GROUNDED
My mind refused to wrap around the truth. I had freed Reth. The potential ramifications of that were overwhelming. I couldn't think about them right now--I couldn't think about anything right now. Lend got up from the ground.
I rushed over to him. “Are you okay? I'm so sorry. I screwed everything up. I screwed it all up.” I started crying again.
Lend wrapped me up in a hug. “You didn't. If it wasn't for you I'd be dead.”
I let my head rest against his shoulder. He was so warm; a wholesome, comforting warm, not like Reth's. I needed to be in someone's arms. We had gotten away, we were safe for now, and it hit me hard. The mixture of grief for Lish and relief that I had escaped and saved Lend was overwhelming.
After a few minutes Lend pulled back. “You're shaking. It's freezing out here.” He looked around. “I think I know where we are. Good call telling Reth to bring us to my home.” I was sure I hadn't made any good decisions with Reth, ever, but at least we had a chance now. Lend took my hand. “This way.”
I took a step and gasped. I had forgotten about my leg; the cut in my thigh from Lish's aquarium glass hurt now that all the adrenaline had worn off. I put my hand down, then looked at it in the fading light.
“What's that? Are you bleeding?”
“I cut my leg in--when Lish was--” Trying to hold back the tears, I stopped.
“Can you walk? It's not far.”
“I think so.”
Lend let go of my hand, putting his arm around my waist instead. We walked through the trees, the final remnants of day snuffing out and leaving the pale light of the full moon. After a few minutes, my leg stinging and throbbing, I saw lights through the trees.
“There it is!” He sounded excited and anxious. I wondered what kind of place Lend lived in. I always pictured something like the Center, filled with paranormals. When we got close enough to see I was shocked. It was a normal, beautiful two-story white house, complete with wraparound porch. I hadn't been inside a real house in eight years. Lend opened the door. “Dad? Dad!”
“Lend?” A man rushed down the stairs right by the front door. He was good-looking for an older guy, maybe in his late forties, with dark hair and dark eyes--obviously who Lend had patterned his favorite face from. “Where have you been?”
“I--It's a long story. She's hurt. Can you look at her leg?”
Lend's dad--he had a dad, and it filled me with a sense of almost bitterness--noticed me for the first time. “Of course, but you're going to tell me everything while I do. You are in deep, deep trouble.” Contradicting this statement, Lend's dad caught him up in a big hug, practically lifting him off the ground. Lend had to let go of me, and I felt uncomfortable watching their reunion. “Don't you ever scare me like that again.”
Lend laughed, a dry exhalation of air. “I don't plan on it. Her leg?”
His dad turned to me. “Where are you hurt?”
It was all too much, too strange. Lend in this setting, this welcoming, warm home, Lend with this completely normal man who was his dad. No glamour at all, nothing beneath his kind face. It felt like I had entered another world; I knew I didn't belong and that the Lend who lived here could never be mine.
“Is it that bad?” he asked, his face growing even more concerned as he looked at my expression.
I shook my head hastily. “No--I--my right thigh.”
“We've kind of been through a lot tonight,” Lend said gently.
His dad knelt on the wood floor next to my leg. “I'm just going to take a look, see how bad it is.” He pulled my leggings out, stretching the slit more. “Okay, not too bad. I'll go upstairs and get my kit. It needs to be cleaned and then I'll give you a couple of stitches, no big deal.” He smiled reassuringly at me. Then he gave Lend another stern look. “Get her some dry clothes, and be ready to explain everything.”
“Don't worry--he's done tons of stitches.” Lend smiled and followed his dad upstairs. I stood there in the entryway, feeling like an intruder until Lend came back. He handed me a bundle of clothes. “They're mine so they'll be a little bit big, but they should be okay.”
I frowned as I took them. “Why do you have clothes?” He could just make them with his various glamours, after all.