4

The Mortal

“What are you doing?” I can’t put out the quiver in my voice. My heart was already beating too fast for it to be healthy. Only in the lamplight did his looming figure look taller than I remember, and his eyes were dark as coal. I swallowed. I felt someone touching me before I woke up—the thought made me shiver.

“Edward,”

His dark gaze looked ravenous. My breath hitched.

“Hm.” He stepped forward, and I shrank back on the couch. He swayed. I straightened as his eyes blinked and turned hooded. My hands stretched out without thinking, and he fell. An involuntary gasp left me when I felt the press and weight of his whole body on me. He stirred, and his lips brushed the side of my neck. My breath hitched. My arms stretched out, unsure what to do.

“Edward!”

The only answer I received was his hot breath brushing against my skin, and it suddenly felt oversensitive. After snapping myself out of the shock, unable to wrap my mind around the fact that he had fainted—but it seemed to be true—

I touched his shoulders tentatively, trying to push him. My muscles strained under the effort, ignoring my pounding heart and the heat rushing through my veins when he slumped back into me as I lost my balance. I lost my breath halfway through an inhale. My hands came to his back, and I felt the strained, tight muscles beneath. My cheeks flamed, with exertion and something else. I was too mortified to think. I pushed again and managed to make him stand, leaning into my side with his arm over my neck and my arm around his waist.

I felt his breath change on my neck. “Mira,” he whispered. I swallowed as a shiver went down my spine. This was wrong. What am I doing? How can I have these reactions? I shook my head.

“Lean on me, I will help you get to bed,” I said, just for the sake of it. “What were you doing out of bed anyway?” I asked, again for no reason, and I received no reply. As I labored to get him to the bed, I pushed him flat as gently as I could. I watched with a soft sigh of relief as his eyes closed. He seemed to have strained himself. I will just tuck him in and alert the nurse, just in case. I pulled the blanket over him, tucking the ends around him.

The hair at the back of my neck rose, and I lifted my eyes from where my hand was to his eyes—dark like coal and bottomless. I opened my mouth to say—

“Ah!” A sharp jolt ran through me when his hand shot up and grabbed the back of my neck, snatching me so close that I felt his breath on my lips.

“What are you—” I started furiously but gulped it down when his hand squeezed gently. My breath shattered, and wide-eyed, I looked at him.

“Mira,” he said again, and I could feel my name being caressed on his tongue.

“Edward, I will shout—let go of me,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm, urging my heart to slow down. He caressed the side of my neck with his thumb and only pulled me closer. His lips brushed my cheek, and my stomach clenched at the reaction.

“Are you scared?” he said in a low, deep voice I felt under my skin. I bit my lip.

“No,” I said. The truth of my words only made me close my eyes. How could this be? I thought, but the pressure on the back of my neck was demanding but not threatening. I felt the heat pull low in my belly. “Let go,” I sounded breathless.

“Hmm, interesting,” he murmured, and his lips brushed the corner of mine. I felt goosebumps all over me as desire and shock tangled inside. The moment broke when the dimmed glare of my engagement ring came into view. I jolted away from his hold, and his hand slipped off. I took a few gasping breaths, my vision oddly blurry before I could focus, and Edward’s eyes were closed once again. He seemed sound asleep, like nothing happened.

I stumbled back, feeling a little dizzy. What was that?

—-----------------------

I went out and got an ill-advised coffee as I wandered through the hospital canteen. My mind was racing so fast that the thoughts blurred into each other. After pacing the length of the hallway, I found a seat and slumped into it. I might be in the opposite wing from his room. I took the last sip of my coffee and put the plastic cup aside. Was this violent behavior? Should I tell the doctors? This has to be something that needs to be reported.

But when I thought of it, my instincts revolted at the idea. This was different. I don’t know how, but it was.

