Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 49998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
More importantly, Theo was out of the infirmary, and I was girding myself to talk to him.
He walked heavily, with each step bringing visible pain. I had never cracked one rib, let alone three, but I’d heard you’re in constant agony while they heal.
Theo’s jaw was wired the entire time he was in the infirmary, restricting him to liquids. He’d lost a lot of weight as a result, most of which was muscle weight. Before the attack, he was a tall, sturdy hunk. Now, he was emaciated and drawn. The stress of his travail left streaks of white in his sandy-blond locks.
I couldn’t help but feel guilty for his troubles, even if I weren’t entirely sure what my role was in precipitating them.
After class on Monday, I found Theo sitting on a bench in the courtyard. It was almost dusk. Even this late in March, the nights were bitter cold, and he was wrapped in a houndstooth topcoat that hung from his lanky frame. A black and red checked scarf wound around his neck, barely hiding the scars on his jawline where screws had gone through.
“Hey,” I squeaked, standing a few yards away.
Theo took a moment to acknowledge me. Even then, he just turned and waited for me to continue.
“Um, can I sit down?”
“I think you’re fine there,” he replied coldly.
“Okay … look…” I didn’t know quite what to say, so I went with the truth. “I was so scared for you. I'm happy you’re out of the infirmary.”
He sighed. “It feels like I’m still in there,” he grumbled. “I can’t move right. I can’t breathe without pain.”
“Do you know who did it?”
“What does it matter? There are plenty of people at the school who would like me dead. None of them are quitters. It’s only a matter of time before they try again, and they probably won’t fail with their next attempt.”
“Theo, I need you to know—”
“You should stay away from me,” he declared. “You and Gail—you could have been killed that night. If you’re close to me, you run the risk of becoming collateral damage.”
I stepped closer to him so I could lower my voice. Knowing that he didn’t want me to sit with him, I instead squatted next to the bench. Reflexively, he moved away from me. I needed him close for what I was about to say, so I took his arm and held him tight.
“That’s the thing, though, Theo. I don’t know if you were collateral damage. Gail and I have been talking. Both of us lost our parents before we came here. Both of us are here because of anonymous people paying our way. And the day after the ball, I heard Zephyr talking about how his dad paid for someone to come to Stormcloud. I mean, is that me? Or Gail? Or both of us? And if it is, then why were, we brought here? There are so many questions, and I can’t help but wonder if you might have been hurt because of me.”
From the moment I mentioned Zephyr, Theo couldn’t look at me. He stared intently at the mountains, but I knew he was listening. I could see the cogs turning, the almost imperceptible furrow that told me he was puzzling this through as well. I knew he was listening to me because in the weeks we had spent together before his attack, I had become fluent in reading his face. I gazed at it when he didn’t know I was watching him. I dreamed about it.
For all the seriousness in my questioning, I was still longingly studying that gentle but strong face. I wanted him back, close to me.
When I finished relaying everything I’d learned, I stopped talking. Theo took a moment to form his response. When he did, it was unambiguous.
“Biba,” he whispered, “I don’t care about any of this. I don’t want to speak to you ever again. Not after what you did.”
I was struck dumb. Even if I had a response for his recrimination, it would have been too late. With as much speed as his injuries would allow, Theo stood and walked back to the school.
I was left alone, on my knees, the sun setting behind me.
They call it l’esprit de l'escalier: the wish you make on the stairs.
The translation isn’t perfect, and there’s no equivalent in English. It means the words you wish you’d said at the moment but didn’t think of until you were on the stairs.
The esprit de l'escalier can stick with you all day. It sure did for me after Theo told me to go to hell and walked away. For about five minutes, I felt like shit. The rejection he dealt me cut like a knife.
That was when it hit me, what I should have said at the moment. Something along the lines of, “Listen up, Theodore Brant. You might not be breathing right now if my unworthy ass hadn’t shown up at exactly the right time to save you from certain death. So, I think you misspoke. What you meant to say was ‘thank you’ and ‘can I buy you a present?’”