Page 3 of Birds of a Feather

“That has to be so irritating. No wonder you scream into your pillow every night.”

A rosy blush crept across Gabby’s pale cheeks. She looked mortified that Lyla knew about the screaming.

“I’m sorry. I just…” Lyla felt a similar heat in her face. She was going to explain when she heard a nurse down the hall calling her name. She glanced at the IV bag. The drip was almost out. It wouldn’t be long before a nurse found her. While she knew they were okay with her walking alone, she wasn’t sure how they’d feel after finding out she’d perused through anotherpatient’s chart. Especially a patient who was maybe unable to protest her doing so.

“I have to go.” She gestured apologetically toward her IV bag. “I’m in room 102 down the hall. Feel free to stop by.”

Without a backward glance, Lyla rushed out of the room, pressing a cool palm to her burning cheek. She’d looked like such a crazy person. Feathers sticking out of her head aside, she’d talked to her IV bag in front of someone. A very cute someone. She wished she could’ve melted into the floor.

“Lyla,” Nurse Mya chided, gripping the full dextrose solution bag in her hand. “I’ve been looking all over for you.” Her high-pitched voice rang down the hallway. Her words suggested she might be upset with Lyla, but the smile on her face contradicted that. Mya could never be properly mad, even if she tried.

The IV stand rolled along, Lyla’s anchor and friend of sorts. Embarrassment grew as Lyla felt all eyes on her. She felt like a kid caught outside of class when she should’ve been studying. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” the nurse reassured her. A smile spread across her face. Lyla didn’t know how the nurse kept up such good spirits working in the rehab wing. “We just need to keep your sugar up.” The fluorescent lights glowed on Mya’s dark brown skin, bouncing off her round cheeks. She had a motherly face, bordering on angelic.

As a hummingbird shifter, sugar was important to Lyla’s diet. And the jerks who kept her locked in a cell didn’t give a damn about that. Lyla’s energy was almost back to normal, but it took a constant glucose drip to keep it that way for the moment. Part of Lyla couldn’t wait to be free of the IV bag, yet another part felt she would miss the constant company.It’s not a living, breathing being, she reminded herself. She fought the urge to apologize to the IV bag for the slight against it.

Lyla followed Mya back into her tiny room. “You going to the party this weekend?” Mya asked, pointing at a flyer on the wall for one of the parties Huggie Gibeault, the Campus Activities Coordinator, was hosting. The fisher shifter tried her best to keep the atmosphere light, allowing everyone a break from their hospital beds. Lyla heard some of the parties were for staff and cadets, too. A nice way to mingle. Getting to know some of the other survivors might not be such a bad idea, especially if Gabby was going… It would be an even better way to get to know her. If anyone needed a friend in this place, it was Gabby.

“I may,” Lyla responded as she reached her door. She shuffled her feet across the floor for fun before settling down into bed. Mya switched out the empty bag for the new one. The coolness of the liquid entered her veins. She wondered how she didn’t notice the sensation had stopped when the fluid ran out.

“Can I go to the computer lab tomorrow?” Lyla wanted to learn more about Gabby’s condition and her family wasn’t supposed to visit until next week. She had plenty of time on her hands. Plus maybe it would help Lyla to talk Gabby into going to Huggie’s party. Plus, maybe she could figure out a better way to talk with Gabby. Watching the torment of her trying to speak was excruciating. Lyla knew it wasn’t her fault, but she still felt bad watching Gabby’s frustration grow. If she could find a way to ease their communication, it might help her new friend to not want to scream into her pillow nightly. Lyla knew the sound wouldn’t bother her as much now that she knew what caused it—and didn’t have to fear it was just in her head. On the other hand—or wing—knowing it was Gabby, and knowing it was the sound of mental anguish, would break her heart. Lyla was determined to help her.

“We’ll see,” Mya said vaguely before leaving the room.

If she wasn’t allowed to wander off, the nurse would have given her an outright, “No.” Lyla’s excitement grew. It buzzed inher chest. At this rate, she wouldn’t sleep at all. It would give her time to think of a way to help Gabby. She thought back to Gabby’s messy hair. It was somehow beautiful, framing her pale face, contrasting with her blue eyes. Lyla shook her head. She couldn’t get ahead of herself. First, she’d find a way to lessen Gabby’s frustration when talking, and then they’d work on their possible friendship. See where that went. And the party? Who knew if Gabby would feel comfortable going? Or going with Lyla. Butterflies buzzed in Lyla’s stomach at the thought of asking her. Nope. One thing at a time. The computer lab was the priority.

