Chapter 41: Water
“Don’t say that!” I snap with a force I didn’t know was in me.
“Madrigal, you’ve got to save yourself.”
“I’m going to save both of us,” I assure.
“But if I’m not around, you have to—”
“Stop it! Stop saying you won’t be around.”
“Madrigal—”
“Stop!”
He sighs. “More water please.”
I put the canteen to his lips, and he gulps the water down. After the dawn had passed, blistering heat arrived in the desert. It’s not as hot inside the dilapidated house, which provides some kind of shade, as it is outside, but it’s still sweltering. Royce’s face is shiny with perspiration. I wish I could say it was just the heat causing this, but I know it’s also the agony he’s feeling. I don’t want to think about the kind of internal injuries he sustained.
“What’s happening outside?” he asks.
After taking a peek, I inform Royce that the law guard is still there. Traffic is now congested, and she guides the road. The crashed vehicles will eventually have to be removed from the site. How long will it take? I ask myself.
Many hours pass. Bustling activity permeates the outside with a tow truck picking up the car and a slow removal of the semi-truck. Meanwhile, the torching heat increases. Royce asks frequently for water.
“Whose canteen is this?” he asks in a forced voice, just above a whisper. He abruptly stops drinking as if an idea has just occurred to him.
“What does it matter?”
“Whose water is this?” he repeats, gulping for air between words.
“Royce—”
“Is this yours?”
“Just drink,” I coax.
“This is your canteen, right?”
“So what if it is?”
“My canteen is empty, right?” he mutters, more of a statement than a question.
“Yes, but—”
“I’ve hardly seen you drink.”
“I’m not thirsty,” I lie.
His weak fingers curl around the canteen and shake it, almost dropping it before I balance it in my hand. “Hey,” he says as loud as he can with his weak state. “I’ve drunk most of the water.”
“It’s okay. I don’t want you to dehydrate.”
“What about you dehydrating?”
“I’m not the one who’s injured,” I point out.
“But you need your strength to get out of here when . . .”
“Don’t say it!”
He sighs. “Okay.”
“We’ll figure out what to do after it gets quiet outside.”
“Okay, but do me a favor,” he mutters.
“What can I do for you?” I ask.
“Drink some water.”
“I’m not thirsty.”
“Don’t lie to me, Madrigal,” he snaps with a weak, hoarse voice.
“I’m not—”
“We’ve always been very honest with each other—don’t start lying to me now.”
“But—”
“Remember—I can get into your mind.”
I groan as I grab the canteen and slam it to my lips. The crystal life-sustaining liquid runs deliciously down my throat. It’s the best tasting water I’ve ever had. I force myself to stop. There is only a little of it left.
“Satisfied?” I tell Royce, looking into his unfocussed eyes.
“Yes.”
His pallor is so light and sickly looking that I hardly recognize his face, its healthy glow completely gone. We need to get out of this situation soon.
His face is so shiny with perspiration that I grab his backpack and yank out a gauze cloth from the first aide kit. My fingers are so clumsy with tension that I accidentally let a lighter slip and crash to the floor.
“I’ve got to tell you something,” he states, his voice growing weaker by the moment.
“You can tell me later,” I insist as I start to gently wipe his face with the cloth. “Rest.”
“I’ve got to tell you now.”
“Royce—”
“Later, it might be too late.”
“Don’t—”
“Madrigal, let me say what I need to say.”
“Okay, let’s get on with it so you can rest, but I’m warning you—I don’t want to hear anything about you dying.”
He lets out a frustrated breath. “You don’t make this easy.”
“Royce—”
“You need to hear how sorry I am.”
“About what?” His statement takes me completely by surprise.
“I had to make up that you were crazy.”
“What are you talking about?”
“School,” he lets out in a pained voice.
This time I’m the one who exhales a frustrated breath. “Royce, we don’t need to talk about it. I already understand that you had to play a part.”
“Having made up that you were crazy goes beyond playing a part.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, my curiosity fully piqued.
“I had no choice but to make up that awful lie.”
