Will We Talk?

47- Driven

I'd found myself for the third day in a row bed-bound and curled into myself, dirty dishes and clothes spread around the room from packing. This was just one of my many breaks I'd had that day, resting my ankle. You know- the injury I'd sustained three days ago and was just carrying on with. At first, I considered not taking any pain killers, but yesterday and today have been like hell. Why I put myself through physical pain, I'll never know, but here I am.

The ankle was inflamed and a little purple, it was a pain to walk on too- occasionally feeling slightly numb. Sometimes, I find myself shuffling across the floor on my hands and knees- that's how much agony I was in. No. I don't think I have walked, instead I've been hopping all over. Except for when Sam's here. I save myself for when I'm in his eyesight, mustering up all of the strength I have in my ankle to guide me around on foot.

Laying in bed all day was refreshing, but I felt dirty and like a tramp, so its a lose lose situation to be honest. Am I going to see a doctor? Well I'm trying not to. I find hospitals traumatising, so I'm trying to find every excuse not to go. This excuse being that I'm fine.

It had to have been around 2:30 pm when I heard the front door open and close, followed by the jangle of keys in the keyhole. So far, I'd been sick with pain three times today, and nothing had been consumed as I couldn't keep it down. Sam was bound to catch on soon, but not as soon as I was expecting him to figure everything out.

He appeared in the doorway, arms crossed and a stern look on his face, "Wanna tell is what's gan on then?" he demanded.

He looked like he was going to bite me.

I felt my face go pale and stomach drop, "What do you mean?" I'd been caught, "I thought you was meant to be at the studio late."

"Stop trying to put it off. I know what's up. Stand up." he ordered, his eyes dulling and becoming icy blue rather than a soft blue they usually are.

"Nar." I opposed, returning to my phone.

Then it was snatched from my hands and the duvet was whipped from my body, "Get up. Right now."

My heart was in my throat.

I slid my legs over the bed, ensuring my socks covered the foot before standing. Slowly, I stood, trying my best to hold back the strain I felt on the ankle. My face said it all though- the grimace being too much of an obvious sign.

"Walk."

I limped.

"Why you limping for?" he interrogated.

"Knee's being funny s'all." I falsely claimed, giving my knee a rub for extra effect.

"Why are you rubbing that one if you're limping on that foot?" Sam pointed out.

Fucks sakes.

I'd been outsmarted.

"Sit down and show me the foot." he tutted, picking at his lips.

I did as I was told, genuinely terrified of what was going on. The shot of pain reached my throat, "Pass us the bucket." I gargled.

He was quick on his feet, reaching for the bucket on my side of the bed and shoving it into my chest.

While I spewed my guts up, he was taking my sock off to see the damage.

"Fuck me, that's massive man. How'd you manage that? And why haven't you told anyone? And why are we still here? Howay, we're gannin to the RVI." he stuttered in a panicked expression.

"No." I cut him off, my fear of the hospital genuinely making me dizzy.

"What do you mean no?" he snapped, "You're ankle looks like that and you haven't thought about seeing someone? Talking to someone? Telling me?" he scoffed, scooping me up.

I rested in his arms, still, as I sobbed silently in pain and fear. I've not ever told anyone about this hospital thing I have going on- nor do I plan on telling anyone.

The spring air was no prevention for the agonising feeling in my foot, instead making the situation feel a little too real. I was dumped into the backseat of my car, my back resting against the door. Sam disappeared to the other side of the car, propping my leg up with some blankets from the boot.

"Keep that levitated." he ordered, rushing around- not making me any less stressed.

I was the designated driver out of the whole group, even in family situations, so being in the back of a car was a strange feeling. Trying my best to keep my eyes closed, it prevented me from getting travel sick as I tend to neb at all of my surroundings.

Sam looked so concentrated on the road, not once lifting his eyes from the road. His lip was being bitten to pieces, blood appearing around his mouth. One of his eyebrows was permanently lifted, probably out of spite for me. He was angry. Visible angry too.

"Stop biting on your lip." I recommended, opening my eyes and feeling disoriented.

"Pipe down." he snapped, tapping on the steering wheel.

So I piped down.

*****

My arms was slouched over Sam's shoulders as he guided me into the large building, my ankle absolutely throbbing. We made way to the A&E department, rushing as fast as I could carry myself.

I slumped into one of the chairs in the waiting room, placing my foot on Sam's knee, who's attention was solely on his phone. It was completely clear that he was in a mood with me, and rightly so. However, I was in distress and needed loads of comfort, but that was something I'd suffer the lack of.

This is karma's way of biting at my backside.