Devil's Desire [h.s.]

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

tw // panic attacks (okayyyyyyyy duplicity harry!) 

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Angela, my nurse, had been busying herself in some far corner of the house when I finally sought her out. She was more than happy to return me to my usual state but hesitated when I began to ask questions about what I could and couldn't do.

Much to his annoyance, Harry had been kicked out of the room for this discussion – something about patient confidentiality or whatnot – and, thankfully, for the actual removal of my catheter as well, something I was all-too-happy about. That, plus the fact that it was easier to berate a nurse into giving you the go-ahead to resume your daily life without the intrusive voice of your boyfriend trying to tell you to take her side.

"You only woke up hours ago," Angela tutted, helping me to pull my pants back up my legs. I shooed her away, annoyed. "Yes, your body is resilient, but you're also still human. It could take up to a couple of months for the wound itself to heal, let alone the rest of you which is still recovering from your... lengthy nap."

Lengthy nap. Seemed scientifically sound.

"I want to see you completely healed and healthy as much as yourself," Angela went on, ignoring my wince as she pulled the IV from my arm, thumbing pressure over the affected area while she spoke. "But that doesn't mean you can rush your recovery, alright? Don't be dumb and go run a marathon or something like that. Give yourself time. Spend it with your family–"

"I don't know how much of me my mother can take."

Angela rolled her eyes. "I wasn't talking about just your mother."

In a moment of overwhelming exasperation, I fell backward onto the mattress and heaved a heavy sigh. A few weeks ago, things seemed to be looking up. I had a wonderful relationship, the job of my dreams, and a gun-shot-less shoulder. And yes, maybe Harry's job had been a little on the weaker side when considering our future, but even then... it had seemed like something that could be overcome.

Now? Well, now there were a ton of variables in my life that I wasn't sure how to compute, I was stuck at my mother's house in the south of France, and thousands of miles away from that blissful, happy few moments I had convinced myself would last forever. The latter of which would have been my first mistake, though. Nothing lasts forever. Happy or otherwise.

"River," when I glanced up, Angela was standing by the doorway. She gave me a soft smile. "You're alright. You will be alright. I'll be back every few days to change your dressing." Briefly, she paused, as if she was going to continue before instead asking, "I'm going to let your boyfriend in now, okay? I can practically hear him breathing outside the door–"

"Yeah, 'cause your logic in keeping me out was bullshit."

The sound of Harry's voice through the wood made me smile, despite the heaviness in my chest. I nodded and directed my gaze back towards the ceiling. Harry quarreled momentarily with Angela once she finally allowed him to enter, but silence fell when the door shut softly behind her. When Harry's own footfalls faded, I wondered what the right thing to say was.

Thankfully, I didn't have to say anything. Because instead of making me speak, Harry just shoved off his shoes and came to lay on his back next to me. The bed dipped under his weight, and I found myself curling gently against his side. He slid an arm under my shoulders and rested his chin on the top of my head.

"No marathon running, huh?" he whispered, kissing my temple. "Guess I shouldn't have signed us up for three next week."

I laughed. "I'm going to tell Angela that you were in fact listening to the entire conversation through the door."