Wolf Heart

Chapter 43

JAMES

Click.

Click.

Click.

Images danced across the I-Screen and moved with the speed of light. Stuck in his own dark piece of space, warmth came back with a vengeance and washed the freezing cold. Anger made him feel strong — back in control.

Unable to control anything.

Click. Click. Click.

Nothing on the screen jolted him back into autumn though he tried to crawl to the world with its frozen moments. It whispered through the past whirs of a datacam. James sunk into his pillows with his thumb against the remote's channel dial for something to feel. Something to distract him from the ember filled flames. He lifted his head from the remote when pastel colours bloomed throughout the bedroom.

Pastel...

Full of soft, painted delicacy, untouched by flames. James sat up to process what played on the screen. His ears buzzed to block the seconds while Rayan reminded him of the fragile balance. He dragged through the white noise and blank colours filled his world.

Blank and pointless.

Dull throbs bounced across his heart, but he focused on the pastel, the balance.

When did I put on a rom-com?

He pursed his lips at the cheesy images of pining love — irony. He leaned his neck into the pillows and white noise filled his head. Colours, a gentle white flowing through the world reminded him of Rayan's words.

Click. Click. Click.

News reports seared into him, and he switched back to the pastel with a fumbled hand. He rubbed his brow to wipe the heat across his eyes. Orange hues slipped through the window shutters, and he sighed, onto his stomach to ignore everything again. Into darkness, he dared to breathe and swallow the warm air. Smoke tangled from a cigar, muted and dulled.

Lead weighed him against the bed. Bark curled and cracked when he tried to find sleep. Wishful ideation overwhelmed his thoughts and burned the pastel into nothing. He huffed when a twinge of pain coursed through his lungs, but footsteps broke him from his train of freedom.

"James?" Mrs Falae asked. "It's time for your medicine."

Time meant nothing.

Mrs. Falae stood at the door with a plate of food in her hands, along with the same golden capsule. James turned over onto his back when she set the platter onto the food holder which slipped out of the bedside. "Does it still hurt to breathe?"

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

James held his breath, but released it into a heavy exhale. Hand on his chest, he longed to rip out the embers stuck to his lungs.

"A little," he admitted.

It was hard, painful, but his answer caused Mrs. Falae to drip his dose into a cup.

It never mattered.

He sipped at it. Syrup slicked down his throat and stirred ice into the heat. Mrs. Falae nodded at the assorted meat and vegetable platter, and he poked at it with his fork. He pulled it into his lap, and chewed on it, where old ash tainted everything.

"Would you like to go outside for a few minutes?"

"It's too hot," he mumbled and ate.

"It's not too hot right now," Mrs Falae pointed out with a frown. "You need fresh air, James. You haven't left the house since you got here. I won't force you, but I think it'd be good for you."