White Thorn | On Hold

Chapter Ten: Bad Memories

Her head was fuzzy when she woke up, the ceiling blurring into view far too familiar whilst she struggled to get her bearings. Her brain felt like it was made of mush, the world seeming very far away as she wrestled with her body to get it to move. Every part of her ached, even her eyelids, and that wasn't a good sign. The last time she'd felt like a bus had run her over was... that time.

Silently she prayed she hadn't done it again, her memories slipping out of her grasp when she reached for them. Dimly, she remembered something about a Jacob Thistlewood and that was about it. Nothing else out of the ordinary. No red tint staining her memories.

Which meant she hadn't done it again.

Instead, the pounding in her head told her she'd likely been hit on the head – and she must've been hit hard, because not much could give her a concussion let alone a good deal of memory loss. Even the monk's tennis balls hadn't done that much damage to her, and he had a very powerful throwing arm.

"You're awake." Flint stared down at her, his partner noticeably absent. "That's good..."

"Wh—" Her voice cracked.

"Easy," he mumbled, holding a straw to her lips. "You've been out of it for a good few hours."

She sipped at the water, sighing as it cooled her dry throat, pausing for a moment or two before she fired off the questions which'd been building ever since she'd woken. "What happened?" she asked, already knowing it must've been bad.

It had to have been, considering how quickly she usually bounced back after everything.

"It was bad," he said, sitting down on one of the chairs by her bed.

She was on what she assumed to be the main ward of the hospital, judging by the hustle and bustle around them, though the flimsy blue curtain had been pulled around – giving her some semblance of privacy.

"To be honest, I have no idea how you were still conscious at the end of that fight," Flint said, yanking her out of her thoughts. "You seem to have an insane pain tolerance and coming from me that says something." He shook his head. "You're mostly healed up, though I'd recommend taking it easy the next few days."

"How bad was it?"

He shrugged. "It was bad enough we had to use some of our... specialised methods... in order to keep you from being hospital bound for a while."

"ARYA!" The blue curtain was wrenched back, Velvet storming into view. "Lydia told me everything," she said, all but elbowing Flint out of the way. "I can't actually believe you met Jacob Thistlewood and actually lived to tell about it."

"Velvet, keep the noise down, would you?" Rian called, eyes briefly meeting Arya's own as he strode through the ward at a furious pace. "This is a hospital."

She rolled her eyes. "OK," she grumbled, begrudgingly lowering her volume. "But seriously... you do know how many people that guy has killed, don't you?"

"A lot?"

"Five hundred and fifty-six," she said, sitting down on another of the hospital's chairs. "Though I suppose he's never killed any children before..."

"I'm a teenager!"

"Sure, sure."

"Oy!"

Velvet laughed, her face turning serious only a few seconds later. "Lydia said you were the worst off."

"I'm fine."

"Sure."

"Hey!"

"Lower your voices a bit, you two," Flint said, glaring pointedly at Velvet. "Otherwise Rian will kick you out."