The Fall of the Aftons

173: Michael Afton

The next day, Michael tried to stay in his bed as long as he possibly could. But that wasn't very long. His bed was so uncomfortable and he hated laying around for so long. So the second Doctor Ingissroy became busy with another patient, he managed to climb out of his bed and into his wheelchair, eventually making his way to his chair at the window.

He loved being able to stare out the hospital window, watching the cars drive past and the people walk by. He'd love to have even a few seconds with no broken leg or broken arm, a concussion or pancreatic damage, or anything in general. He'd love to simply have the ability to walk.

But that wasn't going to happen for months.

He was going to be bed-bound for weeks, then wheelchair-bound and crutches-bound for months after that.

Suddenly, somebody knocked on his hospital room door. He flinched at the sudden noise but ignored it. He couldn't imagine Doctor Ingissroy going through with her threat. She couldn't just keep him restrained in his misery and boredom...

Right?

A familiar sigh rang throughout the room the instant the door was opened.

"Michael," Doctor Ingissroy said disappointedly, sighing. "Why do you keep leaving your bed? I don't want to restrain you, but you leave me no choice."

A few hours later, she had him restrained to the bed, just as threatened. It wasn't as bad as he'd expected it to be—just a belt-like strap tying his waist to the bed. A simple thing. So when Doctor Ingissroy was busy with a new ICU arrival, he managed to undo the strap and find his way back to the window.

But when Doctor Ingissroy returned a few hours later with his dinner...

She was not happy.

Now he was desperately flailing, trying to keep himself from being completely restrained. He cried and cried, unable to express his negative emotions in another way. He kicked the bed and swung his arms—but not hard enough to hit Doctor Ingissroy or the nurses helping her. Just enough to keep them from being able to grab him, even though his painkillers had worn off and it pained him to move.

"Michael, calm down!" Doctor Ingissroy exclaimed worriedly. "You're going to hurt yourself!"

I don't care! I don't want to be restrained!

"Doctor, I think we might have to sedate him," one of the nurses said uncertainly.

The other nurse agreed with her and Michael screamed in terror, moving away from the nurses.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Doctor Ingissroy exclaimed, grabbing his shoulder. "No sedatives. I know. You can't have them anymore, anyway, because of your nightmares."

Suddenly, one of the nurses grabbed his other arm. He squealed and tried to pull it away, but the other nurse tightly held his wrist to the bed's railings and restrained him with a pair of handcuffs. He tried to yank his hand away a few times, yelping painfully when the sharp metal dug into his wrist.

When he realized that Doctor Ingissroy was trying to restrain his other arm, he shrieked and moved away from her, tears burning his eyes. The nurses tried to grab him so he started flailing again. But Doctor Inigissroy caught his flailing arm and quickly restrained it. Still, he continued to flail, the metal of the handcuffs starting to cut into his non-casted wrist and sharp pains shooting up his leg as he kicked the mattress.

"Michael, stop!" Doctor Ingissroy shouted demandingly. "You're going to hurt yourself, if you haven't already!"

He ignored her demand and continued flailing. He didn't care if he hurt himself. In fact, he already knew that he did—he could feel it in the way searing pains shot up his leg every time he moved it, and in the way an excruciating agony sliced into his wrist as he pulled on it. But he'd rather injure himself more than be restrained.

All of a sudden, one of the nurses pinned his prosthetic leg down. He squealed and tried to whip it out of her grip, but he only kicked his broken leg by accident. He cried aloud in tormenting agony, tears starting to spill down his cheeks. The nurses decided to take his period of recovery to their advantage and grabbed his leg. But when they tried to move it so they could restrain him, he could only sob, the pain too overbearing for his brain to process. So he sat there, weeping as he watched the nurses restrain his legs and waist to the bed.

Once they were finished, Doctor Ingissroy stepped next to him and gently rested her hand on his shoulder. "I know it sucks," she said softly, frowning. "But we don't want you getting hurt more when you leave your bed without assistance. It's for your own good."

"Um, Ma'am? He cut his wrist open on the handcuffs, and the wound is extremely deep. You can just barely see his bone," one of the nurses said, putting gauze on his wound.

"Are you serious?" she asked worriedly, walking over to the other side of the bed to see his injury. She gently lifted it, apologizing when he whimpered painfully. "Gosh, Michael... Clean his wound and get some x-rays to make sure he didn't do any damage to his tendons or ligaments. I'm going to call Mister Wright."