“Why?”
“They were starting to get violent with you.”
“You mean the other students?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
He takes a huge gulp to catch his breath. “What you don’t know is that the leaders made the parents manipulate their kids into treating you badly.”
“They what?!”
“The government was really out to get you—to keep you down.”
“They manipulated everything and everyone around me?” I ask, my mouth going dry with anger.
“That’s the only way they could control you, Supernova.”
I groan loudly. “Those jerks!—ruining my life for their power games.”
“Yes.”
“I still don’t understand why you made up that crazy thing, though.”
“The violence,” he explains, his breath growing more raggedy.
“What about it?”
“I couldn’t do a lot with the verbal abuse. I had to play the game right with them,” he expounds, his voice wavering and jagged. “But I had to do something when the physical abuse started.”
“I defended myself okay.”
He smiles painfully. “I know.”
“I didn’t let them treat me like a punching bag.”
“But it got to the point that you couldn’t fight against so many—there was only one of you. And like I already told you, even the teachers were in on this.”
“Yeah, I’ve got to admit it was tough.”
“I had to do something,” he states. His voice is so low that I have to get closer to him to hear.
“So you made up that I was crazy?”
“It scared them enough to stop hitting you.”
It made perfect sense. “The violence did stop when you told them I was crazy,” I blurt.
“Madrigal, I sweated blood over that lie—I really did,” he gulps, trying to catch his breath. “I must’ve spent hours and hours thinking of ways to help you, but I couldn’t think of anything better. It was the best that I could do. You’ve got to forgive me.”
“Royce, there’s nothing to forgive.”
“I know what that lie did to you.”
“Royce,” I say gently, “I forgave you for it a long time ago, but now that you tell me this, I realize how much I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“I owe you a lot,” I insist. “You’ve saved my life so many times.”
“So have you.”
“We’re even then,” I announce, giving him a warm smile.
“I know you say you forgave me a long time ago, but I’m having a hard time forgiving myself for what I did to you,” he mentions, his voice so raspy that it sounds as if it hurts him just to use it.
“What you did to me during school had to be. Let it go, Royce—I have.”
“I need y
ou to tell me you forgive me. I need to hear it before I . . .”
Flashes of anger burn me. “Don’t say it!”
“Madrigal—“
“Don’t.”
“I’m not doing so well, Madrigal.”
“You’re very strong, Royce! Your injuries won’t beat you!”
“We’ve got to face reality.”
“I’m not going to face a reality that takes you away from me.”
“Madrigal—”
“What I’ve learned on this journey is that the biggest reality is the one we make.”
“This is out of our hands.”
I lose all composure. “You listen to me, Royce! You’ve taught me never to give up. Don’t you dare give up on me! We’re going to get out of this even if I have to carry you to safety. Is that clear?”
“Madrigal—”
“Is that clear?” I repeat more vociferously.
“Yes, commander.”
“Don’t you dare die on me,” I demand. “I won’t allow it.”
“Yes, commander.”
“Now just hold on till I get a handle on what to do, okay?”
“I’ll try.” His tired voice is barely audible.
“Don’t just try—do it!”
“Madrigal,” he manages to say as his eyelids fight to stay open.
“Yes?” I ask, gently wiping the perspiration from his face with the gauze cloth I had taken out earlier from the first aide kit.
“I love you—completely and totally.”
I’m stunned. What do I say to that? As I ponder on his startling words a horrible vision flashes through my mind. Can it be true? I stare fearfully at Royce, my breathing shallow and painful. Boiling tears rush down my face.
“It has to be,” he barely gets out as his eyes close.
“Royce!” I cry with desperation. “Wake up! Don’t leave me!”
I fling myself across his chest and sob like a child.
“Got you,” a voice retorts, the owner of it stepping into the dilapidated house with a revolver pointed at me.
I look up, my eyes blurry with weeping, to find an enemy I barely remember.
“So you’re boyfriend’s dead like you will be soon,” snaps D412, looking a lot like his dad—the psycho colonel.
Supernova Page 39