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I spend eleven days in the Convalescent Wing healing. It takes nine days for the stitches to do their job, two more used as a trial to see if my wound will reopen. I don't really understand that part. It felt fine— that might've been the crazy amount of meds I was on that made me feel that way, though— and it was basically already scarring.
I want to say I will be sad to lose the personal room I'm given and the delicious food I haven't had in a very long time, but I can't. I'm not used to being confined to my room anymore— not like high school. I need to be constantly moving, constantly doing something that will keep my focus on that. I need to be doing something other than what I'm doing now. Something that keeps me busy so I don't have to succumb to the thoughts of my past.
And then, finally, someone other than Dr. Pam and the hundred other nurses enters my room. He's tall and he wears one of the uniforms that Parker wears, though this one has an officer insignia in his collar. He wears shiny boots and has cold blue eyes.
I straighten my back and raise a brow, wanting to know why he was here but not wanting to upset him by asking a question when I'm not allowed. Oddly enough, he kind of reminded me of my old math teacher, Mr. Potter. He was an ex-marine and a terrible person all-year-round but I still respected him.
Kind of had to or he'd flunk me.
The man stares deep into my soul for a long moment. The blue burns into my skin as he takes in every inch of me, seeming to be deep in thought. The urge to shout out 'what the fuck do you want, creepy man?' almost becomes unbearable and then he finally speaks.
"Do you know who I am?" he asks. I'm shocked by the rasp in his throat. In a way, he reminds me of Morgan Freeman.
Jesus Christ, am I losing my fucking mind? The man asked me a question and I stared at him like I just found out he was an Other.
I shake my head firmly. "Nope."
"I'm Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Vosch," he says. "I'm the commander of this base."
My brows shoot up in slight surprise. I don't understand why they sent the commander of Wright-Patterson to come talk to a teenage girl, but the way he held himself kind of tipped me off that he was high up in the ranks. I don't know what to say, so I opt for saying nothing at all.
He stands with his feet apart, back straight, hands clasped behind his back. Oddly enough, he acts like he respects me. I'm not sure why. I've done nothing.
He eyes me for another moment, then pulls his arms in front of him to cross his arms over his chest. "Not really a talkative one, huh?"
"Don't worry. Say something I don't like and I'll either break your heart or your arm," I snip. I worry for just a second about the consequences but then he's smirking slightly and I find myself letting my limbs relax a little bit. Hastily, I add, "Sir."
