Page 104 of Degradation
She doesn’t reply. She just buries her face in the pillow, and I know that muffled noise is the sound of her sobs.
I get on the bed, grab her in my arms and hold her so tightly.
“I can’t get wa-warm.” She stammers.
She’s shaking so violently. Too violently. I know this isn’t right. I know whatever this is, it’s not going to go on its own.
She looks so pale, she looks almost blue.
“Paitlyn?” I whisper.
She doesn’t respond now, she just lays there, like simply existing is too painful for her to manage.
I’m not letting her die. I won’t let her.
I force myself up, force myself from the bed, and I storm through the Palace. If I bump into Gunther right now, he’ll absolutely question why I’m not at my post and I think I might just gut him the way I planned to gut his friend.
I make it down to the infirmary. The doctors are occupied and one of the nurses tries to ask me what I’m doing here and what I want.
I shove her out of the way, using my hand over her face to ensure she gets the message. She yelps as she falls to her arse, but I don’t give a fuck. Not about her, not about any of these people. If any of them try to stop me, if any of them get in my way right now, I’ll happily pull my weapon and start firing.
I kick the door to the storeroom open. The medicines are all piled up on neat little shelves. All alphabetically which is helpful.
But meds won’t fix this. There’s no magic pill to cure what Paitlyn has. I know the signs. I’ve seen enough people die of this to know exactly what’s wrong.
I grab at the bags of fluid, at a giving set too and all the other bits I need. On my way out, my eyes land on a box and I grab that for good measure.
As I walk back onto the ward there’s a crowd of them, two doctors, a handful of nurses, all waiting for me. Creating a human barrier between me and the exit.
Are they missing their friends? Have they put it together where they went the other day, why they didn’t just return afterwards?
“Excuse me.” The most senior of them says. “You can’t just help yourself…”
I draw my body up, towering over them all. “You gonna stop me?” I growl.
They exchange looks, nervous noises too and that tells me all I need to know.
“Get the fuck out of my way.” I snap as I barge through them.
They land in a heap of limbs, but I don’t stop to even look at them. I just keep on, rushing through Palace, rushing up the stairway until I get to her.
She hasn’t moved. She hasn’t moved an inch, and I can also see that she’s no longer trembling.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
I toss the items onto the rug, scooping her up in my arms.
“Don’t you dare fucking die.” I snarl.
She’s limp, she’s barely moving, and I can hear her breath is sounding more rattled than ever.
I carry her over to where the fireplace is. I lay her down, getting the stuff I stole from the infirmary and my fingers fumble as I try to set it all up. I know I’m running out of time, that any minute now her body is going to give up. She is going to give up.
“Come on,” I hiss, not to her, but to me.
I’ve never felt helpless like this before. I’ve never felt useless. With the size I am, defeat is such an unlikely outcome that for most battles, I know I can fight my way out of it. But how can you fight death?
The syringe pierces the soft skin in her arm. She doesn’t even react, doesn’t even hiss as I slide it further into the vein. The packaging for the giving set is a bitch to open and I end up tearing it apart with my teeth. I connect the ends, holding the fluid high enough that gravity should help, but I’m squeezing it all the same, squeezing it so hard.
