Rejection

Chapter 5 - Pillow talk

The break of dawn brought new sensations and issues with it. The sun illuminated the room slowly but surely, curtains billowing softly in the wind. The nurse opened the window a bit more, allowing the air to breeze through the room.

It seemed that the winter had laid back for a moment, allowing near spring temperatures to make it seem as if summer was right around the corner.

Yet I laid in bed, grumbling softly to myself and ignoring the nurse's amused smirk. Light was bouncing on the cone around my neck, which the nurses had to reattach somewhere during the night.

The thick cast was proving to be an annoyance. Even though it was helping my broken leg to mend and heal, it was also too hot and starting to itch. Then the stitches themselves were bothering me too, as the skin around them was slowly healing, pulling at the stitches and sending pinches of pain through my stomach.

Of course, instinct had pushed me to lick at the wounds, as that soothed the pain and loosened the stitches a bit. The nurse obviously disagreed and after her first stern warning and minutes of scolding, she had produced the cone once more when I had ignored her warning.

And now I laid here with restricted movability and this ridiculous cone stuck to my head. I was told that a doctor would come check my leg in a few hours, to see if it had healed enough for the cast to be removed.

All I did was curl my lip in annoyance and avert my head, eyes pinned to the dark-blue skies outside. After living as a rogue for so long, being inside was unnerving. I shuffled my weight on the bed, feeling tempted to slide off and attempt to go outside.

The brown eyes of the nurse landed on me as she crossed her arms and frowned down at me. "I can almost hear you contemplate trying to stand. Don't you even dare, I take my duties seriously and I will knock you out if you even try to get up."

I snorted, not that I didn't believe the woman but curious to see how she'd knock me out. She produced the answer herself by producing a capped syringe, twirling it in her hand before sticking it in her front pocket.

Crossing my paws, I laid my head on them and huffed. Ignoring the smiling nurse as she thumbed through a magazine, I instead perked my ears and listened to the footsteps around me.

This place wasn't really a hospital, though it certainly had the medical equipment to aid any werewolf in need. It was still placed in the pack house, a floor or so below the living quarters from the sound of it.

I could hear the clattering of pots and pans, a shrill laughter followed by running footsteps and a door smashing open. Conversations were vaguely heard at best, sounding more like distant murmurs.

Sounds that I've been familiar with when I had spent time at my old mate's packhouse. It had always felt cosy, waking up next to your loved one as you could hear your extended family getting ready for the day.

A soft whine slipped from my lips, drawing the attention from the nurse as her stern gaze turned sympathetic. "You seem to do that a lot..." She pondered, making me look at her with a tilt of my head.

Her lips pinched together as her eyes seemed to well before she averted her eyes and murmured, "You tend to whimper and whine in your sleep...quite a lot."

For a few seconds I couldn't feel my body as a cold sensation rushed through it.  I knew the reason behind the whimpers, as I was always forced to relive the past. Dreams made from memories of playfully chasing my mate, waking up next to them or running with them, side by side.

Nightmares of where I was glared at with contempt and disgust, where the pack turned their tails on me. When the Enforcers treated me like a rabid wolf, chasing me from their lands and mauling me to near death when they caught up to me.