Page 6 of A Castle in the Sky: Fern & Connor
Fern's voice came out hoarse, barely more than a whisper. "Gladys... would you mind sitting with Coral for a bit?"
The nurse, whose voice could have brought on an Ice Age, softened. "Of course, Fern." The transformation was startling, her tone melting into honey.
Fern stood carefully, her knees stiff from the long hours in the same position. She tucked Coral's blanket higher, brushed one more kiss to her forehead, and turned toward the door. Connor made to move closer to Coral, but she blocked him decisively.
Connor stepped aside automatically, but not far enough. His shoulder brushed hers as she passed, and the contact made her flinch before she could stop herself. Still, she refused to meet his eyes.
She stepped into the corridor and he followed.
"Fern," he said again, more desperate this time.
She couldn't answer because, though her logic told her everyone was asleep, the whole ward seemed to be listening. In her ear, her mother seemed to whisper like a ghost that she couldn't even keep her child safe.
Chapter 5
Fern quickly walked down the corridor, her canvas shoes squeaking on the linoleum. Her chestnut curls were scraped into a messy bun, held together by a pen that had slipped sideways, the whole thing lopsided and precarious.
Connor followed a few steps behind, words forming and dying on his tongue. She didn't look back once.
He could see the tension in every line of her body—in the way her arms were crossed tightly, almost protectively over her chest, and how her full mouth was compressed into a thin, white line. She was breathing slowly and deliberately through her nose, barely holding on to her control.
She was still in the dark brown sweater she'd thrown on hours ago, one sleeve pulled down, the other side fallen off her shoulder to reveal the strap of her mismatched purple bra and the curve of her collarbone. She looked exhausted, fragile, and so far away from him mentally, she might as well have been in another dimension.
At the end of the corridor, she pushed open the door to the waiting room—a small, windowless space with walls lined with children's drawings. She didn't hold the door for him.
He caught it before it hit him in the face, half-suspecting she wouldn't have cared if it had. Maybe she would've even preferred it. It was, perhaps, the least he deserved.
Carefully, he stepped inside while scoping the room. It was empty-populated with just a round table, a box of tissues, and four cheap plastic chairs.
Fern turned to face him with murder in her blazing blue eyes. It was like she had flipped a switch.
"Why?" she cried, the word tearing out of her as she hit him, her small, closed fists thudding against his chest. "Why? Why? Why, Connor?"
Her sobs were raw and terrible as if wrenched from a bottomless abyss of pain.
He didn't move or try to stop her. Each hit landed, weak but on target, until the blows turned into trembling pushes and she was choking on her words.
"She's just a child," she choked out, her voice faltering with each word. "Just a child."
As her knees buckled at last, he moved on instinct, reaching for her. His arms came around her, pulling her in before she could fall. But it seemed to rouse her again, as though she’d found a second wind. She fought like a cornered animal.
"Don't touch me!" she screamed, twisting and thrashing. Her short nails raked down the side of his face, leaving hot, stinging scratches. "Don't you dare… don't youdareever touch me again!"
He let go, hands raised, backing away as she collapsed into herself, sobbing until the broken whimpers no longer had shape. He just stood there, helpless, every muscle screaming for him to do something, anything, but he was afraid one wrong move would set her off again.
It couldn't have been more than a few minutes, but it felt like hours before the storm inside her began to quiet.
She sniffed hard, rubbing her nose with the sleeve of her sweater, then dragged the same sleeve across her eyes. Without sparing him a glance, she collapsed into a chair like a marionette with severed strings.
Connor stayed where he was by the wall, his cheek stinging, his throat burning, and the space between them filled with everything that had finally broken apart.
For what seemed to be the longest time, there was only the sound of her uneven breathing and the faint hum of the hospital air vents.
Fern sat hunched over in the chair, elbows on her knees, hands covering her face. Her body still trembled from the sobs that had wrung her dry. The air in the small room felt thick-stale with disinfectant and the faint smell of urine.
Connor stood a few feet away; his reflection fractured in the glass panel of the door. She could see the red marks on his cheek where her nails had caught him, where he hadn't wiped the blood away.
When she finally spoke, her voice was abnormally steady. "How did she end up with your dearMatty, Connor?"