Half-awake and running on caffeine, with all these thoughts going in different directions, I only succeeded in developing a headache. Exhaustion must have won at some point, because I was opening my eyes in Edward’s room, my heart leaping at the realization. How did I get here? I looked to the side. Edward’s eyes were on me, lighter green than I remembered from last night. They were so dark then—was it all a dream?

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, back in a hospital gown. I frowned and sat up straighter. He looked more like when he first woke up—stoic and emotionless.

“Last night…” I began, and something flickered in his eyes, but the door opened and my head turned. Mom. I sighed.

“Sweetie, you are awake,”

I licked my lips, only just realizing how dry they were.

“Here, have some breakfast.” Mom handed me a sandwich and a plastic sipper with soy milk. “Edward told me you had coffee last night. This must be better.”

He told her…

My hand trembled, and I tried not to show it. It was real, not some fever dream. A ringing filled my ears as I watched Mom sit beside Edward, explaining the tests they were going to do today. If everything turned out fine, he would be free to go home after another day of observation.

Mom’s voice seemed far away as I drowned in my thoughts. He must have carried me here—I remembered being halfway outside the canteen. A shiver ran down my spine, and I was keenly aware—it was not fear. A sense of shame stabbed me. Whatever this is, I need to create boundaries. I took a slow breath and ate my sandwich, partially lost in thought.

—----------

I was surprised and relieved when Mom asked the doctors about his expressionless behavior and non-talkative personality, how different he was from what we were used to.

“We perceive our life through memories. It is natural to see some difference in the patient’s personality. As for his non-reactive behavior, he went through a traumatic experience and doesn’t remember anything. To him, everything is new, even his own name. It will take time for him to adjust,” the doctor answered. I listened silently beside her.

“We had his initial evaluation with our therapist, but you might want to review her treatment plan and make Mr. Harrington aware of it so he can proceed fully informed,” the doctor added. It would also help if Mom met with the therapist to understand how to adjust to the change in dynamics.

It all made sense when the doctor said it like that, but my instincts were not convinced. Last night was crystal clear in my mind now. I second-guessed my decision not to tell them, but what would I even say? What would Mom feel? What is this man thinking?

I waited for my mother to go to the canteen. She insisted I should go home and rest, and the idea was tempting—but I needed to talk to him before I left.

I took a deep breath, steadied myself, and opened the door. He was sitting casually on the hospital bed, no IV attached. The doctors were sure he didn’t need supervision anymore. He was back in his casual clothes, his hair falling over his forehead, his eyes closed. He looked— I exhaled. I can’t think like that.

The difference in his physique now and before was stark. Did anyone notice, or was I imagining it? Did he start working out more after last Christmas? I shook my head and stepped inside. As the door clicked shut, he opened his eyes, a slow, lazy smile stretching across his lips.

Suddenly, the air felt too thin in the room again, but I didn’t let that stop me.

“Do you remember what you did last night?” I asked, not breaking eye contact.

“I do.” He nodded.

My breath hitched. How could he admit it so easily? Didn’t he realize how wrong it was?

“I am your stepdaughter. What was the meaning of that?” I fought to keep my voice down, reminding myself we were in a hospital. I walked briskly to the side of his bed, searching his eyes. What was he thinking?

“So I am told. And as for your question—you are betrothed, as I understand.” His gaze dropped and then lifted to meet mine, making my blood boil and my heartbeat turn erratic. “Do you not know what it meant last night?”

I gasped, speechless at what he was implying.

“Who are you?” The question left me before I could think.

He smirked. It was cold, devoid of emotion. A shiver ran through my spine, this time from fear. 

“What do you mean? Little Bird. I am your mother’s husband,”

My vision distorted for a second, as I gathered my thoughts. The air thinned in the room. Mom, if she saw him like this, if she heard him like this. 

“I don’t know what is going on with you,” I swallowed. “But you have to be careful around mom, you don’t remember what you two were like and this would…”

“This would hurt her,” I pleaded. I search in his dark green gaze, a resemblance of understanding. 

“What will I get in return?” he asked slyly.