Within/Without

chapter fifty.

Val

I don't sleep. Noah gingerly carries Simon back down to his bedroom, careful of the ribs that broke and the shoulder that dislocated during his last episode, and I stay there at Simon's bedside, holding his hand though he can't hold it back. I sit there and watch his face and I wait for him to wake up. I talk to him. I read to him. I sing him a terribly off-pitch version of "Hey Jude." Noah comes in and tells me I should go to sleep; he can watch Simon, for a while. I shake my head no, and when Noah gently takes my arm and tries to pull me away, I shove him off of me.

"I'm staying," I say. "He told me not to let him go so I'm staying right here till he wakes up."

Noah frowns at me. I turn back to face Simon, and a moment later I hear the bedroom door shut.

At some point I look up and notice the sun rising above the trees at the edge of the St. John property, the sky a gentle pink, then a fervent blue. The door opens again, this time with more force. Noah stands in the door frame, clothed in a fresh T-shirt and pair of sweatpants, his hair dark and wet like he just showered. I don't know how he does it. How can he remember to care for himself at a time like this? I can't even fathom it. So much of me feels...numb.

"Valerie Love," Noah says, narrowing his eyes at me. "You're coming downstairs and you're eating the breakfast Rose made for us."

"I—"

"Simon will be okay for half an hour," Noah insists, casting a glance at Simon's unconscious form. "I know my brother. He's a fighter."

He's a fighter.

I hope so.

"Val," Noah says. I look up at him wearily. "Please eat something. As soon as Larry gets back with the antidote, you know, everything will work itself out."

"We don't know that. Larry said it himself. We could still lose him."

"Maybe," Noah admits, leaning on the jamb, "but that doesn't mean you have to lose yourself, too. So, how goes it? There's eggs, pancakes, grits, whatever the hell you want. Rose's cooking is heavenly. Come along, princess. Your feast awaits."

I roll my eyes, but let him lead me from Simon's dark bedroom and down the stairs. The smell hits me as soon as we're in the foyer: maple syrup, sweet batter, freshly squeezed tangerine and grapefruit juices. Something still sizzles in the kitchen; Noah and I walk into the dining room and Mrs. St. John immediately looks up with a smile. "Oh, good job, Noah, you found her!"

Noah shrugs. "Not even Val is immune to my overwhelming magnetism."

Abbie scoffs and pokes at one of the tongs on her fork. "You mean your overwhelming arrogance?"

Noah softly flicks her on the temple, settling into the seat beside her and motioning me over. My mind isn't here, exactly. It's still back in Simon's room, eyeing the small furrow between his brow, monitoring the breath as it leaves his lips. It's saying silent prayers that whatever Larry's cure is, it works. It's wondering and wishing and watching. That is where my mind is.

It's not here, surrounded by Simon's family—his mother and father in front of me, his siblings beside me. Everyone, I realize, looks as world-weary as I feel. Mrs. St. John's thinning dirty-blond hair escapes from the bun tied at the base of her neck, hanging in a few loose, wiry strands around her fine-lined face. Mr. St. John's dark eyes seem airy and aloof, like he's not exactly on this plane. Abbie's face is dry and red, but her eyes are fierce, like she's trying hard to look like she's okay when, in fact, none of us are.

If anyone, Noah is the most okay of all of us, but even I notice the way he keeps scratching at his wrist, his gaze never staying in one spot for more than a few seconds.