And, Love

Part 21

You blinked, groaned. The world was too bright. Everything was glaring. You squinted, focusing on your hands. Your skin pale, the band around your wrist offensively white, then bedding white. You blinked again. The halo faded. You looked around. Everything was white and grey and cold blue.

A hospital.

That made sense. You winced as you shifted, looking to your iv bag.

Meds must be wearing off.

The large wooden door leading to the room was propped open, lights glaring in from all around you. The tv was off, but you could hear other patients, noises, nurses, doctors. Everything seemed to echo in the hallways and end in your room. You glanced at the stupid hymn framed on the wall, superimposed over an image of caucasian Jesus.

You hissed in a breath. Your body ached, down to the bone. Hesitantly you pulled up your hospital gown. A huge bandage on your side. You frowned, attempting to pick at the tape holding the gauze in place. You swallowed a yelp as it pulled on your skin.

Nope. Lowered your flimsy garment.

Struggling you pushed up, your abdomen screaming. With a groan you tugged at the iv drip in your arm, bag over half empty. The nasal oxygen cannula made your head feel cold, your nostrils feet too dry. You blinked, leaving one eye shut as your head swam.

"M-" you cleared your throat, tried to summon spit to swallow. "Mikey?" Your voice still sounded crackly and weak.

Nothing.

Your head fell back against the pillow. You wanted to cry, heart sinking, stomach twisting. But you couldn't. You were too dried out. You knew he wouldn't be at a fucking hospital. But still.

Eyes closed, burning. You heard the shoes padding on the floor, nearing.

Recognized the perfume. You rolled your eyes inwardly. She hadn't changed scents in the last ten years.

"Ah." You didn't bother to look at the familiar voice. "You're awake."

You cleared your throat, wincing at the dry scratching. "April." You sounded like an old man.

"I step out for some food and you decide to wake up." You heard shuffling, the crack of styrofoam.

"How long?"

You heard her tsk, "Water first."

A straw pressed to your lower lip, you opened your mouth, clumsily taking the straw between your teeth and drinking.

It. Was. Heaven.

Greedily your eyes snapped open, fixated on the manicured hand holding the cup. You snatched it from her, drinking deeply, looking at April. Her hair short and curled, face devoid of make up. Still beautiful. Leg tossed over her knee, chin resting in her palm as she waited. Foot kicking lazily.

"Better?" Her elegant brow cocked as you handed the almost empty cup back.

"Much." You lay back down. "How long? What happened?"

She shrugged, lips pursed. "Mikey called, told me to meet him near the hospital at Little China. I rushed over and brought you in." She clicked her nails on the arm of the chair, leaning back. "It's been about two days."

"Two..." you sighed, hands falling limp.

"They performed emergency surgery. Bullet went clean through. No intra abdominal wounds." You narrowed your gaze on her, amazed by her memory. "They prescribed you dexamethasone for the pain, inflammation, and to prevent possible infection."

You inhaled. "Okay." Felt dread sink in. Insurance wasn't gunna cover this. "Nice to know you're as sharp as ever."

"It is my job." She dead panned, continuing. "You're free to go, barring complications and following a brief visit with physical therapy and an evaluation of ADLs, tomorrow afternoon."