Bea.

Vogue and Coffee

They took her off the sedatives 3 days later, when they couldn't find any obvious damage in her scans. I drummed my fingers against the rail, impatiently waiting at the end of her bed. She stirred, moving her head slightly and opened her eyes. "Well that must have been a wild one-" She said, rubbing her eyes. "-what time is it?" In her attempt to sit up, l moved swiftly to her bedside and placed my hands on her collarbone. "You aren't going anywhere. You've been out of it for almost 4 days, they kept you that way because they thought you had brain damage. Brain damage! Bea, you could have seriously hurt yourself what the hell possessed you to do coke?!" I was set to continue my rant at her, when a nurse popped her head around the curtain to check I wasn't about to murder her. Not yet anyway. "I was bored" Bea yawned as I slumped in the chair. "I fancied something different." She spoke those words so casually it was like she was changing lanes. "I can't believe you Bea!" Angrily hushed by the woman next door, I gave in on my rant and sat back in my seat. My head rested on hand, we sat in silence for a while. Me angrily flicking through my Vogue magazine, Bea twiddling her thumbs on the bed.  A nurse brought me in a coffee from the staffroom about 4:30pm and I ran to get some milk. Missing only for thirty seconds, I returned to find Bea on the floor, in her attempt to get out of bed. As my milk cup flew onto the floor, I sped over to her, managing to catch her upright before her head hit the ground. Bea sobbed in my arms, rocking back and forth as she repeated her words over and over again: "I can't feel my legs, I can't feel my legs, why can't I feel my legs Isla?" With her head burrowed into my chest, my fingers became entangled in her hair, unable to answer her tear-stained questions.