Ellette’s eyes flew open, and she stared down at Rand, unresponsive, and wracked with fever. She had to wake him up, he had to remember. There was no other choice, she couldn’t imagine her life... No. She refused to finish the thought. The decision was made before she could hesitate. She slapped him hard. Tears welled in her eyes as his cheek reddened from the assault.

“You idiot!” she screamed. “Why didn’t you just go back to bed?” She shook his shoulders again, the tears burning trails down her cheeks. Hands trembled as she touched his reddened cheek, guilt knotting hard in her stomach. “What do I do now?” she whispered, utterly lost.

It was then that it hit her, fully, and her knees gave way. She crumpled to the floor, her hands finding his own limp hand. She pressed her forehead against it, her fingers working over the scars, the fingers she’d worked to massage, the fingers that played the music that calmed and soothed her, the hand that had rescued her, held her, loved her. It was all she could do as the darkness, the despair washed over her, wave after wave.

At some point, though, she was able to crawl her way back to the surface. He needed help, medical or otherwise. She fumbled for her phone on the side table. As she did so, she noticed the scrap of paper lying beside it. Boris. Boris said he understood, could help. She could barely see through the tears to read the number, to dial.

“Well, that was sooner than I expected.” The words barely registered, his voice cheery and unreal in her present hell. She stared at the phone. “Hello?” Came the voice from the other end.

“He won't wake up!” she choked out, the only thought that made sense, her only concern. The tears flooded from her eyes anew, as if saying it aloud made it more real, more horrifying than the nightmare she’d found herself in. The vice on her heart twisted.

There was a soft curse and then silence.

“You said you could help,” she whispered, still staring down at the device, her link between the here and now and hope. It was all she could get out before her throat closed and her voice was lost in the wracking sobs she couldn’t control. It hurt, to feel so raw, so vulnerable, so open. She’d closed herself off for so long so she wouldn’t have to feel, so she wouldn’t have to know pain like this. And then he’d come into her life, let her feel safe, loved. It was worse than the abuse, worse than the loneliness. The abyss that threatened to swallow her now was vast, deep, and endless.

“I’ll be there in five minutes. Don’t call anyone else yet.”

The phone fell from her hand and she bowed her head. After some time she became aware of a pounding. Then her phone blared to life and she stared at it where it buzzed and danced on the floor. The pounding continued, and then a muffled, “Ellette! Open the door!”

Some part of her mind must have registered the meaning behind the words because she climbed to her feet and made her way towards the sound. The pounding grew louder, and she covered her ears.

“Come on, Ellette! It’s Boris.”

She nodded, feeling the command of his words, and reached for the bolt. With the click of the lock, the pounding stopped. The relief was sudden, and she closed her eyes. It was a short-lived respite. His voice came again, “Ellette, I need you to open the door.”

Her hand obeyed, turning the knob. The door opened, and she stumbled back. Boris slipped in and shut the door behind him, quickly taking her in; her vacant expression, puffy reddened face. He put his hands on her shoulders lightly and she leaned into him. Boris smelled wrong, felt wrong, his shirt starched and stiff, his hands on her shoulders boney, cold. He didn't pull her to him, didn't stroke her hair, or soothe her. Nothing about his attempt to comfort her was right. She stiffened and pulled away.

“He’s gone. It’s my fault,” she managed between shuddering gasps.

“You don’t know that.” Boris’s tone was firm, commanding. “Is he still breathing?”

The question, so blunt, so rational. “Yes.”

“Sit. I'll check on him,” he steered her to the stool in the kitchen before moving into the living room to where Rand lay on the couch. Ellette watched, feeling strangely detached as if a spectator in her own life. Time seemed to spin on and she sank into herself, retreating into the comforting blackness, the shelter of her own mind.

At some point, more people arrived. Equipment, a stretcher, and then she realized they were taking him. “No, no!” she scrambled to her feet, grabbing at the nearest paramedic. “You can’t take him!”

Boris was there, hand firm on her arm, voice in her ear. “He’s sick. They’ll get the fever under control.” She nodded and he steered her out of the way. “I have your shoes,” he told her. “Put them on.” She did as she was told, and he put a jacket over her shoulders. “We’ll follow the ambulance to the hospital.”

She stood staring out the door, not entirely sure how long the paramedics been gone. She felt lost, the world around her draped in shadows, all sounds muffled and distant. It couldn’t really be real, could it? Surely it was all a dream. A horrible nightmare. “Why can’t I wake up?” she said softly, and then dropped to a crouch, head in her hands.

Boris crouched down beside her. “You are stronger than this,” he told her.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

She nodded and took a deep breath. He was right. She could be strong, she would be strong. She owed it to Rand. If she’d ever needed a reason to fight, to be strong, this was it.

Boris was beside her as she climbed to her feet, broken yet determined. “Let's go,” she said, her voice still rough with grief.

* * *

She went through the motions of the next few hours in a haze. She managed to remember to call Rand's work as well as her own. The doctors had asked about family and she found Rand’s father’s number. Boris made the call. The thought of calling up Rand's father with news of his son's condition, she couldn't do it again.

The first time, all those years ago in the guise of her confident dream self, she hadn't known him as anything more than a talented musician down on his luck in the worst way. Now, who he was encompassed such a large part of her own life, the thought of him leaving a void as Dani had done before, she couldn't even fathom.

