Steal My Girl (One Last Time #2)

The First

Chapter Thirty Seven
The First |Day Four in Hospital|

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Only today do I realise a pair of sunglasses are sitting besides me on the table. The artificial lights shining on the glass, making one corner look tinted white.

I sigh, my head swirling as I rest it looking up at the ceiling. Bored, I turn on the television. Flipping through channels until I land on something appealing- a football match.

The commenters talk about the players, saying significant skills the player with the ball has. I run a hand through my hair, checking the time. 6:44pm, my watch says.

I sigh again closing my eyes. Relaxing my body only to tense it again when I hear the door open. Silent voices and padded footfalls to my bedside tell me it's not Greg or Scarlett.

I keep my eyes close. Hoping the comer comprehends I'm asleep and leaves.

Hopefully.

The person still stays, or at least I think so. The persons must be a fair distance away from me because I can't sense their presence anywhere near me.

I start to count down from five. Telling my self when I reach zero I'll 'wake up' and send the person away for interrupting my sleep. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

I pause at zero.

Negative one. Negative two. Negative three. Negative four. Negati-

"Afternoon sunshine."

My eyes flip open directly on his. Like my eyes were pinpointed to open directly into his. My breathing hitches and I dart my eyes to the football match. He's on the couch, the telly above him.

"How are you?" He asks. Wonders. Questions. Says in the most casual way.

Fine. Now can you get out? I would say. I'm tired.

"Have you checked your back?"

No because I've been in examinations all day. If anything, they've seen it. Not me.

"How is the cast?"

Uncomfortable.

"Are you bored? You don't seem the football type."

No shit. I'm drugged with boredom.

"Greg says you might leave in two days. According to your examination results yesterday."

Good for you. "Now can you leave?"

I gasp, holding my hands over my mouth. I can't believe I just let that slip. Shit.

"Bit rude today." He comments at my sudden outburst. "I was just creating small talk."

"Well stop it." I throw the blanket off my body, grasping my clothes bag next to the sunglasses. "Go away," I mutter lifting it up as I stand away from the bed.

"Can't."

"Why not?" But I pull up my hand stopping him from answer. I know the answer. The stupid answer he's going to say every time I ask why he's here: I promised you mum I'll look after you.

I walk to the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I trod to the sink, pulling up off my shirt and peeling the cast away from my back. I take off my trousers next, giving full exposure to my half-naked body to the cold air.

The stitches have created a patch of redness a few centimetres over the hem of my underwear, with white lines of the stitch fixed in all in one direction: horizontal. There aren't any textured bulges coming out of my back anymore. It's healed in just one day.