The Supposed Terrorist

Chapter 20

Whirr. Whirr. Whirr.

Black. The world colored itself in black.

Oh wait, my eyes were closed.

At impulse, I willed my body to move but it felt like it was being held down by tons of weight. And pain. There was pain involved.

I stopped trying.

Huh, maybe I will just go back for a nap.

".....the plea isn't going to be accepted..."

I forced one eyelid to open half a centimeter. Light burned in and I closed it almost immediately. Tarnation.

Every other decision hurt, so I decided to just do nothing about darkness.

"....I won't be there for a while...."

Was someone nearby?

"....Not sure..."

Oh, that voice.

Beep... Beep... Beep.

And that sounded like a heart rate monitor.

Hospital?

The smell hitting my nose did feel very hospitalish.

My body tingled, itched and stung at places I was too less conscious to point at. The thought of moving the thing sounded exhausting.

Beep... beep... beep.

A moment later, gathering will, I opened one eyelid again and forced my face to look at the side. Sunlight burned into the room with the open curtains and a blurry blob drummed feet on the ground, phone against ear.

Behind that man in loose gray trousers, on the round table lay a few bags and water bottles.

"...I can't give a rat's ass about him right now..."

A muscle in the back of my hand twitched. My vision flitted to my hand. Oh god, there was something plastered to it. It directly stung into my skin.

The thingammy had a name– what was it? Ah yes! Cannula.

"...Alright, yes. Yes."

The man put the device into the pocket of his trousers and sighing, slumped into the chair beside the table. His upper half was in my vision range now.

Artem downed about half of the bottle of water and placed it aside. His thumb losely scrolled on the tablet. His gaze casually flitted to me once and went back to the tablet.

He stiffened, and the scrolling stopped. The blue eyes snapped back to me.

I waved. Or atleast, tried to. It was as close to waving as you could get when your hand protested at parting ways with the mattress. "Hey."

Was that my voice? It sounded so thin and airy. It sounded barely like a voice.

In a blink, he was at the bedside, sitting on the cushioned stool. His gaze was fixed on my face, expression soft but unsure. "Y...you are awake."

I tried to prop myself against the back of the bed, but pain began to throb in my shoulder.

With one hand, Artem sank me back in the mattress. The touch was unbelievably tender– it was feather-light and careful. "Don't strain yourself."

His voice was low, soft and something in it made me want to reach out. Blasted injuries though, they never let a woman live their life!

"How... How long have I been out?" I asked warily.