The difference was, with Dani, she'd been the strong one. She'd been the caretaker, had stayed strong for her sister. Now, she felt as if the ground had been knocked out from under her. She was slipping into a void, and she didn't know if she cared to climb out.

She wasn’t surprised by the prognosis. They'd determined that he must have had a seizure caused by the high fever. There was no knowing if or when he'd wake. Her fears had been realized. She'd not been awake to care for his body, and worse yet, she'd given his spirit a path to travel. It was impossible to not blame herself, she was the reason he was here, one way or another. She'd failed him.

Only after he’d been stabilized was she allowed to see him, and then only after his father had come and gone. They exchanged few words, and she was thankful when he’d taken his leave. Boris had stood by through it all, arms crossed, and managed to look surprisingly intimidating. Gone was the guise of a gangly college student. In his place stood the well-groomed doctor he’d been supposedly in school to become. He spoke with the nurses and doctors with a knowledgeable air and kept Ellette informed.

When they finally called her in, it was late into the evening, and she was exhausted. The halls were sterile and white, the room wasn’t much of a room, just a line of beds and a curtain to provide some semblance of privacy. She was assured he would be moved to a private room, at the request of Mr. Edhi, but at the moment, he needed to be where he was. She didn’t much care, only nodded and moved forward, step after step towards that blue and white hospital bed. She paused at the foot, finding it hard to equate the figure laced with tubes and wires to the man she’d grown to know. He was so still, not vibrant and alive. He was just there, a shell, a body.

She shuffled forward, careful to only briefly glance over the IVs and other equipment. She searched for any sign of normalcy and found his right hand devoid of tubes or wires. She pulled the chair up close to his bedside and took it. It was warm, but no longer feverishly so. The buzz of equipment, the sounds of the nurses and other patients were distracting. It was hard to feel the connection she longed for, to see him as the man he’d been instead of the body in the bed.

She focused on the hand she held, the scars, the lines, veins, joints, tendons. She worked to massage every inch as if he’d played all evening in the cold and ached from the effort. Then the hot moisture splashed down on the flesh, one droplet at a time. It took some time for her to realize the source as her vision blurred and her face burned. She was crying, she’d thought she’d already exhausted every bit of emotion, wrung out the last bit of moisture.

A hand was on her shoulder, a tissue offered. She took it, wiping at Rand’s hand before even realizing she should work to stanch the flow from her eyes. The sobs came, softer now, not so paralyzing, but she couldn’t force these emotions down. She held onto his hand, ragged and scarred. After a time, the pressure of a hand was on her shoulder, a voice in her ear.

“You should get some rest,” he was saying.

She didn't want to hear, didn’t want to leave. This was where she belonged. There was no home, only an apartment filled with things, reminders, memories. She found her voice. “I can’t...” she managed. Then an explanation. “I can’t go home.”

“Rest would do you good,” came that oh-so reasonable voice.

“I can’t I can’t go back there, not yet.”

A nurse, kindly and sympathetic spoke up. “Go on, Hunny. Your boyfriend here, he’s in good hands.”

She shook her head, the words didn't sit right. “No,” she said. “He needs me.” Though she wasn’t sure what she could do, she knew she was the only one who could bring him back. Leaving him now felt wrong.

There was hushed conversation behind her. Boris was speaking on her behalf, as he’d done all day. She owed him, but now, all she could think was how she was in the only place she could imagine being, and how she longed to climb into his bed beside Rand and sleep. If only she could slip into dream with him, escape to the cabin. She’d be content to spend an eternity of lazy summer days by his side.

She bowed her head, forehead pressed to his hand. Surely she could slip into his dreams as she’d been able to bring him with her into her dreams. Eyes pressed closed, exhaustion overwhelming her, she thought of only one thing, rejoining him. She felt herself slipping and pushed, pushed through the haze of sleep, willing herself to go to him.

“Come on, Ellette. You can stay at my place tonight,” Boris’s voice, an unwelcome distraction brought her back to the present.

She clenched her eyes shut, willing him away.

“The nurses have given you your space, but it is time to go,” his voice was firm now, commanding. Impossible to ignore. She sat up. Perhaps he was right. Maybe it was best she left and came back with a clear head. She squeezed Rand’s hand and bent to kiss his forehead. She hesitated and looked to Boris.

“Can’t I stay? I mean, I can try...” she pleaded. “If I’m here, maybe I can get through, bring him around.”

“She can stay if she likes.” The nurse chimed in. “We find the comfort of a loved one can do wonders. He’s stable.”

Boris shook his head, his pale eyes hard. “No. She needs rest,” he said again, his eyes flitting to the listening nurse and back to her. “You need food, a shower, rest. I have a spare room. You won’t have to be alone, but you shouldn’t stay here.” There it was again, that commanding tone. She was too weary to fight it, the way his words felt so right, so reasonable.

She stood, still clinging to Rand’s hand. She let her fingers trace over the lines, the scars, closed her eyes, remembering, cherishing this last moment. With a sigh, she let him go. “I’ll be back, Rand,” she told him before turning to Boris.

Boris nodded, placing a guiding hand on her shoulder. “It will get better, Ellette. I will help you.”

Again, those words. They hung ominously between them and she couldn’t help but wonder at the fact that despite his promise, the worst yet had happened. Boris had come to swear his friendship and guidance and then Rand was ripped from her, leaving her in such dire need. She bowed her head, forcing back the doubt. Perhaps it would make more sense in the morning.