Chương 104

The rain was cold. It hit his face and ran under his collar. He smelled mud near his mouth. Donya was speaking close to him, but her voice sounded far away.

"Louis," she said.

"Louis." He tried to answer. His mouth did not move. His body felt too heavy to lift. He felt only cold and numb. Donya's wet hand touched his cheek. It was shaking.

"Can you hear me?" Yes, he thought. Nothing came out. Donya pulled at him. His shoulder dragged through the mud. She pulled his arm over her shoulder and tried to lift him. He rose a little, then tipped sideways. Donya gasped and slipped. For one second he was half upright, his weight sagging over her back, his face against wet hair and rain-soaked cloth. Then her knees buckled. They went down together. He felt her under him for a moment. She cried out under his weight.

Then she wriggled free, panting, and rolled him onto his back with both hands braced against his chest.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I cannot carry you." He wanted to tell her it was alright, that he knew. But he could not speak. Then he heard a buzz above the rain. It grew louder. A drone came down between the trees. Its lights blinked through the rain. Louis tried to focus on it and saw only a dark shape. Donya waved both arms over her head.

"Here! We're here!" The drone dropped lower. Willa's voice came from its speaker, thin and broken.

"Louis… Donya… stay where you are…" The sound from the speaker cracked into static. Donya said something back to it, but Louis could not understand the words. His eyes closed again. For a moment he was in Santa Monica. He heard the ocean. The boardwalk was bright in the sun. His father stood at the railing with both hands on the metal, looking toward the water. Louis tried to call out to him. No sound came. He opened and closed his eyes. He could not tell how long passed. The light changed each time.

Donya let go of him once. He panicked before he knew why. Then her hand came back. Two fingers pressed under his jaw.

"Please wake up," she said. Her voice was hoarse.

"Please. I cannot do this alone." He forced his eyes open. Rain hit his face. He blinked and saw Donya above him. Her hair was wet against her face. Her face was pale.

"Louis?"

"Yes," he managed. It came out weak. Then he blacked out again. When he woke again, he heard sounds before he understood them. A branch snapped. Someone shouted, "Donya!" Donya's fingers tightened around his hand hard enough to hurt his knuckles.

"Here!" Donya screamed.

"Here!" He heard branches break, wet leaves brush aside, boots in mud, someone curse. Hands were on him. Too many. One at his shoulder, one at his wrist. He tried to pull the bitten hand away and could not. His body would not obey. He opened his mouth again.

"Careful," Savannah snapped. Angelique touched his face.

"Louis. I'm here. We have you." He opened his eyes. Angelique was above him. Her face was pale. Rain had plastered her hair to her cheek. Someone pushed something hard under his shoulder. He groaned. Pain hit his knee, his hand, and his head at once. He closed his eyes again. They lifted him. His shoulders came up first, then his hips. They got him onto rough canvas stretched over wood. Someone put a coat under his head. Someone moved his arm across his chest and held it there. Then they carried him.

Above him, he saw trees pass through the rain. Trunks went in and out of view. Rain hit his face. When the board shifted, it hit from the side. Each step jolted through his back. He heard voices, but the rain made them hard to place. He caught words, lost them, and closed his eyes again. Once, he opened his eyes and saw sky through pine branches. He thought of his father's face at the railing in Santa Monica. Then he was back in the house. He saw ceiling beams pass above him. The edge of the staircase.

He heard Barlow's voice, rough and half-awake. Hands shifted under him again. They lowered him onto a bed. The mattress sagged under him. The pain in his knee sharpened as his leg straightened. He tried to move it back and could not. His body felt heavy and wrong. Someone pulled off his wet jacket. Someone pulled his T-shirt up. It stuck at his shoulder. Someone said "cut it," and then someone cut the fabric. Cold air hit his chest. He shivered.

"Blankets."

"Get towels."

"His wrist." The bandage came off. Air hit the wound, and he almost cried out. A dry cloth pressed over it. Hands wrapped it tight. It still hurt, but the pressure steadied it. Someone pulled his shoes off, then his wet jeans. A heavy blanket covered him, then another, then what felt like a coat. He closed his eyes. He heard rain on the roof. The pain sharpened. He tried to pull away. Gladice caught his forearm above the wound and held it with both hands.

"Easy, baby. Easy." He heard her and stopped moving. She let go after a moment, but the pain kept pulsing with his heartbeat. He lay still under the blankets and stared at the ceiling. His vision blurred. His eyelids felt heavy. Someone wiped the skin around the bite with alcohol. It burned. He made a sound he did not recognize.

