Pencil, Paper, and Passion.

Chapter Eight: Complications

    Someone was shaking me.  I tried to lift my hands in defense but they became tangled in the blanket covering me.  Groaning, I opened my eyes and came face to face with my Chemistry teacher.  I stared at him blankly, confused.  What the hell...?

    Mr. Gallagher smiled.  "Good morning, Elizabeth.  How are you feeling?"

    "How am I feeling?"  I asked incredulously, disturbed by how calm he seemed.  I glanced away from him and gasped when I didn't recognize the bedroom I was in.  My eyes shot back to Mr. Gallagher.  "Where the hell am I?!"

     "My bedroom."  He said simply.

     "Your what?!"  I shrieked, sitting up as fast as I could.  My head spun sickeningly but I ignored it and scrambled from the bed I was in.  I stood, swaying, and glanced about wildly.  I was in my teacher's bedroom.  I'd just crawled from his bed!  I was still dressed?  I looked down at myself, surprised to see the grey sweats and white shirt.  I turned my eyes to Mr. Gallagher, who was doubled over in laughter.

    I huffed.  "How on Earth can you find this humorous?  Why am I in your bedroom?"

    "Not for the reason you seem to think!"  He gasped out, getting a hold on his obvious amusement.  He wiped his eyes.  "Lord, what a ridiculous thought!"

    "A simple, 'We didn't have sex' would have sufficed."  I said stiffly, embarrassed.  "There was absolutely no need for the hysterics.  Now, are you going to answer my question?"

    "Don't you remember?" 

    "Obviously not."

    "Hm, well.  Let's see:  You cut your hand on some glass in the-"

    "Wait, I remember that."

    "Oh.  What's the last thing you do remember?"

    "Screaming at you and then kicking my tire.  A lot.  And then...I think you carried me to your car?"  He nodded and I closed my eyes, trying to recall more but couldn't.  I sighed, opening my eyes.  "That's where everything just..." I waved my hands.  "Goes black, I guess.  I can't remember anything else."

    "Alright.  After that, you refused to let me take you home; saying your mother wasn't home and-'

    "She's not.  She's in the-"

    "Hamptons, I know.  Anyway, you sort of dozed off, mumbling something about Charlotte.  I tried to get her address from you, several times, but every time I asked, you started crying.  So, I gave up on that idea and brought you here."

    With narrowed eyes, I plucked at the shirt I was wearing.  "I wasn't wearing this yesterday.  Where are my clothes?"

    "On my bathroom floor.  I made you get in the shower, to warm up.  Since your clothes were soaking wet from the rain, I gave you some of my pajamas to wear."

    "Oh."  I frowned.  "Why didn't you take me home, after I'd gotten warm?"

    "You almost passed out in my recliner, so I put you to bed.  Besides, why would I take you out in the rain, again?"

    "Hm.  How long did I sleep?"

    Mr. Gallagher chuckled.  "You sure ask a lot of questions.  You've been asleep since around five o' clock yesterday, so..."  He looked at his watch.  "About thirteen hours.  Speaking of time, I've got to go to work."

    "Go?"  I blinked.  "But-  What about me?  I can't just sit in your house all day!  What am I supposed to do?!"

    "Sleep.  You're sick and emotionally exhausted; you need rest."