The Beat of a Battered Heart

Ashton- 9

"NO!" I shout, eyes flying open, sitting straight up in bed. It takes a moment to come awake, release the nightmare where John is carving Caroline's flesh with a butcher knife while she screams for me. My heart, hammering. My head, feeling like a bomb has detonated.

But my disorientation is short lived. Quickly, I am able to place myself in a hospital bed, dressed in a hospital gown, connected to IV hydration. My left eye and bottom lip are sore and swollen. I can feel steri-strips pulling on the rise of my left cheekbone. Both of my wrists and my right hand are swathed with gauze.

A nurse appears in the doorway in response to my shout.

"Dr. Wexler."

"Where's Caroline?"

"Your fiancee is in the ICU. She's medically stable."

"I need to see her." I am throwing my legs over the side of the bed, unscrewing my IV line from the site in my arm. She holds her hand up. I point at the urinary catheter I'm attached to.

"Pull this out, please," I say in a tone that is more a command than a request.

"Okay. We'll get you there. But hold on. Alright?"

When she returns, she uses a syringe to deflate the water balloon holding the catheter in my bladder and she pulls it out without hesitation. It is not painful, but definitely weird. She disposes of it and goes to find a wheelchair. I go into the bathroom and look into the mirror over the sink. I look like I've been in a bar fight. There's the requisite black eye and fat lip, stitches on my cheek and over my eyebrow. Under my gown, a dressing covering my left lower abdomen. When I peek, staples. I sigh. At least I look a hell of a lot better than the other guy.

My nurse is standing in my room behind a wheelchair when I emerge.

"How long have I been here?" I ask.

"Four days."

I do a double take.

"Four. Days?" I have never lost that kind of time in my life. Not even when I had my appendix out and had a reaction to the anesthesia. I point at my side.

"Surgery?"

"Yes. Your gunshot would wasn't serious. But you seem to-"

"- react poorly to anesthesia. Yes." I can only think one thing: "She's been alone for four days?"

"I don't know. I'm sorry. I don't work the unit. I'm sure family has-"

"No. There's only me. I'm all she has. Please, hurry." I slump into the chair. My poor sweetheart. Without further talk, she covers my lap with a blanket and takes me down a busy hall to the elevator. I've never had cause to be in Kansas University Medical Center before so I don't know my way around like I do in Olathe. It's disorienting. And huge. Frankly my head hurts too much to keep track.

Like most ICUs, the nurse- Anna- uses her badge to swipe and gain entrance. The familiar sounds of telemetry monitors and ventilators are noticeable. Anna confers with a nurse standing behind the central nurse's station. She points to her left and my belly bottoms out in anticipation. I am full of anxiety.

We round the corner and there, standing outside of a glassed in room, a familiar face. Relief washes over me.

"It's about bloody time you got yer arse up!" I get to my feet and embrace Jason, who frankly looks like shit. He holds tight, unafraid of showing emotion. "Scared the shite out of me, ya did," he whispers gruffly. We pull apart and he rubs his face unashamedly. My eyes leave him and seek out the one I love.

"How is she?" I can see her, lying in bed. She looks tiny and frail. Asleep. I am relieved she's not on any kind of life support. I am relieved about so many things. When Jason doesn't answer right away, I look past him to the doctor he was speaking with when I arrived. Jason shoves his fists in his pockets. My gut drops when he averts his eyes.