Selected of Illèa-A Selection Fanfiction

19

Dedicated to Ava_Buxton

I woke with a start. It's crazy to wake up without knowing you were asleep in the first place. Those dang painkillers keep putting me to sleep. I look at the clock. 9:00 am. I was asleep for a long time because it was mid-afternoon yesterday last I remember. I think.

December 26th. The day after Christmas is never my favorite. All the excitement is over and we take the decorations down and the diner reopens and back to work we go. Except this year is different because I'm not at home. And I'm not in working condition.

A nurse comes to check on Rachel. She's in critical condition. The bullet touched major arteries and she's in a coma. They may have to fly her to the best hospital in the country, which is clear in Clermont. That's all I've heard.

I sit up fairly easily. The painkillers are working magic and the advanced medical supplies are healing it really fast. I call the nurse over.

"Excuse me," I say and she turns, "...can I go back to my room today." She sighs and tells me probably, but she'll have to ask the doctor. I nod and pick up Jason's present beside me. How did he manage to afford this? These are extremely good quality paints and brushes. I honestly can't wait to use them.

I trace the polished wood handles carefully. My hands itch to dip them in paint. But I would rather wait until I'm alone. It makes me self conscious when even Jason watches me. I close the box and put it away.

The nurse comes back with a wheelchair. She chuckles, "Well, we can't very well expect you to walk there." That's probably a smart idea. I don't know if I want to stand, much less walk.

♢♢♢

Just as I'm getting transferred to the wheelchair, King Maxon comes in and heads straight for Rachel's chair. I hear his whispers and see his tears. This is hard on all of us, but the royal family the worst. It would be bad even without the pressure of ruling a country. I can literally see the stress etched on his face.

I sit comfortably in the wheelchair and the nurse, who's name I've been told is Lauren, pushes me to my room. I pass a patrol guard wroth puffy red eyes and tears rolling down his cheeks. His name plaque read Officer Mark Leger. Blair's boyfriend.

Sweet, loving, sarcastic Blair. I burst into tears again and Lauren doesn't question. So much happened two nights ago. Who would question?

I don't even try to dry my eyes. I don't feel the need to. There's no reason to do something you don't need to do.

I reach my room and Wendy and Denver envelope me in a hug. Then I see another person. Laree. My best customer.

She would order a chicken sandwich and lemonade. She always left me the biggest tip. She would wink and place a couple of caramels on top of the tip. Caramels were a luxury we only bought to place on smoothies. We almost never got them.

Laree was at least 70 years old and worked as a personal maid to the richest woman in town. She would come in the diner in full uniform with her bright white hair in a bun in the back of her head. She had big smile lines etched into her face. She had bright blue eyes that gazed right to your soul. I loved her like a grandma.

And now she is here. In a palace maid uniform. She smiles at me, but it is a sad smile. She wishes it wasn't these circumstances. She gently pushes me to the bed and then helps me on. She doesn't say a single word, but I understand. She cares.

I slide in the cool, crisp sheets and grab a notebook. I draw ideas to paint. I don't like drawing nearly as much, but I always do it before painting because it's cheaper to mess up.