Texting Prince Charming

Chapter 1 (Prologue pt. 2)

 This here is an added chapter from the manuscript version. Hope you enjoy!

My eyes opened, and the white ceiling was there. Same as the plain beige walls. Cards telling me to Feel Better Soon! lined shelves while half deflated princess themed balloons struggled to stay afloat. A couple of vases containing wilting flowers flanked a new arrangement of white roses on the windowsill. They helped mask the awful permeating antiseptic stench that I hardly noticed after being in the hospital for so long.

A double knock tapped at the door.

"Knock, knock." Doctor Brenda Birch peered her ginger haired head in and smiled. She had been my doctor since I was little and was also my mom's best friend. That basically made her my second mother, and she took that role in my life seriously. "How's my favorite patient today?" Slowly, she entered, followed on her heels by a short, dark haired woman who had been lurking outside my hospital room for days.

"Fine." Immediately, I shifted my focus out the window. Sky, blue. Sun, bright. It looked like a beautiful day, but looks could be deceiving. I was a perfect example of that.

Brenda's brown eyes studied the monitors as she approached. Her stethoscope, primed and ready for use. "This might be cold." She pressed the cool metal against my chest and listened intently. "Sounds good to me."

I flashed a smile to keep up the ruse.

The other woman lingered near the door, typing on her iPad. Brenda sat on the edge of my bed and glanced at the tray of food from this morning. Some yellow glob resembling scrambled eggs, and two slices of burnt bacon accompanied the green gelatin that had sat there for a few hours at least.

"I guess you weren't hungry again?" Brenda's eyebrows lifted.

"No." The gnawing pain in the pit of my stomach for the past few weeks saw to that. And even if I did eat anything, that queasy, nauseous feeling would crash over me, so why bother.

Her phone chirped, and she glanced at the screen. "I have to take this." She strode toward the woman still standing there. "Shelby, Kathy, was telling me that you've been refusing to start physical therapy?"

Not blatant refusing, more like actively avoiding.

I sat as straight as possible. "I'm fine."

That blanket statement had become my go-to motto to avoid conversations that made me uneasy. Anyone asked how I was feeling, that was my answer. When the psychiatrist tried talking to me about dealing with my traumatic loss, I used it. Everyone wanted me to be okay, to be coping. It just made their lives easier if I pretended to be fine all the time.

"No. You're not, kiddo," Brenda corrected with forced a smile. "You're never going to get out of that bed unless you start working at it."

Both my aunt Sarah and Brenda had given me this spiel before, so my ability to tune her out was automatic.

I didn't bother paying attention again until she said, "I'm leaving you in Kathy's capable hands. So, I expect to see results." She patted Kathy's shoulder and made sure to close the door behind her when she left.

Kathy stood there for a few moments, arms crossed, sizing me up. I did the same. Dark hair, dark eyes, golden brown skin that worked perfectly with her petite frame. Everything about her was little. Small. Easily manipulable, I figured.

She marched to the bedside, hand extended to greet me. "Hi, Shelby, I'm—"

"Kathy. I heard," I droned before concentrating hard on reading the signatures scribbled on a few of the cards clear across the room.