Page 121 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
“Selene—” His voice is hoarse, barely above a breath, but thick with panic.
She grips his uninjured hand tightly, heart hammering. “I’m here,” she says. “I’m right here, Dorian.”
His brow creases, his weak fingers clutching at hers as if anchoring himself. “How… how long?”
“Less than a day,” she tells him.
“You’ve been here… all this time?”
She raises her free hand to his temple, and brushes back his hair. “Well, where else was I going to be?” she says, trying to smile.
Dorian swallows. “Must be bad. It… it feels bad. Is it… am I going to…?”
Selene can’t answer that. She refuses to.
His throat bobs. His breath shudders. “I don’t… I don’t want to die. I don’t… I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to stop being me…”
“You’re not going to die,” she insists, even as the tears slip down her cheeks. “Soren is going to be back soon.”
Days,Ariella had said. It hasn’t even been one yet.
“My father died like this.”
Tears splash onto the sheets, indistinguishable from his sweat. “I know,” Selene whispers, the tears trailing down her cheeks.
“I had to watch,” he pants. “Did I ever tell you that?”
Selene has never given any thought to that, but she doesn’t need to imagine it, now. It’s playing out right in front of her. “I’m sorry.”
“I want… I want to stay here…”
“Stay, then.”
“I want to stay with you.”
Selene’s throat tightens. She curls his hair around his ear. “I want you to stay with me, too.”
She offers him more medicine and water. He takes both. She isn’t sure how much longer she’ll have with him like this, where her words will actually reach him. “Do you remember when I told you that you weren’t allowed to expire when I was mad at you?”
A weak smile ghosts his cheeks. “But you aren’t mad at me right now.”
“Oh, I am,” Selene insists. “I’m furious. Incensed, even.”
“You can lie better than that.”
Selene sits on the bed beside him. “Does it hurt when I touch you?” she asks.
He shakes his head. “It only hurts when you don’t.”
A sharp ache presses against her ribs. She exhales, a trembling breath, and shifts closer, letting her fingers trail softly down his arm. His skin is still burning, but he leans into her touch like it’s the only thing tethering him here.
She curls up beside him, pressing her forehead to his temple. Her hand seeks out his. “You’re a beautiful liar, Dorian Nightbloom.”
“I’m not… beautiful.”
“You are to me,” she tells him. “You are the most beautiful person I’ve ever known. And I know you, Dorian. I know you so well…”
Dorian hums, a sound more felt than heard. His breathing is uneven, but for the first time in hours, he seems to settle.
