She's so high
High above me, she's so lovely
She's so high
Cleopatra, Joan of Arc, or Aphrodite
She's so high
High above me
--from She's So High by Tal Bachman
"I've got the week off." Gabe had spoken quite suddenly; Micah looked up from the newspaper with a blink.
"What?"
"I said I've got the week off." She smiled, somewhat wearily, and stabbed at her scrambled eggs. "They just hired some new nurse and they're taking the week to break her in. Good thing, though. I've been nearly beaten to death by the work load." He blinked again, then offered a grin.
"Great! I haven't gotten to see you much lately." Gabe took her glass of orange juice and held it thoughtfully.
"Yeah," she said, watching the liquid slosh around in the glass. "I'll be looking forward to spending more time with you." Micah finished the article he was reading and lowered the newspaper.
"Perhaps," he began slowly, "we could put that time to good use?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Gabe giggled into her hand.
"You wish." She stuck her tongue out at him, spearing another forkful of egg. "Maybe. If you're good."
"What are you talking about?" Micah paused to take a sip of his milk. "I'm always good." Gabe rolled her eyes and reached for the paper.
"Are you done?" she asked, snapping her fingers impatiently. "Fork it over." He handed over the newspaper.
"Yeah. Not much to read about today." Micah waited as Gabe buried her nose in the paper. When she was lost behind the papery wall, he leaned over and snagged a few scrambled eggs off of her plate.
"Mm hm. And I can see you stealing my eggs, Micah." She looked at him over the newspaper and smirked. "Try that again and you'll find yourself missing a finger or two."
"You wouldn't do that," he said through a mouthful of eggs. "Besides, these are dry. I need some orange juice to wash it down." Micah shot a hand out to snatch Gabe's orange juice.
"Hey, don't you dare--" She put down the newspaper hurriedly. He snickered and pulled the glass away, but not before glancing at the paper spread on the table. And that was when he saw it. "Give me that," Gabe grumbled, plucking the glass of orange juice out of his hand. Micah didn't mind; he squinted at the article he'd just now noticed.
"What's that?" he asked slowly. Gabe set down her juice and frowned.
"What's what?" She scooted her chair over beside Micah to see what he was looking at. "What, an article?" He picked up the newspaper carefully and put a finger on the headline.
The Hemmingford Horror.
Gabe read it slowly to herself.
"What's this crap?" she muttered, but Micah pulled the newspaper away and leaned forward to read it.
The Hemmingford Horror
If you were to ask an employee of Central Hospital which patient sticks most clearly in their mind, they would most likely say 'Micah Balding', the 15 year old topic of discussion for the past three months. The boy had been found in a cornfield by some passing travelers, badly burned and legs mutilated. It only took a while for this roving reporter to dig up some dirt -- and I don't mean in the cornfield. Apparently, the nearby town -- Hemmingford -- had been completely cleared out. The adults, mostly -- this was proved by an in-depth study of Town Hall, which had been burned to the ground with most of Hemmingford's adult population inside. Hm, can we hear a little bit of Gatlin callin'? Though there has been no real evidence, it is my suspicion that our friend Micah was the victim of more than an ordinary farm accident.
Gabe shook his shoulder lightly.
"Don't do this to yourself, Micah," she said softly, but he kept reading.
And who could forget when Sarah Pruitt, the 54 year old nurse at Central, met her demise nearly three months ago? You bet, Micah was at the center of the disaster. Now we've just received word that one month after his release from the hospital, Micah and his companion, Gabrielle Sterling, encountered yet another attempt on his life. Jeremy Spencer -- who has been undergoing extensive therapy since the event of two months ago -- tells us that Micah was "possessed by a demon, just like I was." Apparently, he thought that to rid Micah of the demon, Jeremy had to "destroy the body and release the spirit." Oh, and by the way, his therapist says that he's been heavily medicated lately. Forget the Prozac, doc -- skip straight to the shock therapy.
"Please, Micah," she murmured. He kept reading.
All I've got to say is that the towns that preceded ours -- Gatlin and Hemmingford -- didn't fare so well. If this turns into some horror movie scenario, I'm not sticking around. Once the bodies start piling, I'm out of here.
Micah threw down the paper in disgust.
"Hemmingford Horror," he growled. Gabe rubbed his shoulder soothingly.
"It was an editorial," she said helpfully. He shook his head.
"I'm going to my room." Micah took the wheels in his hands and gave them a hard push.
"Micah," Gabe said quietly, but he kept heading down the hall.
