Page 64 of Reverie
Except he hasn’t acknowledged me in the slightest.
“August,” I say with a low rasp. He rocks from side to side, the amused countenance on his face suddenly gone, big emotions visibly moving through his limbs.
“Is it all right if I hug you?” I fling my arms out wide to embrace him and barely choke down the involuntary hiss I let out at the dull pain the action causes. Kitty jumps up on my leg, whimpering but still trying his hardest to focus on the interaction.
“Off-duty,” I tell Kitty, and he drops to sit, still not leaving me.
“You are okay?” he asks me, and I nod.
“Yes, August. It’s just a little scratch.”
He takes a big step forward but stops short of touching me, rocking from side to side with even more energy.
“There was so much blood on your shirt and on my shirt. How can you be okay?” August says.
He grunts and begins to shake his hands as he paces in a large circle around the perimeter of the courtyard—one of his prominent stims for when he’s particularly distressed.
August. August first.
“It’s okay, August. I’m really okay. Can I look at you? Are you hurt anywhere?” I take unhurried steps over to him, lifting my good arm to signal that I want to get into his personal space.
He groans and starts to jump as he channels the tension in his body.
I’ve been so worried about August, and in the chaos of the last day, I’ve struggled to stay calm until I could get back to him. Checking on him while he slept helped soothe my wrecked nervous system, but still…it’s not the same as seeing him conscious and in the flesh.
August moves closer to me but takes a big step back, lifting his tablet in his hand to tap at the screen. One tear, then another,tracks down his cheeks, but it seems like he’s ignoring the fact that he’s crying.
“I thought that you were dead.” He clutches the tablet to his chest and makes another circuit. I don’t wait for him to stop before speaking again.
“I’m just fine, August. I promise. I can’t imagine how scary this whole situation has been for you,” I say.
He sniffles and vocalizes, but his tears don’t stop.
“I thought I was watching you die,” he says. It hits me then: August had to watch his mother die, helpless to save her or get help. And now he’s had to relive that fear again with me.
“Oh, August,” I say, joining him with my tears. “Could I—do you feel comfortable with me hugging you? Because I’d really like to hold you, Augs, even if just for a second.” I don’t raise my arms out in expectation. I want him to be in control of any embrace he decides to give me.
“I will not hurt you?” he asks, finally standing in one spot, even though his muscles tremble as he clutches the iPad to his chest.
I shake my head. “No. Not at all, kid.”
So I exhale hard when he launches himself into my chest. I wrap my uninjured limb around him as he sobs.
I whisper unintelligible things to him—words of comfort and words from my heart. But there is one phrase I repeat over and over.
“I love you, August. You’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me.” I rock back and forth with him, giving him the energy I’m sure he needs to feel grounded in this moment.
His ear presses to my chest, and I can’t help but think he’s listening to my heartbeat. I allow August to decide when we should end the embrace, and he hugs me for a solid five minutes.
When we separate, he begins to type with deliberate keystrokes, “I love you too, Winter.” Then he asks, “Is the fetus okay?”
I roll my lips inward because the way he refers to his new brother or sister makes me want to giggle. But he’s so serious, I wouldn’t offend him with my laughter.
“Right as rain,” I say. He straightens and gives me a confused look.
“What does that mean? Those words do not make any sense.”
I shake my head and bite my lip. “Sorry, Augs. The baby is well.”