The Mute Reporter

15- Present Day

Jensen Blackwell

Thank god for morphine.

As soon as Sam took me to the hospital, they started a line on me right away. The pain was so unbearable I was pretty much screaming in agony.

They took me in for an x-ray pretty quickly, and that was a painfully annoying process because the morphine was still kicking in.

Now I'm just trying to catch my breath, laying on my side, but not the one with my injured knee.

My eyes were closed as I tried to deal with the numbing pain inwardly. I pushed down the mental battle beginning in my head about my career.

I felt a soft hand grab mine, and I'm aware enough to understand that it's Sam.

I'm not sure if it's just my feelings or the drugs making me say what I do next, but a part of me wishes I held it in, and another part of me is glad I told him.

"You are such a good person Sam." I say softly, my eyes still closed. I'm tired, and also I don't want to know what he would say to that.

I hold his hand loosely, but his grip tightens when I say that.

I don't say anything else, just listening to the sounds of the ER in the back, my heart monitor beeping, and the faint noises of sam breathing.

The next time I open my eyes is when I hear someone walk in the room. I'm afraid Sam will pull his hand away, but he doesn't.

I see my doctor walk in with two black shiny photos and a clipboard with my file. He puts the black pictures on a board on the wall and turns on the light.

"Your ACL didn't heal properly. It's infected and we're going to need to go in on your knee again before it causes you any more issues." He points at my ligament on the dark paper, and sure enough, it looks inflamed and worse than before.

"How long is the recovery?" I ask, and same hand tightens around mine. He knows what I'm trying to ask.

"Not including PT, around 6-8 weeks. With PT, hard to say. Maybe another ten to twelve weeks."

That doesn't sound bad to a normal person, but to any major athlete that was not a good sign. I was trying to be ready to go back to LA for another season in about a month.

Now I for sure can't go back for at least another year, and my time was almost up as a player.

"We need to fix up your knee now Garrett-"

"Jensen! My name is Jensen!" I shout at the doctor.

He's not taken aback by my outburst at his use of the wrong name. I can also tell he understands who I am and that my career is walking on a thin fucking line right now.

I don't look at Sam. I can't look at Sam after the doctor called me that.

I can tell Sam is going to feel me about to pull my hand away, so he brings his other hand up and holds my one hand with both of his.

"Sorry. Jensen. But we already moved a person back on their surgery to fit you in asap. Do we have your consent to continue?" The doctor looks expectantly at me, and Sam squeezes my hand in reassurance.

It's not like I had a choice. I had to get this procedure. So I just nod, and the doctor hands me a paper to sign my legal consent on it.

A few nurses come in, and I feel defeated as the immediately begin prepping me.

I know I don't want it, but unfortunately I have to get it. I'm just being a pain in the ass right now.

A nurse comes over around me on the side Sam is on, and I begin to protest at her breaking our hands apart.

"Don't worry Mr. Blackwell. You'll see your boyfriend when you wake up." The nurse tells me calmly as she presses something into my iv.

I try and explain to her that Sam isn't my boyfriend, but then my eyes close before I can stop them, and I'm sucked into a dreamless sleep.

———

A rather annoying beeping slowly pulls me out of unconsciousness.

I'm really tired, but also really high? I think? I just feel floaty almost.

It's an effort to open my eyes, and my mouth is parched, my throat dry.

I begin to move to try and sit up, but that's when I feel something heavy weighing down on my lower chest.

I look down to see a head of platinum white hair resting there, one of his hands still in mine.

He's facing away from me, but I can tell he's asleep. His breathing is steady and slow, his body relaxed.

I slowly glance my eyes over to the clock mounted on the wall. I've been here all night, and it was barely reaching 7am.

I hate how slow hospital visits are. They fucking suck.

I begin to laugh, still loopy, and a cough rips at my chest instead.

Sam perks up almost right away, and he gets up to grab a cup of water.

He hands it to me, and I'm careful when I drink it. My mouth and throat instantly feel better though.

Sam sits down again, watching me drink the water. When I'm done, I begin laughing again.

Damn, how loopy does his stuff make me.

'What's so funny?' Sam eyes me carefully.

"The nurse called us boyfriends before I got knocked out." I say, and inwardly hit myself for using that as an excuse.

My brain wasn't working correctly at the moment.

Sam just smiles, and breathes out a sigh of relief, putting his head back on my chest.

I bring one of my hands up and my fingers lightly play with his blond hair. It's still just as soft as I remember it.

The familiar smell of his shampoo and conditioner hits my nose, and I practically moan out loud at how comforting it is. I'm glad I don't though, because that would be weird.

"Hey Sam." I whisper after a while, my fingers still lightly running through his hair.

He gives a very soft 'hm' sound.

"I'm really sorry. For everything."

That has Sam sitting up, and he stares at me curiously with those bright blue eyes of his. The color reminds me of a winter sky every single time without fail.

'You're loopy jensen.'

"I may be loopy, but I'm still sorry. I'll even tell you that when I'm not high on drugs."

Sam doesn't say anything to that, other than a soft nod.

He rests his head back in my chest.

"Mm really tired again..." I mumble, and Sam pats me once, as if to tell me to go back to sleep one more time.

Hopefully I won't be loopy when I wake up.