The Forgotten Wife

1. Worst Morning After

Aiden

Bee-beep. Bee-beep.

I reach out to switch off the incessant beeping of my alarm. Why do I even bother with alarms? I hate mornings about as much as I hate the accompanying hangovers.

I flounder around with my hand searching for the source of the annoyingly repetitive noise. Where the bloodly hell is my phone?

I give up my blind search and crack open my eyes. The light is blinding and I groan as I roll my head into the pillow. The movement is jarring and I groan again as the pressure in my head increases.

I ache all over. What happened last night? I try to think back but I can't remember a single thing. It must have been one hell of a night.

Bee-beep. Bee-beep.

God, why won't that fucking alarm turn off?

I peel my eyes open slowly, blinking to diffuse the sharpness of the fluorescent light. The first thing I notice are the crisp white sheets tucking me in.

Where are my midnight satin sheets?

I must have stayed at some girl's place. Christ, I hate those awkward morning goodbyes, maybe I can duck out before she wakes up.

I turn my head to look for my clothes and for a quick escape.

The floor is a speckled cream linoleum and the walls are an equally ugly shade of bile green. The square ceiling tiles are a boring white divided by plastic strips and intersected with frosted plastic lights.

There is only one place so many ugly interior objects can be found. I look to my left and confirm my suspicion. I finally see the source of the bothersome beeping, it's a heart rate monitor.

I'm in the hospital.

Ah, fuck. I hope it's not to have my stomach pumped again. I toss back my covers and survey myself for damage. I have a number of large gauze dressings down the left side of my body and a large purple-blue bruise covering the majority of the left side of my chest.

"I see you're finally awake," a smoky female voice states from the doorway.

I have no idea how I missed her in my first observation of the room, she's stunning. Her navy dress is skin tight and shows off her petite hourglass figure. The dress is a modest knee length with capped sleeves but on her it looks almost sinful. It drops in the front to a point between her beasts showing off their gentle swell.

"What happened?" I croak.

She sighs and pushes away from the wall to take a few steps towards me. "You crashed your motorcycle," she says with distaste. Her heels click on the glossy floor and draw my attention to her toned legs. "As you may have noticed you took the skin off half your body and fractured two of your ribs," she says flicking her manicured nails towards my stomach.

"That all?" I ask wondering who this woman is. I hope she is my nurse, I have this very recent sponge bath fantasy she would be perfect in. I doubt it though, she's too well dressed and the diamond studs in her ears probably cost as much as one of my less expensive cars.

"No, you also had to have your spleen removed and you have a pretty nasty concussion," she says while she pours me a glass of water and hands it to me.

I take the offered glass and our fingers brush. It's just the smallest of touches but I have sudden desire to see her fingers wrapped around something far more interesting. Almost like she can read my mind and is disgusted by it, she jerks her hand away and shoots me a cold glare.