the juice, but only when the glass was completely empty did I ease my hold on him. I set the glass on the table and used the corner of one of the blankets to wipe at the man's face. His head lolled back and forth, but he managed to keep himself upright when I released him. I reached for the glucose meter again and quickly checked his blood sugar. I was relieved to see it had already started to climb.
The man was sitting silently in front of me, his eyes closed. I clasped his neck and asked, "Sir, can you hear me?"
Several long seconds passed before he nodded tiredly.
"How are you feeling?" I asked. I wasn’t really surprised when he didn't answer me verbally. But it was a relief when he nodded his head again. "Do you think you can stay sitting by yourself?"
Another nod.
I got him situated so he could lean back against the couch cushions for support as I hurried to get the fire going. I kept an eye on him the entire time I worked. He was clearly fatigued, but some of the color seemed to be returning to his cheeks and the sweat on his brow appeared to be drying up. I couldn't see any signs that his body was still shaking, either. It took less than a minute to get the fire started. I glanced around the room and noticed that many of the items in it were, like the kitchen, knocked over or no longer in their original spots. It occurred to me that he must've been feeling his way around the cabin in the middle of the night, presumably after the power had gone out.
I returned to the couch, but this time I sat on the coffee table so as to not crowd the man. "Sir—"
"Lex," the man interrupted. "Don't like sir," he added. His voice had a hint of discomfort in it, but it wasn't my place to question it.
"Lex," I agreed. "Do you know where you are?"
"The woods," he responded tiredly. "They're quiet."
If he’d said the last part in confusion, I would've tested his blood sugar again right away, but his words held more of a disappointed quality to them. "That they are," I agreed. "That's why most people come here. To get away from the noise of their lives."
Up until that moment, the man, Lex, had kept his eyes closed. He chose that moment to lift his head and open them and I found myself struggling to breathe, though I had no idea why. His eyes were the color of storm clouds. Storm clouds that were shot with light and dark shadows at the same time. The pointer finger on my right hand began tapping as if I held my camera in my hand. I couldn't say what was more disturbing—that I wanted to photograph him or that I wanted to do more than just that.
Okay, yeah, I did know what was more disturbing. It was the latter. There was no reason to reach out to touch his forehead, but that was what I wanted to do anyway. And I still had that weird need to feel his hair.
"Is that why you're here?" he asked.
I wasn't expecting the question. It would've been easy enough to make up some blasé response, but I couldn't make any words clear my lips. Instead, all I could do was sit there and stare at him while he stared at me.
"How are you feeling?" I finally found the wherewithal to ask.
"Tired," he admitted.
"Yeah," I responded. "You're going to feel that way for a while." When I found myself doing the weird staring thing again, I said, "How about I go look for something for you to eat?"
I didn't wait for Lex to respond because I was already on my feet. As I made my way back to the kitchen, I glanced over my shoulder to see Brewer nudging Lex's hands with his nose. Lex pulled his hands back at first, but then tentatively reached forward. My dog was a smart cookie and learned things quickly, so this time he waited for Lex to come to him and when he did, Brewer didn't move. That seemed to give Lex the courage to run his hand over the top of Brewer's head. My dog's tail flipped happily back and forth as he reveled in Lex's touch. I nearly stumbled when I realized I was actually jealous of my own dog.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I sought