Ready or Not

Cherry Wine

(Warning violence. Blood.)

Jo's eyes didn't want to open fully, they were crusted together from an overstayed guest, sleep. However it felt different than sleep, it was darker and it lingered in her chest like a heavy weight. She could only describe the feeling of seemingly infinite sleep, as she would describe death. The force on her chest felt like cracked ribs from CPR, the ache in her muscles felt like the stiffness of a patient that despite their best efforts has fallen into the end, and her eyes crusted shut were a reminder of death's attempts to seal them.

Through the blinding lights of the hospital room, she made out Alex's watery eyes, the dark smears under them, and the yellow sunshine of a new morning that stained the tears on his cheeks gold. Half of a word made it out of her mouth before the sharp stabbing pain of her tensing vocal cords against hard, stiff, plastic. A rumbling and sickly gagging sound echoed through the tube as she coughed and coughed against it. Bile rose in her throat, she heard heavy footsteps and yelling as the tube was pulled out of her throat.

For the first time in days, she took a deep, heavy breath inward. It tasted clean on her dry tongue. The air got sucked up her nose at the same time and the faint scent of rubbing alcohol resided in the back of her throat.

Alex's hand clamped tight around hers and a smile split his face. His teeth were yellow from days of sleepless nights and unkept hygiene, but the pure joy on his face as she breathed with her eyes wide open pushed it away.

"...Hey... Alex." She smiled as the words ground out, like scraping metal. Her throat was rough as stung as she spoke.

In the doorway behind Alex's head, she caught glimpse of a solemn Paul. Beside him stood a smiling doctor with a clipboard, which he promptly placed to the side before walking in. Paul remained in the doorway. Stiff.

"Hello Dr.Wilson! I see you've woken! I'll be frank with you we weren't sure you were going to wake up, so if you don't mind..." he gestured to Alex, whom promptly stood up and backed up out of the way. "... we'll have to run a few neurological tests."

Alex stood only a few feet in front of Paul, he remained out of sight however, Alex hadn't bothered to turn around.

Paul's eyes bored into the back of his neck, a slight bit of rage boiling up in his chest. He had lost control. He had the control. Paul didn't quite know what he himself meant by that. Or, at least he wouldn't admit it to himself. Staring at Jo and the doctor, he felt a helplessness, one he couldn't fully explain.

Quickly, Paul turned on his heel and exited the room in silence.

———————

Paul found himself in the lobby of the hospital, then in the elevator, on the street. They were all flashes, bits and pieces that he couldn't quite piece together. Bar. Drink. Brown hair. Lips. Red. Red. Red.

Lost control. He'd lost control. In every sense of the phrase. He'd lost control over Jo. Over Alex. Meredith. The hospital. Himself. The rage boiled up inside of him, festering like an old wound that has been picked at and picked at and picked at.

Bathroom. Tile. Brunette. Lips. Hands. Red. Red. Red.

The tile is red. Drip. Drip. Drip. His hands are red. Drip. Drip. Drip. The door knob jiggles.

The dripping sounds like gunfire. Fast. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Her head is on the edge of the sink. Then on the ground. Brunette. Her. Her. Who is her? Who are you? But the words never make it past his lips. She groans softly in pain and shifts on the floor.

Her brown eyes look up at him, quivering in fear. Jo. No. Not Jo. The blood flows the the center of the room, down the drain. Drip. Drip. It smells sweet.

He runs the water, wipes the sink. The water is pink. Get up. Get up. It's a soft whisper that escapes his lips as he lifts her off the floor. He wipes her face. Smiles wide. His polished teeth reflect the blood. A shark approaching it's next meal. He brushes the hair back over her face, shadowing the wounds.

Knock knock. No ones home.

"Occupied"