intrepidity

Chapter 46

Marcus froze.

Then, cautiously, he smirked.

"There it is," he muttered, like he'd just won a bet with himself. "Knew I'd get a giggle out of you eventually, sorellina."

And when she blinked up at him, wide-eyed, still smiling but clearly overwhelmed, he grabbed the plate and dropped it into the trash with one dramatic motion.

"We're ordering pancakes," he declared. "I don't eat this garbage. I was just testing you."

-

Aurora hadn't moved from her spot, curled up at Marcus's side, her cheek resting near his hand, her tiny fingers laced around his much larger ones. His skin was cold, still too cold, but she didn't let go. She couldn't. She was trying to memorize the rise and fall of his chest, the faint warmth still lingering in his palm — anything to remind herself he was still here. Still breathing.

But it was hard to pretend he was okay when he looked like this.

The bruises were everywhere — dark, ugly things blooming across his face and down his neck. A long gash stretched from his temple to the corner of his jaw, stitched tightly but still swollen and angry-looking. His entire torso was wrapped in thick layers of bandages, concealing the damage from where the handlebars had crushed into him — four broken ribs, a collapsed lung, and internal bleeding that had taken too long to stop. His leg was in a cast, fractured in two places, and there were smaller scrapes and cuts littering his arms like a cruel afterthought.

Machines hissed softly around him, keeping track of every breath, every beat, every flicker of life. Tubes snaked around his arms, his neck, his nose. 

He looked bad.

And broken.

And it made her heart hurt so badly she could barely breathe.

So she just laid there, holding his hand, resting her cheek against him like if she stayed close enough, he'd find his way back.

Like maybe he could feel her.

Like maybe he'd open his eyes.

She had just closed her eyes, the memory of his awkward laugh in the kitchen still soft in her mind, when the sound shattered everything.

Beep.

Once.

Then a pause.

Then—beep, beep, beep-beep-beep.

Her head shot up.

The monitor was blinking. Fast. Erratic. The once-steady rhythm of Marcus's heartbeat now danced chaotically across the screen. Sharp, uneven spikes — too fast, then too slow.

Something was wrong.

Something was very wrong.

"Marcus?" she whispered, her voice shaking as her hand clutched his tighter. "Marcus—?"

The door to the hospital room burst open with a bang.

A swarm of nurses rushed in first, then the doctor, eyes sharp and focused in a way that filled her with dread.

"Get the crash cart! Now! Patient's crashing!"

"No—" Aurora's voice cracked. "No, no, no—please—"

A nurse reached her, tried to guide her away, but she resisted, fingers still clinging desperately to her brother.

"Sweetheart, you need to move—"

"Please, don't take me away from him!" she screamed, her whole body trembling, but the nurse gently pulled her back, separating her from the one thing she couldn't bear to lose.