Her Human

Ten

Ever had a headache? Migraine? Magnify your worst headache ever by ten, and then again by one hundred. That's how I feel right now.

The pounding in my head becomes rhythmic, I float in and out of consciousness. First, peeling my eyes open to blinding light. Painful. I shut them again.

I wake up a few more times, hear mumbles and murmurs and the distinct sound of pen against paper. I hear machinery, steady beeping in the background. I hear footsteps, and I smell something like alcohol and anesthetic. A hospital? Why would she bring me to a hospital?

I open my eyes, feeling extremely fatigued and weak. My sight is blurry and I can barely make out the shapes of the room I'm in. I lay on a hard mattress.

Feeling around, I notice a lump in the bed next to me, the warm electric feeling I get making contact with it instantly tells me who it is. Douglas.

I shift on my side, aching muscles screaming at me in protest. Geez Louise! How much of that crap did they give me? Enough to knock out a whale? How long have I been out?

I rub my eyes and squint, trying to focus on my mate's unconscious form. After a few more terrifying seconds of blurriness, my vision clears.

He's awake, his eyes foggy and unclear, probably going through what I had seconds before. "You okay?" I croak out, then clear my throat, careful to keep my voice low and quiet. "I'm going to get us out of here, okay? You need to trust me, though." I move a grimy hand to grip his shoulder. "Trust me," I repeat.

He lifts himself up onto his elbows, his weak body slightly shaking with the weight, and looks at me, the air's sucked out of my chest. I lose myself in his eyes for a moment while something in his shifts. Then he breathes out a small "Okay."

I nod firmly at him, then fall back onto the bed, sighing. I feel weak, weaker than I should. I should be bouncing off the walls by now, my supernatural blood working out whatever junk they put in my system. But I feel the same: run down, exhausted, and that terrifies me.

I close my eyes and breathe in and out deeply for a good ten seconds. I feel his eyes on me, feel his anxiety. I open my eyes and force myself to sit up, swaying and gripping the edge of the bed for support. Then I feel the warmth of a hand on my back, but it's gone as soon as it'd landed. I fight the urge to turn around and pull him to me, then get up. The room goes dark for a couple of seconds and I'm back on the bed. I let out a couple of foul words under my breath and try again before he can help me. I don't need his help, he needs mine, he needs to rely on me to get him out of here, not the other way around.

I suck in a deep breath once again and lift myself off the bedside. The room we're in is dim, but to my much needed relief, my heightened senses were slowly making a comeback, my confidence struggling to catch up.

I could make out the shape of a small window above the bed and assess it. It's too small to crawl out of, as well as a door on the opposite side of the room. There's no furniture and no medical equipment, odd. Okay, so that probably rules out hospital room, but doesn't explain the distinct smell. Unless this is one of those hippy-dippy medieval b.s. places where they believe rubbing some quinoa and beets on your wounds makes the boo-boo go away. It doesn't, and if it did, I'd never know what a real fancy-shamncy hospital would look like because we kind of have a huge access to plants and such, cause you know, us weres happen to live in the flipping forest.

My mate's breathing gets steadier and I glance over to see his eyes drooping. No, no, no. Come on! I may be a werewolf, but he's not exactly a feather! Not sure I'd be able to carry him all the way out of here, considering just how far "out of here" might be.