Glass: A why choose Cinderella retelling (Forbidden Fairytales)

My chest feels like it’s on fire. But as I cough, trying to clear the itching from my throat, my eyes open. The ceiling swims into view, white whirls of plaster that don’t look familiar.

Frowning, I twist my head to the side. I’m laying on a mattress. Kit is next to me, his breathing steady. And when I struggle up, I see Rafe. Stasi is curled up next to him, sleeping, her head on his chest. Ellen is asleep in the final bed.

And the memories return in a slow creep, my head foggy as hell. I don’t know how long I’ve been out. I reach slowly for my phone, but the battery is dead.

There’s a glass of water next to me, and I drink it down almost in one. It tastes a little stagnant.

“Kit,” I croak. His eyes slowly creak open, and I breathe a sigh of relief. “You hear me?”

Slowly, he nods. “Fuck.” His voice is a groan. “The hell was that?”

I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. And then they’ve reversed. And driven over me again.

But I drag myself to my feet, testing my balance. My head is clearing more with every moment, and I head over to check on Rafe. His pulse beats strong and steady beneath my fingers, and I close my eyes in relief before heading to check Ellen.

Both of them, still here. I stop next to Stasi, kneeling down and brushing hair away from her face. Her eyes are closed, but her breathing is quiet as she sleeps. I don’t wake her.

“She’s alright?” Kit asks drowsily.

I have no idea how long she’s been going without sleep. If she was the only one left… my chest tightens. “Yeah. I’m going to have a shower. Freshen up. I’ll be back.”

She took care of all of us.

I plug in my phone in the study before carefully heading to the bathroom, testing my balance. The last thing we need is for me to pass out in the damn shower. But it passes without incident, and I quickly dress before heading back to the study.

I stare down at the phone, counting backwards in my head to the morning we put the sitting room together.

Seventy-two hours, give or take.

Jesus.

I stop at the kitchen. The soup feels cold on the cooker when I brush my hand against it, so I opt for sandwiches, making a stack even though the bread feels slightly stale.

Better than nothing.

Kit is sitting up when I return, his face groggy. “How long?”

“We found Ellen three days ago. When did you go down?”

He squints. “Next morning, I think. Early.”

That makes it two days. I wonder when Rafe went down. Ellen is older, so it makes sense that she’s not roused yet. And if Rafe was last… maybe Stasi wasn’t on her own for long.

I pass Kit the plate of sandwiches and a bottle of water. He bites into one as I check on Rafe again. His eyes flicker. “Rafe?”

“Stasi.” He rasps her name, and I look down at her.

“She’s right here,” I say softly. “She’s asleep.”

He coughs, a grinding, horrible sound. “Everyone ok? Kit?”

Kit leans over, a sandwich in his mouth. “Here. Everyone’s fine.”

“Good,” he breathes. Coughs again. “That’s good. I was… outside.”

I frown. “When?”

“Passed out,” he whispers drowsily. “Orchard. Who… who brought me in?”

Kit and I stare at each other. And then we look down.

At the sleeping girl.

“Fucking hell,” Kit says softly. “You don’t think…,”

“You think she wouldn’t?” I murmur. He groans. “She absolutely would.”

It’s a fucking hell of a trek to make with an unconscious man. How the hell she managed it, I don’t know.

Rafe’s eyes open a little further, and he glances down, squeezing her fingers. “Stasi.”

She needs proper rest. So I lean down, my hand stroking against her arm. “Stasi?”

And then I stop. A foreboding steals into my chest, sealing up my lungs as I jump from her arm to her forehead, frantically feeling the familiar touch of fever beneath my fingers.

“Fucking hell.” My voice is shaking. “Stasi.”

She doesn’t respond. Her head lolls to the side when I tilt it.

Kit reaches past me to check, his hand trembling as he feels for himself. “But her breathing… her breathing is fine.”

I drop down, pressing my head against her chest. And my eyes close at the slow, almost silent rattle. “No, it’s fucking not.”

No. No. No.

It’s a chant inside my head as Kit and I lift her, lift her onto the mattress Kit’s only just left next to Rafe. Her head flops to the side.

How long has she been like this? Without water, without anyone to watch over her?

Kit is on her other side, Rafe struggling to pull himself up. “Silas.”

And his voice… it’s full of terror. I press my fingers to her pulse.

And my own stutters at the complete and utter lack of anything beneath my touch.

She’s dying in front of us.

“Compressions,” I choke out. “Thirty, then air.”

I lock my fists into position.

Push down, hard.

Again.

Again.

As I count, inside my head.

Don’t you leave me.

Don’t you dare.

Not when we’ve just found you again.

Not when we have so much more ahead of us.

Don’t you fucking dare leave me, Anastasia.

I stop, and Kit covers her mouth and nose, pushing the air into her lungs as her chest inflates. Rafe staggers next to us, dropping to his knees.

I check her pulse. “Again.”

I have so many plans for us.

For all of us.

A lifetime of memories to give you.

A lifetime to cherish you.

But I need you to live, Stasi.

Live.