Breathe You - C.R. Jane Page 0,2

words are crisper, more urgent.

“No hospitals,” I echo, even though every fiber in my being begs me not to give in.

But my sliced-up heart is no match when facing Valentina’s pain.

It never was.

I carefully pick her up from the floor and head to the bathroom to clean up her wounds at least. She cradles her head into the crook of my neck, and I realize just how feather light she is. The girl I grew up with had curves in all the right places, but the woman in my arms doesn’t hold the same healthy glow or body. I sit her next to the tub, and she shivers the instant my body no longer soothes her with my warmth. I swallow dryly, taking in each inch of my love. Her ribs are too pronounced for me to ignore. The dark shade under her eyes and sunken cheeks are also apparent to me now.

How did I miss these changes?

Easy.

While I was protecting the last sliver of my soul from her grasp, I failed to see what was right in front of me—a very frail woman clutching to thin ribbons of sanity. I shake that horrid thought away and look everywhere for a first aid kit. Thankfully, I find one under the sink, and with delicate care, I try to clean her wounds. It’s a pointless effort though, when she keeps shivering so profusely.

This won’t do.

I get up off the floor and fill the large bath, making sure the water is warm enough to heat her cold bones. When I’ve made sure the tub is full enough, I pick my love up in my arms and gently place her inside. A small hiss spills from her lips when her cold body comes in contact with the warm water. When she lays back and closes her eyes, I feel more helpless than I ever did. It’s almost as if I’m witnessing the real life version of Ophelia from Hamlet meet her untimely end in her watery grave. The image is scorched into my brain in such a way, my own hand trembles as I begin to clean her wounds.

“Why are you taking care of me?” she hushes, tears streaking down her face. “You left.”

“I came back,” I reply, trying hard to keep my voice as neutral as possible so she doesn’t hear the panic in my voice.

“Why?” she asks, her lids slowly opening up, making me realize what a strenuous effort it is for her.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m here now.”

She turns her head away from me to stare at the wall, the cloudy haze beginning to take her under again.

“Valentina! Look at me, baby,” I order, pulling her chin my way.

She looks so fucking tired. Gaunt and exhausted.

“I’m going to clean you up, and then I’m taking you to bed, okay?”

“Okay.” She nods, but the word sounds just as brittle as she looks.

What’s happening to you, baby?

I keep that foreboding question locked in my throat, strangling me with doubt and fear. My worried questions remain bottled as I take a washcloth and clean her skin, taking extra care with her wounds. She flinches from time to time when I pass the cloth through them, but at least she’s no longer shivering. I wash her hair gently, methodically, while doing everything in my power not to demand answers. Once her shoulders relax and that droopy look in her eyes increases, déjà vu hits me hard. A memory filled with a similar pain edged on her face, telling me she needs to lie down and rest, and forget the world around her. I pull her out of the bath, drying her as meticulously as I can with a towel, and then take one of the complimentary hotel robes to keep her warm. It looks ridiculously big on her petite frame, and I’m shocked yet again at how blind I’ve been these past few days to not see that my girl was suffering.

I pick her up and lay Valentina on the bed, her body melting into it instantly, confirming that this is exactly what she needed. I lie behind her and wrap her in my arms, and she leans into me, a sigh passing her lips.

“Let me call the doctor,” I plead once more, but she just shakes her head.

“No doctors.”

I bite my inner cheek in frustration, but I don’t insist. Not yet anyway. When she’s better, I’ll approach the subject again. I have to. What I encountered when I walked through this room was something