Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 95187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
I grip the edge of the tub and force myself to take several steady breaths. Inhale, one, two, three. Exhale, one, two, three. On the third round of this, I feel slightly more in control. Slightly.
The pants have to come off. I can wrap him in a clean blanket to keep him warm while I deal with the bed. That is the sequence of events that makes the most sense.
It sounds great in theory until I have my fingers on the band of his pants and the reality of sliding them down his body hits me. He’s not wearing anything underneath them. Even if he were, I’d have to take those off, too. There is something inherently wrong with seeing him naked while he’s not conscious and aware. I recognize that nurses do it all the time, but I’m hardly a medical professional. And he’s so damn pretty.
Frustrated with myself for wasting time, I still grab a towel and drape it over his hips. It’s awkward business working his drying pants down his body and keeping the towel in place, but I manage to do it. Barely. I try very hard not to notice how smooth his skin is. I’m mostly successful.
Next is the blanket. I find a spare, unblemished one in the closet and take the time to tuck it around him, angling his body so it’s between him and the cool porcelain of the tub. Through it all, he doesn’t make a sound.
Am I wrong about the severity of the wounds? They’ve bled a lot, but they’re not bleeding anymore. Surely he just passed out from shock. Surely he isn’t…dead.
Panic threatens to override everything. I place my hand to the side of his throat, measuring the slow beat of his heart. Possibly too slow, but it’s there nonetheless. I’m not a doctor. I know slightly more than basic first aid but… “Damn it.” I know better than to panic in a crisis, and yet here I am, forgetting the important and vital step to getting him on the mend.
The motions of stripping the mattress of its sheets and muscling it out the door are comforting in their simplicity. I don’t have to worry about accidentally exposing a mattress to my eyes. As I shove it through the door and out into the hallway, I nearly smother Orion.
They jump out of the way and hold up their hands. “What’s going on? Did you kill the captive?”
“No. Polyphemus was overzealous in his questioning. His unsanctioned questioning.”
Orion flinches. “I’d wondered where he’d gotten off to, but I didn’t realize what was happening. I’m sorry. I should have paid closer attention.”
We all knew the death of Polyphemus’s sister hit him hard, but not even I understood the risk of having Icarus under this roof. “It’s my fault.”
“Is he…alive?”
“Yes. But I need you to get me another mattress from a different room. And dispose of this one. And also new sheets.” I’m not normally this scattered. My household is run in a methodical, streamlined manner that never changes. There’s comfort in always knowing what each day will bring. I operate the shipyard the same way, though there’s a little more flexibility required there. We don’t get the same shipments in every day, or even every week. But the process of shipping in and shipping out is the same, regardless of the cargo.
Nowhere in that regularity is there space for a captive. A captive that is currently unconscious in the bathtub. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I can feel myself spiraling, but that’s unacceptable with the stakes as high as they are. I cannot afford to lose control.
Orion, thankfully, doesn’t comment on the erraticism of my orders. They simply nod. “Consider it done. Where will you be?”
It occurs to me that I could leave this situation in their capable hands, but I immediately reject the notion. It feels wrong. I’ve failed Icarus, and I should be there when he wakes up. Apologizing again won’t accomplish anything, but I can’t shake the urge. I don’t know what the rules are for captor and captive. I’ve never had one before.
I fucking hate this.
I drag in a deep breath. “The bathroom. Let me know when the new bed’s set up.”
“Will do.” They pull out their phone and start dialing. That’s where I leave them, bloody mattress and all. Orion will take care of it. I can trust them. They aren’t going to go rogue. But then, I didn’t think Polyphemus would go rogue, either.
Too much is happening. Too much change. Too much stimulation. I need a moment.
I step into the bathroom and close the door softly behind me. Icarus’s eyes are still closed, but his chest rises and falls in a comfortingly steady rhythm. I grab the stool from the corner and set it next to the tub. It’s ridiculously small for my body, but it’s sturdy enough to hold. I perch on it and tap my middle finger against my thigh, mirroring the rhythm of Icarus’s breathing. Each tap calms my breathing and my heart rate further. Within a few minutes, the world stops feeling like it’s spinning out of control and I can think again.