9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Samuel

The pain in my hips pulls me out of a dreamless sleep. There's no need for me to look around to know I'm not in my room. The bed under me is a clear reminder that I'm in the middle of nowhere, doing something I shouldn't. Maybe the pain I'm already suffering today is karma.

I'm like a turtle trying to get out of the bed, all slow movements, and stop-and-go when the pain is too much to handle.

Slowly, I walk to the bathroom, looking like a ninety-year-old instead of a fit and strong thirty-year-old. I guess that's what being thrown out of a window does to the body.

The hot water in the shower slowly helps my body wake and the pain subside, leaving the usual ache behind. Something I can live with.

When I'm dressed, I walk out to knock on the door next to mine and move my weight from one foot to the other, trying to avoid putting too much pressure on the damaged part of my body.

I need breakfast, and to sit down for a bit. Need to save energy for the long day ahead.

"Good morning," I say, when a very sleepy Rory opens the door. I muffle my laugh with a cough when I spot Rory's bed head.

"Morning," he replies, turning around to go back into the room, leaving the door open as an invitation for me to enter.

The bed is a mess, the covers are on the floor, and one of the pillows is deformed, as if someone spent the night punching it, strangling it, or hugging it close. I guess the latter to be true. With the impending encounter with a person who's alive because of his boyfriend, I bet memories are pulling at him.

"How are you?" we ask at the same time. I gesture for him to reply, and after a bit of hesitation, he goes ahead.

"I'm okay. I slept without dreams plaguing me." His surprise is kind of endearing, and the need to cuddle him is so strong, I have to push my hands in my pockets to avoid following through.

"How are you?" His look hinting at a truth for a truth.

"I'll be better after breakfast and sitting down for a bit. My body is not my friend in the morning."

His shoulders drop with my reply as if he was waiting for me to brush off his question, and happy he got a real answer instead.

"I need a shower before breakfast. Do you want to wait downstairs or here?"

His question is like a request for me to stay here, as if he's afraid to be alone. Or maybe he thinks I'll leave him behind.

"I'll wait here," I reply, surprising both of us. Maybe staying this close will help me understand why his presence is affecting me so much.

There's not much to do in the room, so I sit on the edge of the bed and avoid looking directly at the bathroom door, now completely closed.

The sound of water fills the room, even as I try my best to not listen to anything—I don't want a hard-on when he comes out.

That's an afterthought once he enters the room, because my cock takes milliseconds to fill, and asks to be released. A towel sits low on his hips, the expanse of his chest in plain view, and rivulets of water slowly slide across his pectorals, then down to his abs, until they stop to be absorbed by the towel. I lick my lips as if to savour them before they're gone.

My gaze goes up and I'm enamoured immediately with his wet, dishevelled hair, and his delicate jaw coming into view every time the towel moves while he dries it.

I stand up and walk to the window, to give him privacy—not to cover the impossible lust I'm experiencing right at this moment.

I can't touch him. He's a victim I need to help and protect. But still, what would it be like to caress his body, hear his moan of pleasure and watch his face as he comes while I push inside him over and over again?

I swipe my hand over my face, hoping it will help take away those dirty thoughts, and the images now stuck in my mind, on top of the sweat pouring out of my body at the mere thought of us in bed.

"I'm ready."

"Fuck!" I yell, when his voice washes over my ear and his warmth seeps through his clothes, making my skin warm for the first time since Adrian's death. The chill of that day never leaves me, even years later.

"Oops, sorry," Rory says, taking a step back.

"No, I'm sorry. I was lost in my thoughts." I pull out an apologetic smile. "Shouldn't you dry your hair?" I ask, while I watch my hand move to it, to check if it's as wet as it seems.

Only, Rory's doubtful look has me realising what I'm doing. I pull my hand back and walk around him, open the door, and step out of the room without a word. The smell outside, so different from Rory's scent, has me recovering my brain cells and blushing at the thought of what I just did.

When he comes out of the room, he doesn't comment on my strange behaviour, and I pretend not to be affected either.

"What's the plan?" Rory asks, when we're sitting at the table and waiting for our breakfast.

"Follow him, and if we get a chance we approach him, or have him approach us."

"Okay, I can do that," he says, trying to convince himself.

So cute.

Again? Stop this nonsense. The voice of reason shakes me back to reality.

"It'll be okay."

"Can you tell me more about the recipient?" It's a whisper, as if he's afraid to ask, or to receive a rejection.

"I'll tell you everything I know, but nothing we say here is to be shared outside." I wait for him to acknowledge what I've said before I continue. "Her name is Joanna. I won't tell you anything about her life that doesn't concern receiving John's organs." I look at Rory, waiting for him to nod or say something so I can continue.

"Of course."

"The doctors weren't sure of what she had, but the symptoms were misty vision, and eventually, the mist wouldn't clear and her vision became grey. She could see light and dark, but nothing more than that. By the time John's organs were available, she couldn't see from either eye."

"It must have been terrifying, losing her sight."

His concern for others, while trying to come to terms with his loss, is something I rarely witness in people. And something pulls at the strings of my heart, making me realise I'm still alive, that I didn't die when Adrian lost his life because of me.

"Joanna received a cornea from John."

"Can she see?" Awe is in Rory's tone, and his eyes look wet with tears.

"Yes, she can," I reply, and my voice is full of tenderness. "She now can see from both eyes, but only one comes from John."

What is he doing to me? His pain is in some ways getting to me.

I focus my attention back on the file and review it in my mind to check if there's anything else I need to share, but everything I could share without invading her privacy more than we already have, Rory knows.

"Let's finish here and grab some water. It's going to be a long day."