"Sorry," He heard Willa say. Willa held his hand steady. A thermometer went under his tongue. Someone told him to keep still. He did not know if he obeyed. His vision dimmed. When he opened his eyes again, he was under blankets. Too many, then not enough. He was hot, then cold, then hot again. Sweat ran along his ribs, but his teeth still chattered. His wrist had been wrapped cleanly now, lifted on a folded towel. Angelique sat beside the bed. For a moment, he saw her clearly. Her hair was damp at the temples.

Her shirt had mud on one sleeve. She held a cloth over a bowl and wrung it out slowly. She laid it across his forehead. Her fingers stayed there for another moment. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"Angi," he said. His voice sounded weak. She leaned closer.

"I'm here." His vision blurred again.

"Sorry," he said. He barely got the word out. She touched his cheek, then his mouth.

"Don't talk. We will take care of you." He wanted to nod and did not know if he moved. He closed his eyes and drifted under again. In it, the church returned. The mega church in Atlanta, screens and cross and white light. Then the cross was on fire, and became the broken bridge. Then the bridge became the syringe injecting venom into his neck. The bear came out of the creek, and this time it had Theodore's face. It reared up and roared, then turned into a girl. Jennifer. She opened her mouth and spoke.

But the words were gunshots, and she fell with each one, and the blood that spread around her became a river, and the river carried him out and into the ocean, where his father stood waiting in a suit, not saying anything, only watching the water rise. Louis tried to swim to him, but the waves pulled him down, and his lungs filled with water. He woke coughing, with hands pressing on his chest.

"Turn him."

"Careful." He was rolled to his side. The rim of a cup touched his lips. Someone gave him a little water. He coughed again. Swallowed. Coughed more. Someone held his head up until the coughing passed, then eased him back onto the pillow. He lay there with his eyes closed, panting until he could breathe again. Someone smoothed his hair back from his face. He closed his eyes again and slept without dreaming. When he woke properly, the room was almost black. A lamp on the dresser was covered by a folded cloth.

Rain still tapped outside, softer now. His body felt heavy and hot. He was no longer freezing. His throat hurt. His wrist throbbed under a clean bandage. His bad knee ached in the old familiar way. That almost comforted him. A hand held his. He turned his head. Donya sat in the chair pulled close to the bed. Sometime in the night, she had leaned forward until her cheek rested against the mattress. Her eyes were closed. Her fingers still held his good hand. Even asleep, she had not let go.

"Donya." Her eyes opened at once. For one moment she did not seem to understand what she was seeing. Then she sat up so quickly the chair creaked under her.

"Louis?"

"Yes." She touched his face with her free hand and stared at him.

"You are awake."

"I think so."

"Thank Allah." She pressed her forehead to his shoulder. Her breath shook.

"I thought you would not wake up." He squeezed her hand with his.

"I am not that easy to get rid of." She laughed and cried at once. He wanted to sit up and hold her, but he knew he could not. She sat back and wiped her face with the back of her hand.

"Mr. Barlow said you would be fine." Her voice was thick.

"But I was afraid he was wrong." He glanced at the dark room.

"Where's everyone?" She gestured vaguely.

"They are sleeping. It's early. The sun is not up yet." He looked at the bandage on his wrist.

"How bad was it?"

"Willa said it was not venomous. But the bite was dirty. You had fever. Very high." She studied his face.

"How do you feel?"

"Tired. Thirsty." She stood at once.

"I will get you water." He let her go, then called after her, "Donya." She turned in the doorway.

"Yes?" He hesitated, then said, "Thank you. For getting me back." She nodded once. Her face softened.

"You would have done the same for me." She left. A moment later, she came back with a glass of water and helped him sit up enough to drink. The water eased his throat. He lay back against the pillow.

"Better?" she asked.

"Better." She sat in the chair again and took his hand.

"I will stay here until the others wake up."

"Okay." He closed his eyes for a moment. He could feel her watching him. Her hand was still in his. Her fingers were warm against his skin, and the warmth made him remember the church cellar: the pink bra across her back, then her bare breasts in the gray light when she turned back to him. His wrist throbbed under the bandage. His head felt thick. The memory still made him hard. He shifted under the blanket and tried to think of something else. Donya noticed the movement. Her cheeks flushed.

"Are you uncomfortable?" she asked.

"A little," he said.

"It's fine." She looked away.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable before."

"You didn't." She looked back at him.

"I did. I know I did. It was… I needed to help you. I didn't think about anything else."

"I understand."

"I still feel… I mean, I've never done that before. In front of a man. Not like that." She took a breath.

"Not at all, really." He squeezed her hand.

"It's okay."

"I know." She looked at the wall.

"But I feel like I should be more modest. Especially with a man who is not my husband."

