Heal the Heart

48.

A steady thrum situated itself in my head, buzzing in my ears and making my head heavy. I knew it wasn't drugs since the hospital didn't think I was worth the mercy yet.

Also, it might have been all the seething stares around me. Syama, who was beside my bed, was glaring at me, Beck was glaring at Syama from his position at the foot of the bed, and Brij had been glaring at the clock before he gave up and fell asleep on the chair.

At least that was what I last noticed during my moment of lucidity, before a dizzy spell took over me and blurred my surroundings. I couldn't say if seeing two Becks was a good thing or bad.

Bad. It was definitely bad.

Syama sighed and placed a hand on my shoulder. "Listen to me—"

"No."

He clicked his tongue. "I just said listen to me."

"I know what you're going to say, and no, absolutely not." I tried shrugging his hand off, but my shoulder protested in return.

I squinted my eyes and forced the two Becks to merge into one, which I then regretted. Seeing a faceless figure was better than seeing the concern in his eyes.

I counted the seconds before Syama got on my nerves again. Couldn't even reach three.

"You need supervision. Or have you lost your hearing along with your motor skills?" he yelled right into my ear.

I winced, the thrumming in my head graduating to a stinging pain centred ironically at a spot above my right eyebrow. Ironic, since that wasn't where my head connected with the ground.

"Stop doing that," Beck said, his fists squeezing the footboard. "You're hurting him."

Syama straightened and shot him a look of pure contempt. "Rich coming from you." He crossed his arms. "And don't worry, this is nothing compared to what you did."

"What?" Brij chose that exact time to wake up, blinking his eyes into focus. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing," I piped up. Syama and his stupid insistence on running his mouth without knowing the full picture. "Go back to sleep."

Brij glanced at the clock and sank into his seat. His eyes drooped from exhaustion. The past two days of continuous movement was getting to him. Didn't help that the noise from beyond the curtain grew ten fold as a code was called.

"Anyway," Syama began. "Come with—"

"No," I barked. "Syama, you're leaving for Amsterdam in two days. It's a no brainer."

"I can cancel."

"No, you can't. I won't allow you. Plus, Mr. Tight Britches already hates my guts. I don't need his bad vibes affecting me from halfway across the world."

Syama continued to send a withering glare at me, and when Brij snickered, he turned it to him. "This is just so funny to you, isn't it?"

That motherfucker nodded, still laughing. "Yes. Very. You can go serve His Royal Tightness. If Neil doesn't go with you, he'll come with me. Obviously. Why are you so bothered?"

"No," I restated.

His irritating giggles stopped. "What no?"

"No, I'm not coming with you. You have a wedding to plan, and your place is worse than a dumpster. No self-respecting thirty-year-old lives like that, dude."

Syama threw his hands up. "Then what do you plan on doing?"

I shifted my butt, trying to dispel the numbness building. "I'll figure it out."