My eyes open again, all the way this time, and I realise I’m not on the bathroom floor, in the Joker or anywhere else I’ve ever lived. I’m on a bed—Mal’s bed—and he’s hovering over me, his arm looped under my shoulders as if he’s carried me here, hand cradling my head, and I should hate it. I should rear back and smack my skull to his face to get him away from me. But the energy to do it—the will, it isn’t there. That arm around me and the weight of his gaze, I need it.
I’m so fucking tired…
Mal shakes me. “You need glucose and fluids. Unless there’s something else going on here.”
There’s a question in his words and I try to think through it. But I’m not fast enough and he leans down a little more.
“I think you passed out because you’re exhausted and your blood sugar is on the fucking floor. But I’m not in your head, so I need you to tell me if it’s something else, okay?”
His hair is long, curling around his ears. It’s cute. His eyes, though, they’re more serious than I’ve ever seen them, pinning me to the bed, and the only truth I’m capable of right now spills out of me.
“I didn’t mean to.”
Mal’s hard stare flickers. Gentles, even as he tosses some harsh words over his shoulder to someone else. “I know, Sky. I know. I’m so fucking sorry.”
For what?
I can’t remember. And I think I pass out again. Or sleep. I’m not sure. The next thing I’m aware of is Mal pouring something sweet and orange down my throat and pressing his hand over my mouth.
“I’m not forcing you, I swear. If you want me to stop, I’ll fucking stop.”
I don’t want you to stop.
I hold his wrist, keeping his hand in place as fluid trickles down my oesophagus. Rebellion roils in my gut, but it’s as weak as I feel right now. It passes and I take the bottle from Mal’s free hand.
He reads me and eases back, letting me drink by myself. “Not too much,” he cautions.
I know. I fuckingknow.
And I’m still in his bed, blinds shut as a storm rages outside. It’s the first time I’ve seen his room without the window wide open. Sincehim. But I’m so dizzy I can’t articulate it, and it makes me think of when he was in my bed, because he couldn’t be anywhere else. And how I missed him when he wasn’t there anymore.
When he was gone.
Awareness floods back to me. I try to sit up and my head hums with pressure, drawing a groan from my chest.
Mal helps me, his arm under my shoulders again. “If you want a shower, I’m coming with you.”
It’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard, but I can’t connect my brain to my mouth enough to say so.
I find Mal’s hand instead and squeeze his rough fingers. He grins a little and it’s almost too beautiful to see. As if this moment is too flawed for a smile like his. As if I’m too ugly.
He looks away first.
I miss him. Then I remember the last words I spoke to him…before, and I know I have no right to feel anything but shame.
Don’t come near me anymore.
“Hey.” Mal’s free hand slides along my jaw, coaxing me to look back. “How are you doing down there? Head still hurt?”
“Yeah.”
He blinks. “There you are.”
“Where did you think I was?”
“Some place you don’t speak for hours on end.”
His hand feels good on my face. I lean into it and close my eyes, drifting, until that awareness kicks me awake again. “Where did you go?”