Bound by Honour

62

When I woke up, I felt like shit, my entire body ached.

I tried to sit up but could barely move a muscle. Something stopped my arms from moving. I looked down in fear. I squirmed, arms straining and I tried to buck my hips, anything to free myself from the soft, wide straps that held my wrists down. They weren't uncomfortable, but they were unyielding in the cushioned grips.

"Fuck."

Panic rose, taking air from my lungs, and I glanced around the too, eyes landing on a heart monitor that blipped rapidly in time with my pounding heart. I noticed an IV bag, the line snaking down to the needle in the back of my hand.

I wanted to pull it out, rip the cuffs off, I wanted to get out. I don't want to be here. I don't want to be here.

I twisted and thrashed, huffing in desperation but fighting the restraints was like wading through mud. It was suffocating. Once again, I became exhausted and collapsed on the pillows, out of breath. Tears pricked my ears, the room blurring.

"That's only going to exhaust you, Maisie." I was startled by the voice, craning my neck to see Chamce standing at the door, his arms crossed over his chest. "Those are there for your safety."

Somehow, his words didn't make me feel any better. He let his arms fall to his side, walking to my left side, where all the monitors were. He studied the monitor before looking down at me, sitting in the wooden chair.

"Are you done now?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

I glared at him. "Fuck you."

Chance closed his eyes, running a hand down his face. When he opened his eyes, he looked at me with a gentleness I hadn't seen in him before. 

"I'm not about to tell you how to deal with all of this," he said softly. "Grief is ... subjective. There is no right answer ...  but I know losing people we love ... hurts. It hurts and we do reckless and dangerous things to make it stop - to make the pain go away."

I stayed quiet. He turned, rolling over a cart full of supplies. He slipped on a pair of gloves, rooting around in the cart. He took a large package and tore it open. "I need to change your bandages. I'm going to lift your shirt." 

He pulled the sheet to my waist, before rolling the navy t-shirt just below my breasts. Slowly, he pulled the bandage off, my skin pulling with it. I gritted my teeth, the pain unbearable as it slithered through my chest and down my left side.

Chance shot an apologetic glance. "I'm sorry. How bad is the pain?" 

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the darkness to come back, to swallow me in nothingness."I'm fine."

"Mhmm. How bad is the pain, scale from one to ten?"

"A four," I lied.

He sighed and threw the gloves in the garbage by the sink. "I know you're lying."

"Fuck sakes, you're annoying - it's a nine."

"Now, was that so hard?" He smirked. "I'll grab you some pain meds then." He gestured to the monitors with his chin. "You've been out of it for about eight hours. Charlotte closed your wound back up, thirty-seven stitches. You have bruises covering almost every part of your body. A severe concussion."

"I don't care."

He nodded, straightening, eyes narrowed with irritation. "Charlotte and I are putting you on suicide watch."

"That is ridiculous!"

"No closed doors. No sharp objects. When these are off, no being alone."

"I'm not suicidal!"