The Vaticinator

by Namita Singh

that my injured arm doesn’t move much. The result is a slow walk. Neal, surprisingly, walks beside me, probably to provide aid if need arose. I think of telling him that I’ll manage, but restrain. He will not back down, anyways. Once we reach the washroom door, Neal turns the knob of the door. For a moment I panic, thinking that he is going to accompany me.

  “I am going alone.” I blurt out.

  Neal looks at me incredulously, “I know.” He says in a duh tone.

  I am blushing furiously, which must be understandable. But I face another ball in my court when I notice Neal’s neck tinting pink again. He doesn’t show anything on face and his ability to constrain himself from making his blushing obvious makes me hastily enter the washroom and lock the door. The hastiness makes me curse as it causes my already pained arm to burst into another episode. I wait for a few minutes, standing still, wishing the pain to fade into a dull ache. It’s after those several minutes, I feel Neal’s aura moving away, probably to seek the doctor. Once he is completely gone from my senses, only then do I motion to answer nature’s call.

  Neal and I mostly remain blithe with people insinuating things between us. In a way, we are almost casual about it, as if the opinion of other people does not matter. They think of us as a couple? They can think whatever the hell they want. Who cares? We know that there is nothing between us and that is all that should matter. But it doesn’t escape my notice that any sort of potentially mushy conversation always makes one of us blush, sometimes both of us. If we are actually so nonchalant about the topic then why does the subject hold the power to make us flush with embarrassment? Not even embarrassment per se, just something that I cannot explain and I blame our therian bonding for that.

  On top of everything, Aakir’s word of insinuation is something that seems to be the last straw because everyone, even Neal, knows that nobody knows me better than Aakir. The situation has become so significant in my mind that I am assured that if a stranger stood outside the door instead of Neal, I will probably take help with the strings of my hospital pajamas because god knows it’s highly infuriating to tie those with one hand while making sure to not even accidently move the other. But it is Neal’s aura that reappears in the room behind the door of the washroom I am in. And I don’t ask for his help. These thoughts are unexplainable to me, yet contain the power to turn me ten shades of red within a single minute.

  When I reemerge from the washroom, Neal instantly informs me that the doctor is due visiting within the next hour. I decide to further freshen up, so I collect my toothbrush from the bag. On expressing my desire of a bath, Neal informs me that I was given a sponge bath while unconscious that morning itself. That explains why I am not feeling absolutely rotting, since two days is too long for me to go without a bath.

  Neal further warns that I shouldn’t stress too much, neither engage in actions that require utilizing my right arm. I nod at him and spend quality time inside the washroom, cleaning my face and mouth. Feeling slightly fresh, I settle back on the bed and we fall into silence. It is not an uncomfortable silence, just the one which seems to appear at the end of an unfinished conversation. Though I have no idea what is there to be said anymore.

  When my doctor, a balding man with no sense of humor, comes along with his junior doctor, he instantly starts firing questions in my direction. Most of them are same as what the nurse had asked me. I humor him anyways. I complain of pain on movement of my arm. The doctor instructs his junior to get my arm in a firmer sling. The new one, black colored, is cushiony and has straps encircling my neck and torso. It keeps my arm intact with my chest and I am pleased to notice that only harsh, instant moves are causing me trouble.

  I’ll spare the details of the pain I had to undergo to get the sling changed.

  The doctor further expresses surprise at my absolutely healthy state.There is only the external injury on my arm, a slightly tender nose (thankfully not broken) and a little bluish bruise on my cheek bone, courtesy- Jermaine’s punch. The doctor deems it a miracle that my health is perfect despite being comatose for twodays, sadly for which he has no medical explanation. He assures me of my health again and then informs Neal, who is sitting here with the pretense of being my cousin, that I can be discharged tomorrow morning. I will have to return a week later, once my burn injuries are sufficiently healed, to get my arm in a cast. Neal is also informed that he will have to depart in the evening as the visiting hours for even family do not go beyond seven pm. Neal simply thanks the doctor.