"I don't feel well." He opened the door with a sharp twist of the knob. "I'll talk to you later, Gabe." There was a long period of silence before she spoke.
"I love you," she whispered. Micah paused.
"I love you too, Gabe." But there was a distinct waver in his voice, so he fell silent and closed the door behind him.
Micah wheeled the chair slowly towards his bed and set the brake.
(Hemmingford Horror.)
He put his head in his hands wearily.
(They made it sound like it was my fault.)
There was a quiet, shaky sigh -- it took him a moment to realize that the sound had come from his own mouth.
(Because it was your fault.)
Micah squeezed his eyes shut and let his head rest heavily in his hands.
(It was all your fault. Everything.)
"I didn't mean to," he mumbled in a trembling voice. "It was my fault, but I didn't mean to. I swear I didn't."
(Sure you didn't.)
He swallowed the painful lump in his throat.
"I didn't mean to," Micah whispered again, and surrendered to the tears.
When he finally stopped crying, Micah took a good fifteen minutes to recuperate. He knew his face would be puffy, so he wiped his eyes and waited for the redness to subside. The words of the article had stung harshly. The truth had been the worst part -- there was more there than he had anticipated. Micah gave his face one final rub with the back of his hand and wheeled out of his room.
"Gabe?" he called slowly, glancing around. It was unusually quiet. An hour or so had gone by; breakfast had been cleaned up, and the harsh morning light was fading into afternoon.
(Kind of unnerving. The quiet, I mean.)
"Gabe?" Micah pushed his wheelchair into the living room.
(What if she left...?)
He opened his mouth to try again when two hands from behind clamped over his eyes.
"Guess who?" breathed a voice in his ear, and it took his heart a moment to start beating again.
"God," Micah gasped, twisting to look at her. "Gabe, you scared the hell out of me!"
"I've been doing that rather well lately, haven't I?" She smiled at him and slipped her hands down to his shoulders. "You've been in your room for quite a while. You okay?"
"Yeah." He relaxed a little as she started tenderly kneading at his back. It seemed like a mechanical response by now. "I'll be fine." There was a pause.
"I heard you crying," Gabe said softly, working her thumbs in slow circles over his spine. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Mmn. Really, I'm fine." Micah glanced at her as she moved to see him better.
"All right." She dropped to a knee in front of his wheelchair and took his hand lightly. "I just don't want you crying over that moron's article. That's just one person's idea, Micah." Gabe leaned closer, letting her forehead rest against his. "One idiotic, incompetent person's idea."
"I know," he mumbled. She stared at him for a moment before a small smile curled her lips.
"Do you remember," she said slowly, "when you said we should put our time together to good use?" Micah tried to suppress a grin and was unsuccessful.
"Yeah." Gabe pushed his hair away from his forehead as her smile grew.
"Well... I'm certainly open to suggestions." Micah didn't wait; he pushed forward and kissed her hard. It made him feel better for one long, comfortable moment before Gabe pulled away gently. "Yeah," she said quietly, still grinning. "Yeah, I think that works."
(he called you the Hemmingford Horror)
"Gabe," he said softly, lowering his gaze.
(and she thinks you're anything but)
"Hm?" She frowned a little. She'd noticed the newly appearing tears in his eyes.
(and you don't deserve it)
"I think I'm going to cry again," Micah said in a small voice, still staring at the floor. "Could you wheel me back to my room?" There was a long, awkward pause. He felt a hot tear escape his eye and slip down his cheek, but didn't bother to wipe it away.
"No," Gabe said quietly. Micah blinked and looked up at her.
"What?" He was genuinely surprised; she had never denied him a request before.
"I'm not going to wheel you back to your room," she murmured, leaning closer still, "because if you go in there every time you want to cry, you're not going to feel any better. Because you'll be alone, and you can't heal yourself alone, Micah. As much as you may think you can retreat into your mind and lick your wounds, it's not going to work." Gabe paused, then ended the speech as she smoothed his hair gently. "I'll help in any way I can. Just don't turn away from me." Micah stared at her, the rush of tears suddenly deadened.
"All right," he said, defeated. He wiped the remaining tears away with the back of his hand, feeling oddly embarrassed. "Fine. I won't go into my room." Gabe took his hands gently in hers and pulled them away from his face. Blue eyes were once again upon him, and Micah felt as he always did: naked, transparent, seen through.
"Kiss me, Micah," she murmured quietly. He paused, then obeyed.
And he no longer felt the need to cry.
