophie stifled a yawn.
Anjali led the younger woman back to bed and tucked her in like a child. “Stay in bed this time.” Her voice was firm, but her expression tender. “He’ll be here when you wake up. I promise.”
Sophie considered rebelling as soon as Anjali left the room, but exhaustion overwhelmed her. She fell back to sleep.
-
He was cold. He’d been cold for so long that he didn’t think he could ever be warm again.
Consciousness filtered in slowly. He could feel something soft under him, a sensation he had not felt for months. He heard noises. Beeping sounds. Light shone somewhere nearby.
He’d been dreaming of Sophie. It had been so real. He opened his eyes.
Hospital.
His body hurt. Every joint felt like it had been pulled from its socket. Breathing was agony.
Sophie was here, in this room. He knew it. He had to see her for himself.
He sat up and moved his legs over the side of the bed. He stared uncomprehendingly at the tubes running over his body. One by one, he pulled them out, his fingers moving expertly over the machines beside the bed to stop the alarms from sounding.
A chair sat at his bedside, and he used it to drag himself upright. He huddled there for a few minutes, the room whirling. Then he shuffled to the curtain and peeked out. A woman stood in a doorway with her back to him, talking to someone outside his view. Not Sophie.