Worlds of Waves and Shadows

Fifty Nine

Deimos couldn't really recall what had transpired after he'd rushed to her side. Except for the fear. The raw, gripping terror. And pain. It raced through his body like bolts of molten electricity. But the thought of something happening to Kaenisa...it had him ready to run a mile because she needed him.

Or rather, he needed her.

He needed her to be okay, to open her eyes, and tell him she was okay. But instead, he was lying in a hospital bed, unable to do anything but stare at the ceiling and endure the withering agony he was in.

The General had paid him a visit once in the past week that Deimos had been here-confined to this ward with a constant drip of sedatives keeping him docile. His brain seemed trapped in the fog of confusion, and his senses were far from functional.

But that hadn't stopped his father from patronising him about his 'unruly behaviour'. In fact, Deimos was half convinced that it was the good graces of his father that were keeping him here. But with no way to change that, Deimos could do nothing but bide his time, which was harder than he'd expected.

He had nothing to do and no one who'd talk to him, except for the nurse who visited his ward every morning, asking the same questions with the most indifferent expression in her eyes and an even more monotonous voice. In fact, that's how he knew it was morning and that he had to somehow get through another hellish nightmare of a day.

So imagine the shock that ran through him when The Reaper, as he'd taken to calling the nurse that attended to him, entered his ward and said in the same, dead voice, "Get dressed. You're being discharged."

Deimos jolted up straight. A very foolish decision, really, because it sent his head spiralling, and the whole world around him turned hazy in an instant.

It was probably the most mundane thing for her, but for him, it was like finishing his sentence.

Deimos tried to regain his bearings while the nurse took him off the IV and the machines.

"You'll be good to go in about an hour." She instructed before leaving.

So, Deimos sat on the edge of the bed, head spinning with the thoughts of her tormenting him more than ever. Every minute brought him more anguish as the murky fog that the drugs had created in his mind dissipated.

Naturally, the first thing he did upon getting discharged was run straight to room 137, only to find himself barging in on a wide-eyed family.

His body had healed up well, but his mind was in shambles. Still a little unsteady on his feet, he stumbled to the reception desk, "The patient in Room no. 137—" He panted, "Kaenisa Mehta. Where is she?"

The receptionist looked him up and down before turning her judgmental stare towards the screen, "Let's see...she was discharged..." The lady paused, squinting, "Three days ago."

Deimos' heart skipped a beat.

"She's okay?"

"That is none of your business." A dictatingly cold voice answered,

He knew—almost instantly—whom it belonged to. Deimos schooled his face into carefree defiance before turning around to meet his father's golden-orange stare—fiery as the sun yet cold as ice—glaring at him with disdain.

Deimos had hoped that Cazek would be just as miserable as he was, but god, did he look like shit. Dark circles painted beneath his eyes and dishevelled hair...complete with an untamed stubble growing all over his chiselled jaw.

A not-so-small, smug part of him enjoyed seeing Cazek in that condition. If it hadn't been caused by Kaenisa's current condition, he would have revelled in his father's suffering.