  Once we are alone, Neal and I get over the silent environment. We start formulating our departure, fixing six PM as the time. Neal is amenable, discussing our way out without any qualms. The doctor’s word that I am absolutely healthy and in enough good position to get discharged has supposedly put Neal’s mind to peace. Now he is not reluctant about me ‘moving’ and causing further distress to my body. The firmer sling on my arm contributes to his compliance.

  Our discussion doesn’t last long, seeing as how only our escape is certain.We are not sure what we are to do once we depart from the hospital. We won’t be going back, of course. Therefore, our course of action will be decided only once we leave this place and explore our options.

  We fall into silence again. Neal is not being talkative anyway, bringing my own mood down a notch. He is being excessively thoughtful today, something that I have realized that I don’t really like as I am unsure of his train of thought. But ever since Aakir’s arrival, Neal has been speaking less and thinking more. After Aakir left, he has completely gone into a reckoning phase, speaking only when necessary.

  We are not completely silent, managing to exchange words on vague topics ranging from bland hospital food that I am forced to eat to banal topics like the weather. I do not know why I am feeling astonished to realize that we are somewhat acting inept. Such awkward stance is expected from me, but never from Neal. Eventually the distressing silence makes way towards even distressing thoughts concerning my father and grandfather. I end up imagining the various scenes in which the council must be pushing my family. I can only imagine Mikhail’s severe distaste up to a point.

  When evening rolls by, the lone human patient in the room is hurdled by a number of visitors. The nurse comes to check on us again, ordering the horde of visitors to step out of the room. She suggests getting fresh air in the gallery of this floor.The humans waste no time as they take their patient on the wheelchair towards the outside. I decline the offer when the nurse suggests the same to me. She does a general checkup and is gone.

  Neal immediately picks up the bag that was thrust under my bed. Without words, he starts taking out my clothes from the backpack. I straighten up, knowing our time to depart has arrived. I uncertainly dangle my legs as I sit sideways on the bed. Though it’s not much of dangling since my height is enough tall to make my feet touch the floor fully.

  “It’s not the time to daydream. Hurry up.” Neal’s voice attracts my attention. He is pulling the curtains full around my bed, to enclose the small tavern in privacy. I frown as he then stands beside the bed, expectantly looking at me and then at the clothes on the bed.

  “I’ll…I will change in the washroom.” I say, getting up to stand. My voice comes out uncertain and that automatically makes me berate myself mentally.

  Neal raises an eyebrow, almost challengingly, “Well…if you can change your clothes single handedly then by all means go ahead.” With that, he unceremoniously settles on the bed sideways, dangling his legs. The action would have made me smirk if not for his defiance.

  I falter, my eyes falling on my clothes. A t-shirt, jeans and a jacket. The hospital shirt that I am wearing is a button down, so I won’t face a problem in getting that off. Same goes for the pajamas. But wearing a t-shirt and jeans single handedly? Not to mention by being careful to not move my injured arm much.

  Shit.

  “Never pegged you for the shy type. Thought you’d be used to with changing clothes with guys around, considering you’re on the soccer team in
school. What’s getting your boxers in a bunch?”

  Neal’s tone is so antagonizing, so challenging, that I am in no doubt that he knows precisely why I am hesitating. But if Neal can keep his blushing at bay then so can I. It’s a distant dream, but hey, one can try, right? So, with my face probably going pink, I keep a casual façade and roll my eyes at Neal. I start unbuttoning the hospital shirt, keeping my gaze fixed on my clothes on the bed. I make sure that my facial features are completely schooled. I decide to not focus on the heat on my face.

  When I have to tug the shirt’s sleeve down my injured arm, Neal sighs and gets up. In silence, he motions for me to turn around. I comply and he starts unfastening the hooks of the straps of my sling. The ghosts of his fingers touch only fleetingly the portions of my naked skin but that is enough to make goosebumps rise on my skin. Try as I may, it is getting increasingly difficult to keep down the blush which is threateningly overpowering me. But I still keep calm, seeing as how Neal hardly seems affected.

  He mechanically turns me around and starts to remove the shirt through my injured arm with great concentration. In the meanwhile, I bask in the slight touches, refraining from smiling like