50 shades freed

Chapter 23

Everything in it is entirely imaginary and intended only for entertainment; I created it for fun. I did not write 50 Shades freed or any of its characters, and I do not own them.

Chapter 23

There is only pain. My head, my chest . . . burning pain. My side, my arm. Pain. Pain and hushed words in the gloom. Where am I? Though I try, I cannot open my eyes. The whispered words become clearer . . . a beacon in the darkness.

"His ribs are bruised, Mr. Styles, and he has a hairline fracture to has skull, but his vital signs are stable and strong."

"Why is he still unconscious?"

"Mr. Tomlinson-Styles has had a major contusion to his head. But his brain activity is normal, and he has no cerebral swelling. He'll wake when he's ready. Just give him some time."

"And the baby?" The words are anguished, breathless.

"The baby's fine, Mr. Styles."

"Oh, thank God." The words are a litany . . . a prayer. "Oh, thank God."

Oh my. He's worried about the baby . . . the baby? . . . Little Blip. Of course. My Little Blip. I try in vain to move my hand to my belly. Nothing moves, nothing responds. "And the baby? . . . Oh, thank God." Little Blip is safe.

"And the baby? . . . Oh, thank God." He cares about the baby.

"And the baby? . . . Oh, thank God."

He wants the baby. Oh, thank God. I relax, and unconsciousness claims me once more, stealing me away from the pain.

Everything is heavy and aching: limbs, head, eyelids, nothing will move. My eyes and mouth are resolutely shut, unwilling to open, leaving me blind and mute and aching. As I surface from the fog, consciousness hovers, a seductive siren just out of reach. Sounds become voices.

"I'm not leaving him."

Harry! He's here . . . I will myself to wake—his voice is strained, an agonized whisper.

"Harry, you should sleep."

"No, Dad. I want to be here when he wakes up."

"I'll sit with him. It's the least I can do after he saved my daughter." Gemma!

"How's Gemma?"

"She's groggy . . . scared and angry. It'll be a few hours before the Rohypnol is completely out of her system."

"Christ."

"I know. I'm feeling seven kinds of foolish for relenting on her security. You warned me, but Gemma is so stubborn. If it wasn't for Lou here . . ."

"We all thought Hyde was out of the picture. And my crazy, stupid husband—Why didn't he tell me?" Harry's voice is full of anguish.

"Harry, calm down. Lou's a remarkable young man. He was incredibly brave."

"Brave and headstrong and stubborn and stupid." His voice cracks.

"Hey," Des murmurs, "don't be so hard on him, or yourself, son . . . I'd better get back to your mom. It's after three in the morning, Harry. You really should try to sleep." The fog closes in.

The fog lifts but I have no sense of time.

"If you don't take him across your knee, I sure as hell will. What the hell was he thinking?" 

"Trust me, Mark, I just might do that."

Dad! He's here. I fight the fog . . . fight . . . But I spiral down once more into oblivion. No . . .