Chapter Seven
Michael
Guilt weighs down on my heart. Han is pale. She is sweating and shivering at the same time as the poison works its way through her body. I don’t know what to do; fan her or offer her my shirt. So I sit by her side and wipe the perspiration off her forehead with a wadded up piece of fur. Her breaths are uneven. It’s obvious why they poisoned her; to keep us here. By why do they want us here? She is clasping my hand in an uneven-nightmarish sleep. Her eyes are squeezed tight shut, her eyebrows furrowed in worry. A tribal man walks in with a clay bowl full of green liquid.
“Heal-ing stew,” he explains. I gently shake Han’s shoulder and her eyes flick open. She eyes the man and the bowl, frightened.
“It’ll help, don’t worry,” I say reassuringly. The man puts the bowl up to her mouth and tilts it back so the liquid will flow easily into her mouth.
“Blank-et soon,” the tribal man promises and scurries off with the bowl.
“Mich,” Han says, trying to sound as strong as possible. Her voice shakes. “Am I going to die?” I look into her eyes and hesitate to answer. I don’t want to scare her, and I have no idea.
“No,” I squeeze her hand and wipe off a few more drops of sweat. “Just sleep, okay?” Han nods and manages a weak smile. Soon she is back in her nightmarish, shallow sleep. I slump against the wall. Not long after, Mbulala comes back and rests a blanket on Han’s pale body. She sets a bowl of broth beside me. I let Han’s hand go to eat. I am too ravenous to worry whether the food is poisoned or not. My stomach is full, for once. It feels weird. I fall asleep a few inches from Han. It is my fault she is sick. My fault.
****
“Mich,” it is Han’s voice. Raspy and dry. “W-water.” I blink open my eyes. It is dark. I call out for Mbulala. She comes with a coconut shell full of rain water. Han drinks eagerly, and hands the remains to me. I take a few sips and hand it back to her. She is confused, but finishes it off. Mbulala leaves with a smile.
“Mich,” Han says again. I expect her to ask something about her condition, and begin to think up lies. Instead, she says, “what was your family like before?”
“I had a mom, my dad died in a car crash, and a little sister,” I say, taken aback by the unexpected question.
“What were their names?” she asks eagerly.
“My mom was named Julie and my sister was named…” I glance at her nervously. “Sarah.” Her face contorts in shock.
“Sarah!? But you two look nothing alike!” she exclaims. I cannot help but laugh.
“Sar is adopted. After me, my mom got a hysterectomy, so she couldn’t have anymore kids. She wanted another girl in the house,” I explain with a grin. Han laughs, but a laugh turns to a cough. I pat her back as she breaks into a fit of coughs. I’m not sure exactly what to do.
“I’m tired,” she is weak once more. I pat the pile of blankets that has been her home for the past day. She lays down and faces the jagged stone wall of the carved-out cave. After roughly half an hour, she is still awake.
“I can’t sleep,” her voice shakes.
“Um…” I scan my brain for possible solutions. “What do you want me to do?”
“Hold me. Please,” Han pleas.
“Why…?” I ask. I immediately regret my words.
Just do what the sick person says, I think.
“When I couldn’t sleep, my dad and I would snuggle until I fell asleep,” she says regretfully.
“How, exactly?” I ask. I can see the outline of her shoulders go up and down in the darkness. I scoot closer to Han and wrap my arms around her waist. She stiffens for a moment, then relaxes. I feel her shaky breaths on my bare arm. I try not to hold on too tight.
“Thank you,” are the last words she says before she falls asleep.
Realistic Fiction
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