Chapter 20 Aftermath
Her head hurt.
Gotta…lay off…the ambrosia. Not frakkin' worth…this.
She moaned and raised an unsteady hand to her head. It took several moments for the stickiness on her fingertips to register. Ok…a brawl? She couldn't remember picking a fight—or finishing one.
Blinking open her eyes, she quickly closed them again with another groan. Slow breaths.
Cold. How come I'm cold? She tried to move her left hand but met with resistance.
What the frak? She squinted through partially opened eyes as she lifted her head. A cuff around her left wrist was keeping it at her side. Her wavering gaze followed the chain to another arm, one with a tattoo that mirrored her own.
Memory slammed through her mind and she rolled partially away, vomiting violently. Dizzy and gasping, she fell back, eyes squeezed shut as the scene replayed; D'Anna's vindictive look as she turned on Sam, the flash of the blade, his warm blood on Kara's hands and belly. Each moment savaging her heart.
She passed out again.
When Kara next came to, the knowledge of what she would see was before her, no slow realization this time. Shivering now, she cautiously sat up and took stock. Her vision still had the inclination to blur, so yeah, a concussion…check. Cold because she wasn't wearing a top…double check. Her wandering gaze found the bloody sweatshirt laying a few feet away. It was more than she had in her to put it on while it was soaked with Sam's blood. Her own torso was smeared red. Some hers. Mostly Sam's.
Co-mingled like their last kiss.
Pulling her knees into her chest, she tried to hold it together. Sam wouldn't want her to fall apart. On that thought, she forced her reluctant gaze to the side where his corpse lay sprawled out beside her, his blue eyes closed forever. Biting back a sob, she studied his face. It looked so peaceful from this angle, like he'd just dozed off and would wake if she slapped him hard enough.
Her left hand stole towards his arm under its own volition. His skin was cold beneath her fingers as she touched his forearm just below where the tattoo began. Cold. Sam was cold. No number of shirts could warm him now.
Her eyes locked on the metal cuff circling his wrist and leading to hers. Why? Why had D'Anna left them chained together? She shut her eyes again. It hurt too much to think through the throbbing headache. Her throat was parched and the taste of bile still coated her tongue.
Craning her head she saw the corner spigot was only a few feet away. She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to draw forth enough energy and will to drag Sam's body the necessary distance to get to the faucet. By scooting backwards on her rear, Kara was able to pull his weight along until she was close enough.
Water splashed on her forehead dribbled pinkly onto the concrete and trailed off towards the drain.
Kara quenched her thirst, feeling slightly less queasy as the worst of the dizziness faded. She used her heel to snag and pull the shirt near, and did what she could to rinse it clean. It took awhile because she had to pause several times as her stomach threatened to heave again; she told herself it was because of the concussion, didn't have a thing to do watching the water redden with Sam's blood.
The shirt, wrung well but still damp, made a good compress after being wrapped, turban-style, around her throbbing head and Kara again pulled her knees into herself.
Exhaustion claimed her again, and she fell into it.