Beautiful Disaster

Beautiful Disaster Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Three Weeks Later

                 My mind suddenly awakens buzzing alive full of clarity of all the things around me; voices, sounds, and smells. I don’t recognize any bit of it as I try to move the rest of my body.  But it doesn’t want to comply but rather it’s still dormant, as if still silently resting and waiting to be awakened. 

“She’ll be gran’.” It’s an unfamiliar man’s voice. It’s deep laced with a thick Irish brogue. 

                The next voice is coarse as if been rubbed against countless sleepless nights. “She’s been out for weeks.”

                Weeks? I’ve been out for weeks? But I’m awake now!

                “Troy, ve been through dis wi’ ‘er before. De only way she is gonna make so’tiz kip. I’ve done me part wi’ me remedies. ‘Er own magic ‘ill ‘ayle ‘er body wi’ time. She’s strong. Gie ‘er a few more days.” 

                I can feel the bed sinking low as his weight is added.  Troy’s warm, clammy hand clasps my own as if silently begging for me to return. Against the inside of his palm, my own stings alive wanting to return the hold. But I can’t. The rest of me somehow is still paralyzed or “asleep” while just my brain is active. I mentally groan. This better not last long.    

                I’m here! I want to scream. I’m awake now!  

                “I know I need patience but if frightens me to think—”

                “To tink she might leave yer. Oi nu you’ve told me after time an’ time again, me auld mucker. But yer must believe in ‘er cos den if yer don’t you’ll lose ‘er for forever.” 

                Troy stays silent as he brushes aside a piece of my hair stinking to my sweat glazed forehead.

                But Troy you won’t lose me because I am right here! I’m still ALIVE!

                For a moment the room folds into a silence apart of the creaking of the floorboards. “Yer nade kip yerself,”I can hear footsteps drawling farther away. “Oi suggest yer git sum.” Then a door creaks open and shuts with a soft click.

                There’s a long pause—a sort of stillness that clasps the room. Except for there’s a bristling fire somewhere near snip snapping and crackling up its flames. I can feel the warmth engulfing the room. Near the bed’s edge a tableside must’ve been placed for I can very distinctly breathe in the perfume of vanilla. It’s soft as if attempting to ease.   

                Troy’s hold tightens and then loosens to place my now empty hand next to my side. Quickly easing off the bed, I can hear him pace the room to and fro withdrawing long breaths and probably running a nervous hand through his hair. I yearn to tell him that I’m okay.

Someone, who doesn’t bother to knock, creak’s the door open and their footsteps piddle paddle quietly through the room.

                There’s a little bit of an edge when he grunts and says, “What is it now?”

                “How’s she doing?” Her little voice prolongs through the room ignoring Troy’s icy tone.   

                As unhappy as he sounds Troy makes his way towards Poppy as he barks, “What are you doing here? Avala needs rest.”