Page 87 of Sucker For You

Quiet, be quiet.

“She’s on the ground! Isabel, did you roll out of bed? Was it a nightmare, or—”

Crying, gripping her head: “No—no—”

“Let’s see. . .shhhh,you’re not really hurt. Just scared, right? No blood. Even if you’ll have some bumps and bruises. The top bunk isn’t very high off the floor. Come on now, up you get. Let us help—”

Flailing against the hands: “No—”

“Stop it. You’re all right.”

“No!”

“Well, she’s not injured. This must be attention-seeking behavior. Isabel, no more yelling—”

But she couldn’t stop.

The hands came back. Hurting, panicked, she scratched at them. She bit.

“God damn it! What’s the matter with her?”

“I don’t know, there’s no blood, she’s just—”

“—psychotic.”

Hospital.

Her moan fogged the bathroom tiles.

Again, the pain: an angry vermillion drum beating in her head, thrashing nausea through her gut, ricocheting down into her hips, cramping her calves, searing her feet. Her tingling tongue tasted like copper. Her eyes burned. Fever and tears.

“A-ah. . .”

She hunched into a tight, helpless, horrible ball, rocking, gasping, sobbing when the vice-like grip on her temples squeezedtighter, when she couldn’t gulp back her body’s noises. If she could just crawl into the shower, turn on the cold water, soak herself to slow her pulse and numb her skin—but she couldn’t. Motion sickness and the blind, shimmering crescents filming over her right eye kept her on the floor.

She rocked, she cried, she hurt.

Quiet, quiet, and—

“. . . Isabel?”

Wes.

If she couldn’t see him through the gray and the pain, she knew: he was in the bathroom with her. She’d dragged him out of sleep with her shameful sounds.

“S-sorry—”

“How can I help?”

“Didn’t—didn’t mean to d-d-disturb—” Tears slipped past her closed eyes. They trickled over the fists that she dug into their sockets. She tried again, forced the apology out. “I’m—ss-sor—”

“Don’t be sorry.” Her Ceretobicin bottle rattled. He was checking the cap, assessing whether she’d outsmarted its childproofing. Yes, and too late. His radiant heat intensified beside her. “Can I touch you?”

She’d break.

“Buttercup?”

She couldn’t answer.