So This Is Life

Chapter 8

Madison's p.o.v

We followed Franklin down a whiter-than-white corridor. Thomas lagged behind a bit, and I lagged behind with him because hey, that's my kick-ass husband and I love him to death!

"I hate these crutches," he muttered angrily, and I still don't know to this day if he was talking to me, as the click-clack of the crutches echoed through the corridor. Franklin was way ahead at this point, and I nodded along with my husband.

"Hopefully you shouldn't need them for much longer," I replied in a hushed voice, watching Franklin stop and turn into a room. We followed as fast as we could.

The room was pretty bare. A hospital bed in a white suit, dirty white walls and an ugly fake wood bedside table, it was the very essence of Dullsville. There was an ensuite, though.

Thomas looked around the room, crestfallen. Balancing the crutches against the wall, he staggered over to the bed, denying any help me or Franklin offered him. Collapsing upon it, he sat there shaking for a few seconds before saying quietly,

"I'd like to be alone with James, please."

Franklin nodded and backed out respectively, me watching him all the way.

I turned back to Tom, and I was surprised to see him staring the wall down. His face had a vacant expression, and his eyes were a little glazed over.

"Thomas?" I said as loudly and as cautiously as I dared, kneeling down in front of him. He looked up at me and the glazed look disappeared as he smiled when he saw my face.

"You're so beautiful, you know that?" he said, his voice dreamy. I blushed furiously, looking down at the floor.

"You're not too bad yourself," I teased as I went over and sat next to him, letting him rest his head on my shoulder as I sat next to him on the bed. The floor was cold. He sighed heavily in a world-weary sort of way, raising his eyes towards the ceiling as if praying to some deity.

"Do you know how much I hate this shit?" he said, his hand balling into a fist on his knee.

"Yeah," I replied, curling my legs up on the bed. The bed was nice and warm, and me and Thomas were in a weird-ass position, me curled up super-small and Thomas with his head half-on my shoulder, half-on my head.

I hadn't slept much the night before. I'd stayed up thinking about our future child. Would our New York apartment be big enough? Would we move back to Virginia? Would we get our own house in the suburbs (God knows we could afford one) or would we raise our kids in the heart of New York City?

"Do you want me to stay here with you?" I asked, stifling a yawn.

"It's up to you," he replied faintly, lifting his head off mine. Looking up at him, I saw him holding a hand to his head, groaning softly to himself. Giving him a sympathetic look, I gently helped him into the bed, kissing the top of his head before shutting out the lights and slipping out of the room.

Franklin was waiting outside for me, leaning casually on the wall.

"He's asleep," I said, closing the door as quietly as I could. "I wouldn't disturb him for a couple of hours, he usually gets a killer headache."