Iridescent

Chapter 17

Stasia

A few days of rest and bitter medicine brought the good back to my bones, and I was free from the weight of blankets and everyone's constant worry. The only time I found for myself was sleeping—other than that, I was tended to around the clock. It was like clockwork—waking to Nikolai in the mornings, Meredith shooing him out around mid-day as she and Mother came in to help me wash and bring food. Nikolai would return in the evening and eat dinner with me, and we exchanged words that didn't have the likes of marriage or proposals in them—so, it was enjoyable enough to graduate from toleration.

I appreciated everyone's presence, but the constant 'how are you feeling?' and 'Is there anything I can do for you?' made me feel as if I wanted to jump out of bed, despite the aches and pains my body had come to be familiar with and prove to them that I was not broken and merely dysfunctional for the time being.

And oh, how I hated being dysfunctional.

"Stasia," Meredith's voice cut into the room and I turned to see a ghostly look on her face, "Your Father wishes to see you."

I furrowed my eyebrows at her, retracing the words and wondering if I heard her correctly.

"Stasia," She spoke again, and from the anxious look on her face, I realized that the nightmarish words were real. For a moment, her gaze broke from mine and I was wondering how on earth I was going to get out of this one. "The longer you wait, the worse it will be."

But the real tempting thought was not to even go at all.

"This is a death sentence," I whispered to myself feeling every nerve in my body on edge.

She reached for me, shaking her head, trying to force some sort of smile as she spoke, "It's going to be fine."

I wish I could tell her how I knew it wasn't.

When I looked at her again, it was as if the look on my face slapped all of the hope out of hers. She kept a soft grip on my hands, as she eyed me, wondering, "What, Stasia?"

How did she not know?

"Tell me," She insisted, and I closed my eyes, wanting to just hide from the world all over again.

The only feeling of warmth came from Meredith's hands—hardened with callouses here and there. I held onto the softness that was left in them—wishing that I could just sit here and hold my tongue. It scared me to think what would happen when she would come to know.

The ticks of fear that tightened in my chest trapped my breath.

What if she did know?

Meredith was the bravest person I knew. The quiet kind—the kind that I aspired to be. The kind that came from the center of one's being—as if it were braided into their soul. I tried to wear her type of brave countless times, but it seemed that I was trying to fill shoes that didn't fit my feet.

And if she knew—if she knew about this and couldn't do anything—how on earth could I?

Did mother feel like this?

The feeling that stifled my body wasn't just scared. It was something that sieved life from me when the realization came. Dread. A deepened, darkened company in the chest—something that snaked around a throat and thrived in the silence of waiting. It leeched on every desperate nerve that ran inside the body—dug under the skin without so much of an invite.