Amy Cross - Persona

I shake my head.

Suddenly he reaches out and puts his hand on the side of my neck. I flinch and almost pull away, but after a moment I realize he’s checking my glands, squeezing hard to check that they’re not inflamed. To my surprise, I realize his hands are so much warmer than I’d expected, and I can’t bring myself to make him stop. Even the slightest extra heat is welcome.

“Seems good,” he mutters.

“I’m fine,” I reply firmly.

“You’re shivering again.”

I mutter something under my breath as I realize he’s right. Stopping myself again, I can’t help feeling as if the warmth of his hands is making the rest of my body feel colder.

“Then you’re in the clear,” he continues, letting go of my neck, taking the extra warmth with him. “All you have to do is wait out here so you can walk back into town tomorrow morning and prove it to everyone. You made the right choice by isolating yourself for the night, you showed them that you’re not scared to take difficult decisions. I think that’ll really discredit the doom-mongers and score you some points.” He pauses for a moment. “Of course, they’re still mostly bitter about that Deckard guy leaving, but they’ll get over it. If you can navigate the town through this sickness, you should regain everyone’s trust.”

“Is anyone else ill?” I ask.

“Not so far. Are your teeth chattering?”

“Then whatever it is,” I continue, ignoring that last question, “hopefully it was contained to just Emma and Mary.” Noticing that the fire is getting low again, I lean over to grab some more dry wood, but I flinch when I feel a flash of pain from my fractured ribs. The pain turns into a shiver, and it takes a moment before I can force myself to sit still again.

“Let me take a look at that,” Harold says.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re in pain.”

“So?” I place the dry wood on the fire, although I can’t keep from flinching again. “Everyone’s in pain on the island, I just—”

Before I can finish, I feel Harold pulling the side of my tunic up, and when I look down I see that he’s examining the large bruise at the lower part of my ribcage. I want to pull away, but for some reason I let him continue as he traces the bruise’s edge with a finger-tip. This is actually the most normal thing that has happened to me in a long time. I’d become so used to ignoring my injuries, it never occurred to me that they should be examined. Every time his hand brushes my flesh, I feel a rush of warmth.

“I’ve had some bad luck over the past few days,” I tell him, tensing a little in case he prods the bruise and makes it hurt more. “It’ll heal. It always heals.”

“Bad luck doesn’t really cover it,” he replies. “I also saw that you were limping earlier.”

“I was?”

“You didn’t even notice, did you?” he continues. “You’re so accustomed to getting beat up and bent out of shape, you just push on through. Typical ex-soldier.”

“I get by,” I tell him, not wanting to seem weak. My whole body is tense, due to the effort required to keep from shivering. The forest is so cold, and my fire isn’t nearly strong enough to keep me warm. “I’m not the only one. Go ask anyone in town and they’ll tell you they’re the same. We all have little knocks and cuts, it’s impossible to live in a place like this without getting hurt from time to time.” I wait for him to reply, as the fire starts crackling a little more, offering hope. “In a place like this,” I add finally, “you don’t get to sit down and nurse your wounds. A fractured rib is nothing. A few cuts are nothing. You’re going to have to get used to that if you—”

Suddenly he leans forward and kisses me again, and this time I let him for a moment, unable to reject the extra heat. Finally, however, I pull away.

“I lied earlier,” he tells me. “You don’t remind me of my wife. I just said that to cover my embarrassment. You’re nothing like her.”

“I think we—”

He kisses me yet again, and without even thinking about it I kiss him back. For a few seconds, our mouths stay locked together until finally he’s the one who pulls back. This time, I almost try to start the kiss again, to get a little more heat.

“You’re shivering,” he says yet again.

“I am not!”

“You—” He pauses, before smiling. “Okay. Whatever.”

“I’m not shivering,” I continue, while inching closer to the fire in a vain attempt to get warmer.

“When was the last time you didn’t feel like crap?” he asks. “I was in the war too, remember? I’ve been through the same things as you, even if neither of us remember them.” He pauses. “When was the last time you had even one moment when you weren’t nursing some kind of pain somewhere in your body?”

“I don’t know,” I reply, trying not to panic. I should punch him for what he just did, but instead I let him pull my tunic a little more to one side so he can examine my bruised back. “I don’t care, either. Maybe that stuff mattered in the old world, but right here and now it’s completely irrelevant.”

“So you have a fractured rib,” he continues, “maybe two. You were limping on your left ankle, but that’s probably not much more than a sprain.” He pauses, as if he’s studying me. “You have a bruised cheek, and a nasty-looking cut on your neck that seems to be healing pretty well.”

“So?”

“And a bruise on your back, just above the left shoulder-blade. I noticed that earlier.”

“I really don’t—”

“And there’s some discomfort in your belly, too,” he adds. “I’m going to assume that’s from when Ellis and the others gave you a kicking. You’re bruised all around the back here.”

Staring at him, I try to work out why he’s bothering to list all my injuries.

“I just need to know where it’s safe to touch you,” he says finally, before reaching out and putting a hand on my waist. “Is that okay? Any agonizing pain?”

“I…” Taking a deep breath, I realize exactly what he’s trying to initiate. Ninety-nine times out a hundred I’d push him away and tell him to get lost, but out here in the forest with the fire burning so feebly nearby, I want him to stay. Anything’s better than sitting here alone with just the enfolding darkness for company, and I can’t bring myself to turn away the chance of warmth. “No,” I say after a moment, hating myself just a little for being so weak. “No pain.”

He pauses, before leaning closer and kissing me again. This time I reciprocate fully, even though I know I’m probably making a mistake. For the first time in hours, I don’t feel the need to shiver, and no matter what my mind might think, my body can’t resist the heat.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” I whisper, as he starts loosening my tunic.

“Don’t over-think it,” he replies, slipping a warm hand under the front of my tunic and reaching up to touch my left breast. As soon as I feel the extra heat, I realize I won’t be able to turn him down. “You seem like someone who over-thinks everything, Asher. For once, just do what makes you feel good.”

With that, he kisses me again, and I don’t fight back as I feel him starting to pull my clothes off. I focus on reminding myself that I’m doing this purely for the warmth of another body, that it’s a way to help get me through the night, but deep down I’m worried that might not be true. Deep down, I’m scared that I might actually like what happens next.

As soon as I try to pull myself up from the freezing water, the pit’s muddy wall starts to crumble. I desperately dig my fingers in deeper, but finally I feel a sharp pain in the tips as I drop back down and splash heavily into the soupy gray water at the bottom. I try to keep my head clear, but instead, I’m briefly submerged all the way, and I feel scattered bones beneath my feet and hands as I frantically get back up. When I finally manage to life my face above the water’s surface, I start spitting out the soup that managed to get into my mouth.