Treacherous

Chapter Fifty-Five

My eyelids are too heavy as I try to lift them.

Voices swirl around my head, right next to me, but at the same time they seem worlds away. It confuses me, but my body is too slow and heavy to react to any of the few words I hear.

"He's keeps slipping away from us."

"We're trying, ma'am."

"I'm sorry, but the gentleman didn't make it."

All of the remarks were made by someone specifically male. I categorized him by the deep voice he speaks with. Then, another voice can be heard and my frantic, panicked body relaxes immediately, reveling in the way the words spill lightly off of her tongue.

"He's going to blame himself again."

My fingers twitch at the thought of seeing her. At the thought of running my hands through her blonde hair and seeing those hazel eyes of hers sparkle as they always do when she sees me.

More noises become clearer as time wears on. The beep of a machine to my left. The quiet cries of someone at my right. Someone speaking on the intercom every few minutes, the voice coming from somewhere above my head.

The feelings in my body also begin to reappear. My head laying against a flat, airless pillow. One leg lifted higher than the other, propped up with more of the uncomfortable pillows. Someone's small, delicate hand resting in mine, shaking slightly.

As soon as it's possible, I squeeze the small hand back, letting her know that I am here. Well, partially.

"Niall?" She gasps out my name, but just hearing her say it is music to my ears. "Can you hear me?" she asks, her voice shaking. The sound of a screeching chair against the non-waxed floors resonate through my ears, but I'm incapable of flinching to the unsettling sound.

My mouth refuses to take part in what I wish for it to do, so I again squeeze the hand that's holding mine, hoping that it'll give her the answer she needs.

She doesn't say anything, but I swear that the corners of my lips move up the tiniest bit, overjoyed that she's standing near me, actually touching me. I thought it all too soon and before I know it, the hand is letting mine drop onto the bed. My mouth returns to the normal, flat line, maybe even turning down more.

The click of a door can be heard from across the room and yet again, I am left alone. This time wondering if it was just my imagination.

*~*~*

"He should be waking up soon." There's that male voice again.

"Thank you, doctor." And there's her.

The rest of my body unfreezes from it's hold and to start, I lift my fingers off of the bed, tapping each one against the soft, but papery linen. It's one of the exercises I saw the doctors and nurses perform on her when she first woke up.

"See?" says the male. "He's already moving. He'll be just fine."

"He won't be when he finds out," she says.

To that, the man doesn't answer, worrying me. When I find out what?

Next, I work on my entire hand, lifting it off as high as I can, and then dropping it back down. After I have that mastered, I try to open my eyes, finding that I can. As soon as they're open, I close them again, the light way too bright for my taste.

"Niall?" she calls out again, and this time I force my eyelids to remain up, needing to see her gorgeous face. When I see her, she's still absolutely breathtaking, but she looks sick. So sick.