Chapter 8: Waking up
I flutter my eyes open. For a second, I forget where I’m at and think I’m in my bed at home. I remember and bolt upright.
I’ve been abducted!
The sudden movement makes my head spin violently, and I have to lie back down. I realize I’m on a bed as I try to remember yesterday. It was one foggy, excruciatingly painful haze.
I realize that even though I still feel horrible, I’m a lot better. Was last night for real? Did someone stay with me while my insides were spilling out, and I tried to stay alive? Who was it? I was so sick.
The slot opens, and Peter’s hazel eyes stare at me anxiously.
“How are you today, Madrigal?” he asks.
“A lot better,” I say, still feeling a whooshing in my stomach.
“Good.”
“Peter,” I say shyly, “did you . . . did you . . .”
“Did I what?”
“Did you stay with me last night?’
“Last night?”
“Someone was with me.”
“Someone was with you?” he gulps.
“Yeah.”
“Madrigal,” he says, his voice nervous. “You were very sick and probably imagining things.”
“But—”
“Very, very sick.”
I scrunch my face, thinking back to the constant heaving. “Maybe,” I sigh.
“Yes,” he asserts.
“By the way, thanks for the black pills yesterday.”
Peter’s eyebrows come together. “Madrigal, you’ve completely lost track of time.”
“What do you mean?”
“I gave you those pills several days ago.”
“Several days ago?!”
He nods authoritatively. “You’ve been out-of-it for a while.”
“Peter,” I say, astounded. “There’s no way I could’ve lost track of that much time.”
“You did, Madrigal.”
Could he be telling me the truth? I’m still wondering about my angel and not convinced that he doesn’t exist. “Are you sure no one was with me even on the first night of my collapse?”
He stares at me for a short moment before answering. “No one was with you.” He takes a huge gulp. “Of course not.”
“But—“
“You must’ve imagined it,” he utters carefully.
“It doesn’t seem like a dream.”
“Madrigal, you were in pretty bad shape. You remember at least that, don’t you?”
I groan loudly. “I remember.”
“No one was here the past nights. I mean, I looked in on you every once in a while but that’s all,”
I sigh. “Okay.”
“Do you feel well enough to eat anything?”
I vehemently shake my head.
“That’s what I thought, but I wanted to ask anyway,” he says as he starts shutting the slot. “Holler if you need anything.”
So it was my imagination according to Peter. No one was with me. No one at all—not even him.
Then I see it.
The thing sits on the floor next to my bed—a bottle of the black pills. I grab it and turn the top.
If no one was with me then who picked these up off the floor? Hadn’t I strewn them on the ground? Who put the bottle here? And who put me in bed? Wasn’t I on the floor?
Why is Peter lying to me?
I realize I need to use the restroom, and I stumble out of bed as carefully as I can. With waves of nausea still swirling inside me, I crawl to the toilet. As soon as I finish my business and wash my hands, I hear the door to the bedroom sliding up. I try to reach it as fast as I can but by the time I get out of the bathroom, the door is already coming down again. I notice a fresh bucket in the place of the old one.
I make it to bed, pop a black pill in my mouth, and promptly fall asleep.
Waking up many hours later, I have one all-consuming thought in my head. Arthur! Had I heard Arthur the other night or was it my imagination?
Arthur! Arthur! For heaven’s sake, where are you? I desperately ask in my head.
I’m here, my Madrigal.
Had he really answered me? Or are these the effects of the black pills?
Is this real? I ask.
As real as you want it to be.
Are you really with me?
I’m here.
Where were you? I question.
I couldn’t come to you.
Why?
It’s complicated.
Complicated?
Yes.
Arthur, you wouldn’t believe what happened to me.
Yes, I would, he says dryly. A lot has happened to me too.
I don’t understand.
Don’t even try to.
But--
Madrigal, he says, slowly sighing. I hate to tell you this but . . . in order to save you, I’ve got to go.
What? I ask, panicked.
I can’t be with you right now. It affects both of us too much.
Affects us? What do you mean?
You’ll understand later.
I frown. I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.
I can’t tell you anything else.
Arthur, I say with frustration, don’t do this to me.
I have to. You won’t be hearing from me for a while.
Arthur—
I’ve got to go.
Don’t leave! Don’t—
I’ve got to.
Arthur! Arthur! But it’s useless—he’s gone. His space in my head is empty. I sob.
Supernova Page 6