For now, she’d have to sleep. “Good night.” She patted the IV bag and smiled at her pebble before rolling over. Tomorrow would be a long day. Before she drifted off to sleep, her mind wandered back to Gabby. She wondered what stories she’d tell after being able to talk again.

3

Though sleep was easier to find after the unexpected visitor left, Gabby’s dreams were filled with experiments gone wrong. Men with bird legs, women with swan necks and human bodies, people in shifter form who could talk. A jumbled mess of terrible memories formed a patchwork of nightmares. Ones she wished she could forget. The images faded upon waking, yet nibbled on her mind, ready to pop back in if anything in the surrounding environment reminded Gabby’s brain of her trauma. As Paige—the counselor who met with Gabby soon after she was rescued to evaluate her mental health—put it, PTSD was a normal reaction to not-normal events. Gabby had enough to beat herself up about. She tried to let go of feeling bad about having flashbacks and nightmares and being overly jumpy. Besides, she suspected almost everyone in the rehab wing had some symptoms of PTSD.

Gabby rubbed at the sleep in her eyes, dreading what the morning would bring. Today, she would visit with her father. At least one other person on the planet understood how frustrating it was to be unable to communicate well.

Though that stranger last night, Lyla, seemed to get it. And quickly. Gabby’s heart had melted when Lyla reassured her. Itwas an odd sensation and one Gabby chalked up to not having very many understanding friends around her. Though they weren’t together long, Gabby found Lyla easy to be around. She felt she could be herself around Lyla, which wasn’t something she was used to. At the hospital, some days it felt like only her progress—or lack thereof—was measured. That she, as a person, wasn’t seen. She was expected to perform and show what was getting easier when, most days, it felt like nothing was. But around Lyla, she’d felt no pressure.

“Are you ready?” Lynn, her cognitive therapist, popped her head into Gabby’s room. She gnawed on the pencil she kept with her, waiting for Gabby to respond. Gabby wondered if the beaver shifter needed wood to chew on at all times. She once heard a rumor that if beavers didn’t continuously chew on things, their teeth would keep growing until they couldn’t shut their mouths anymore. She wondered if that affliction affected Lynn’s human teeth. The thought brought forth an unpleasant mental image. She shook it out of her mind.

Gabby realized Lynn was staring at her, waiting for a response. She refocused, trying to think of the best response. A reply with a few words—or one word—would do. Lynn’s patient eyes softened as Gabby concentrated. She thought, “Yes.”

She wanted to say yes… but heard her mouth say, “No.” A puff of air blew from Gabby’s lips, though she tried not to look defeated. The corners of her mouth shifted in a failed attempt at smiling. So much for staying positive.

“Try singing it,” Lynn encouraged. She stuck the pencil behind her ear, pushing back her black hair.

Gabby’s eyebrows raised. It was a strange request. Something they hadn’t practiced before in session. She decided to go with the rhythm and notes of “Twinkle, Twinkle.”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes…” She put her hand up to her lips with a gasp, clamping them over her mouth.It worked! It actually worked!

She cocked her head sideways, staring at Lynn as a wide smile spread across her face, this one genuine. It warmed up her soul. Lynn’s, too, by the look on her face. Her slightly-longer-than-human central incisors jutted over her lower lip in a tooth-filled grin.

“Singing comes from a different part of the brain,” Lynn explained, tapping at the right side of her head. She pulled the pencil from behind her ear and started gnawing on it again. Gabby wondered what would happen if she hit the graphite at the center. Though the outside of the pencil was marred with teeth indents, it didn’t look like Lynn ever chewed through it. But who knew, maybe the shifter had a cupboard full of pencils in her office.

Gabby wanted to ask why Lynn didn’t lead with singing as a tool for speaking on day one, but figured she had her reasons. Plus, it might be too difficult to try to form that much of a question. Maybe Lynn hadn’t wanted Gabby to use it as a crutch and not put in the work of doing the exercises she assigned her. Though Gabby did enjoy her homework. It helped to pass the time. She always enjoyed school and handouts. She wanted to go to university one day—if she was ever able to figure out how to finance it. But that was a problem for another day. Right now, she had to focus on learning to speak and write properly again.

They passed a flyer boasting of a “fun time” plastered on the bulletin board. Gabby’d been pretending they didn’t exist. The thought of attempting to talk to others nauseated her. Daily she struggled to communicate. A break from it was rejuvenating. A party would be Hell.

Lynn chuckled as if reading her mind. “I have an idea.”

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