UnWholly (Unwind Dystology 2)

But she doesn’t do either of those things. “C’mon,” she says. “Let’s get you over to your bed so you can get some rest.”

He stands but puts too much weight on his knee and almost goes down. She holds him, giving him support, the way he once gave her support on the first day she walked. She helps him all the way to the bed, and when he flops onto it, her arm is looped around him in such a way that she’s pulled down onto the bed too.

“Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing for everything,” she tells him. “Save it for your more important screwups.”

Now they lie side by side on his bed, his aching back stinging even more pressed against the blanket. She could get up, but she doesn’t. Instead she rolls slightly toward him and brushes her fingers across a scrape on his chest, checking to see if it needs a bandage, then determining it doesn’t.

“You’re quite the freak, Camus Comprix. How I got used to that is a mystery to me. I did, though.”

“But you still wish I was never made, don’t you?”

“But you were, and you’re here, and I’m here with you.” Then she adds, “And I only hate you sometimes.”

“And other times?”

She leans toward him, thinks about it for a moment, then kisses him. It’s more than a peck, but only slightly more. “Other times, I don’t.” Then she rolls onto her back and stays there beside him.

“Don’t read too much into this, Cam,” she tells him. “I can’t be what you want.”

“There are lots of things I want,” he points out. “Who says I have to have all of them?”

“Because you’re Roberta’s spoiled little boy. You always get whatever your rewound heart desires.”

Cam sits up so he can look at her. “So unspoil me. Teach me to be patient. Teach me that there are some things worth waiting for.”

“And some things you might never have?”

He thinks about his answer, then says, “If that’s what you have to teach me, then that’s what I’ll have to learn—but what I want most is something I think I can have.”

“What might that be?”

He takes her hand and holds it. “This moment, right now, in a thousand different ways. If I can have that, then the rest won’t matter as much.”

She sits up and pulls her hand away from his, but only so she can brush it through his hair. She seems to be just looking at the wound on his scalp, but maybe not.

“If that’s really what you want most,” she says gently, “maybe you can have it. Maybe we both can.”

Cam smiles. “I’d like that very much.”

And for the first time since being wound, he feels tears welling in his eyes that he knows are truly his own.

Part Six

Fight or Flight

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