Montana and Natasha were inseparable. Until the day they weren't.
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Montana Belmonte-Rowe sees her acceptance into Harvard as a fresh start. Still haunted by the tragic death of...
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CHAPTER SIXTEEN
UNDER STORMY SKIES
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"BISHOP, COME ON," I insist, when he almost falls again. He's so white he seems to glow in the middle of the darkness, as night has already fallen and there are no lit up streetlights around us, and my stomach threatens to burst. "Come on. Let's sit down for a while until you're feeling better."
"It's freezing cold out here," he points out, in a low voice, but still allows me to help him sit down on a nearby wooden bench. He's shaking like weak branches in the middle of the hurricane, even when I take off my heavy coat to wrap it around him, and protests when I do it, as it's, in fact, a gelid evening, but I'll survive. Taking his hands in mine, I almost freeze, even though both of us are wearing gloves. "Montana, seriously, you can go on ahead."
"I'm not leaving you here." He shakes his head, with a blond strand of hair falling in front of his eyes, and sniffles. He's not crying—and I bet his tears would turn into snowflakes with this weather—but part of me wishes he was, as it would be something I'd know how to deal with instead of seeing him repeatedly fight off against colds and the flu and never really getting better. "Just tell me what to do. Please."
"I need my room." Bishop stands up with wobbly legs, pulling a clean paper tissue from his pocket, and covers his nose and mouth with it. I sigh, taking back my jacket when he hands it to me with his free hand, and get up from the cold bench, barely feeling my own legs. "Luke."
"Okay. Let's go back to your room, then."
With a tiny sigh, he lets me slide an arm around him again and the streetlights finally light up, covering the snow in yellow and orange hues and finally allowing us to see where we're going. We walk as slowly as an old couple, mostly because I want to be careful with where I place my feet, but also because I don't want to push him even harder.
It's not like my own steps are that much steadier than his, as saying I'm concerned is definitely an understatement, but I'm trying to stay as calm and collected as I possibly can to avoid worsening things. I've read plenty of stuff about stress and the effect it has on our bodies, knowing his immune system is slowly shutting down thanks to it, and anything I say about his current situation might make his cortisol levels spike once more.