"I am not judging you."

"No." She shook her head.

"But Allah is."

"Do you think Allah would have wanted you to let me die?"

"No. Of course not."

"Then you did what you had to do."

"I know." She looked at him again.

"But it still feels strange. Like I crossed a line. And I am afraid of what it means."

"What does it mean?" She hesitated.

"I don't know. That's what I'm afraid of." She looked down at their joined hands.

"You saw my body, Louis. In a way that no one else has, except my mother. And it changes things."

"How?" She looked at him.

"Because now when I look at you, I don't just see you. I see the man who saw me naked. And it makes me feel… things. Things I am not supposed to feel."

"You were not naked," he said.

"Not completely."

"But it was close enough." She took a breath.

"And you remember it. I know you do."

"I'm a man, Donya. Of course I remember." She blushed.

"And it excites you."

"Do you want me to lie?"

"No." She shook her head.

"I want you to be honest. Even if it's hard."

"Alright." He looked at her directly.

"Yes. It excites me. I was hard when I saw you. And I am hard now, thinking about it. Does that shock you?"

"A little." She looked away.

"But it also… excites me. A little. And that's what scares me the most." He squeezed her hand.

"You don't have to be afraid of how you feel."

"But I am." She looked at him again.

"Because I don't know what to do with these feelings. And I don't want to sin."

"Is it a sin to be attracted to someone?"

"Lust is a sin." She looked down at their joined hands.

"But what you did to save me, that wasn't a sin," he said.

"It was an act of compassion. And what you feel now is just… a reaction to that."

"I wish I could believe that." She looked at him.

"But it feels more than that." He didn't answer right away. He watched her face in the dim light. She was sitting close enough that he could see the damp strands of hair near her cheek and the rise of her chest under the hoodie when she breathed. His body was heavy and weak, but his cock pressed hard against the blanket. He shifted again before he could stop himself, and her eyes went to the small movement under the covers.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, her voice soft.

"Yes."

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked. His breath hitched.

"You could… help me." She stared at him, not understanding. Then her eyes widened as she did.

"Louis… I…"

"You don't have to," he said quickly.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"No." She took a breath.

"It's alright. I want to help you. But I don't know how." He hesitated, then said, "You could… touch it. If you want to." She looked at the door, then back at him. Her cheeks were flushed.

"Alright," she whispered. She got up and walked to the door. He heard the soft click of the lock. Then she came back to the bed. She sat on the edge, and the mattress dipped under her weight.

"Tell me what to do," she said.

"Just… put your hand on it." She reached under the blanket and found his cock through his boxer briefs. Her fingers were hesitant. He gasped as she touched him. The sound came out sharper than he meant it to. His wrist hurt. His throat hurt. None of it stopped the heat that went through him when her hand closed around him through the cloth.

"It's okay," he said, his voice strained.

"Just rub it. Gently." She started to rub him slowly. Her movements were awkward and careful. Her mouth was slightly parted. She was watching her own hand move under the blanket.

"You can take it off," he said. She pulled back the blanket and pushed down his boxer briefs. His cock came free. She stared at it.

"It's big," she whispered.

"Bigger than I thought."

"You can hold it," he said. She wrapped her fingers around it. He groaned as she squeezed gently. His good hand closed on the sheet. He could feel how weak his arm was, how little strength he had, and still his hips wanted to move.

"Like this?" she asked.

"Yes," he breathed.

"Move your hand up and down." She started to stroke him. Her movements were slow at first, then a little faster. He was already close. His body had nothing left for patience. His breath came unevenly, and each stroke pulled another sound from him before he could swallow it.

"Faster," he said. She obeyed, her grip tightening slightly. His hips started to move with her rhythm. He could hear her breathing now, shallow and fast.

"Louis…" she whispered.

"Don't stop," he said. She kept stroking him. He was almost there. His eyes dropped to her hand, then to her face, then back to her hand. He tried to hold still and failed.

"I'm coming," he gasped. She kept going. He came hard, spilling over her fingers and onto his stomach. She released him at once and stared at the mess on her hand. He lay there, panting.

"Sorry," he said.

"I should have warned you."

"It's alright," she said. She looked at her hand, then at the bathroom door.

"I should… clean up." She got up and went to the bathroom. He heard the water running. She came back with a wet towel and cleaned him gently. Then she wiped her own hands. He watched her. She avoided looking at him.

"Donya," he said. She stopped at the foot of the bed.

"Yes?"

"Thank you." She looked up at him. Her face was red.

"You're welcome." She went back to the chair and sat down. She didn't take his hand again. He didn't know what to say. It felt different between them now. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.