Then I heard a dull, heavy noise at the end of the corridor. And a dragging sound.
Then another muffled sound, clearer this time, followed by rapid breathing, as if someone were running a marathon on the spot.
My skin prickled.
"Rowan?" I called, my heart in my throat. "Darling?"
Silence.
I heard a muffled noise at the end of the corridor.
I crawled over, forgetting my shopping. "Rowan, are you alright?"
There was a pause. Then, from behind the bedroom door: "I'm fine, Mik. Don't come in."
The door was locked.
I kept knocking. "Rowan, open up, please. You look hurt."
He answered, but his words were broken and breathless. "Just, just one minute, baby. I said I'm fine."
I pressed my forehead against the door, trying to listen. I could hear him fumbling, dragging his feet, and muttering under his breath.
"Rowan, please open the door. You look hurt."
"Rowan, I'm serious. I'm coming in," I announced, searching for the emergency key in the entryway drawer. My hands groped as I unlocked the door.
At that moment, I heard the front door open, with Mom's heels clicking on the tiles.
"Mikayla? I brought the ziti! Is Rowan... wait, what's going on?"
I didn't answer. I opened the bedroom door. Mom followed, a casserole dish in her hand, her eyes wide.
What I saw made my knees buckle.
I heard the front door open.
***
Rowan clung to the bed frame, sweat dripping down his face, his arms trembling. His new prosthetic legs, elegant but alien, were fastened, and his body was curled up between the bed and the dresser.
His right hand was raw and slashed. He looked up, surprised and caught in the act.
"I told you not to come in," he managed, his voice cracking.
Mom jumped. "Oh, darling..."
His arm gave way.
Before I could reach him, his body fell hard to the ground with a sickening thud.
"I told you not to come in."
« Rowan — »
For a second, he didn't move.
My heart stopped.
Then he took a deep breath and stood up, his jaw clenched as if he refused to stay on the ground.
I fell to my knees beside him. "What are you doing, darling? Talk to me, Rowan."
He tried to laugh, but his laughter was broken. "It looks like I'm making a mess. Like I'm trying to..." He stopped, his eyes fixed on Mom.
"Talk to me, Rowan."
"That's it, that's what your life will be like, Mikayla. The struggle, the pain, and always picking up the pieces. That's what I tried to prevent."
I turned around, the heat rising. "No, Mom. This is what it feels like to fight for someone you love."
Rowan looked at the floor. "I wanted to surprise you. I promised you a first dance at our reception, remember? And we still have a few days before our delayed reception... I thought I could manage. And be enough for you."
My throat hurts. "You are enough. You always have been."
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