The Expansion of the Universe

Sixty | "Leave it to you, my Liza."

At first, Liza was unable to stay awake for longer than fifteen to twenty minutes at a time. Her body just felt so very weighed down and fatigued, which she considered odd, seeing as how she'd been doing nothing but sleeping since Carson Pierce and his pal Rod Hubbard had paid her a visit.

One of the nurses explained that her exhaustion was not surprising, since she had lost what little muscle mass she'd had during her time unconscious and immobile—additionally, the trauma to her body had, apparently, been significant.

So significant, Liza had been informed, that she'd been in a medically induced coma for just over three and a half weeks, and then a more self-induced slumber for nearly an additional month.

God. It was hard to grasp that so much time had slipped by, during which she'd been drifting in blissful unconsciousness while those dearest to her worried themselves endlessly over her condition.

According to one of her many doctors, she'd suffered: a ruptured eardrum; a fractured skull accompanied by brain swelling; a dislocated shoulder and torn rotator cuff; several torn ligaments in both her knees and lower legs thanks to that damned door; a fracture in her lower jaw from where she'd hit her chin; a broken nose; and too many cuts and bruises to really count.

In other words, she was lucky to be alive, and she hoped there was a special place in Hell for Carson Pierce and his ugly, giant best friend.

Physical damage aside (most of which had healed in the time she'd been asleep), Liza was doing all right mentally. This was mainly due to the fact that she was being pumped full of anti-anxiety medication. Normally, she avoided the meds because of the wooziness they caused her, but even she recognized that she couldn't leave the hospital until she was medically cleared, and it wouldn't help her recovery if she was suffering from flashbacks and panic attacks every five minutes.

Even with the medication, her desire to get the hell out of the hospital as soon as possible was strong. It wasn't even the memories from her previous experiences that drove her ambition; if anything, she was simply craving what Elijah had promised her sleeping from—the comfort and sanctity of their little universe, just her, Milo, and Elijah.

Dear, loving Elijah, who had hardly left her side since she'd opened her eyes. When he had called her mom and shared the good news, Mom had arrived within thirty minutes, an eager Milo leading her into the room. But when the older woman had told Elijah that he could "head home for a little while and get some rest, hon," Liza's boyfriend had stared at the other woman with mild offense.

"Ma'am," he'd said, "this makes me a selfish bastard, maybe, but I'm not leaving Liza alone for even a second right now. I don't think I'm physically capable—my heart might give out."

Liza couldn't even manage to scold him about joking like that, since, at the time, the memory of his tears was far too fresh.

Milo too hadn't left her bedside, either. The instant he'd come through the door with Mom, he'd bounded up to her, setting his front paws on the bed by her head and dropping his snout near her face, his tail wagging furiously even as the rest of his body remained still and careful as he licked at her cheek lovingly.

Brave, brave Milo, who had fought like a hellion right alongside her and—from what Mom had told her—earned himself several torn ligaments in his shoulder to match her own. He'd received surgery and had healed nicely, but Liza felt some guilt over not being present to comfort him while he'd been hurting. It was, she felt, the least she could do for him, since he was always comforting her.

Even now, while she stared up at the darkness above her, she could feel her dog's slow, steady breaths beside her, where he'd somehow managed to squeeze himself between her weak form and the hospital bedrail. Carefully, she shifted her hand and felt his soft fur, a gentle smile curling her lips as she stroked at the long, fluffy strands.