•Sequel to RUN•
𝘛𝘩𝘦
𝘑𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘺
𝘞𝘢𝘴
𝘍𝘢𝘳
𝘍𝘳𝘰𝘮
𝘉𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨
𝘖𝘷𝘦𝘳
𝘈𝘯𝘥
𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺
𝘞𝘦𝘳𝘦
𝘍𝘢𝘳
𝘍𝘳𝘰𝘮
𝘉𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨...
𝘿𝙊𝙉𝙀
[𝑪𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑳𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑫]
Join Sydney and her friends as they continue to battle their way out of d...
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Chapter Seven. *******************
The last day in the hospital meant that they finally let us wear proper clothes again.
Not grey pajamas. Not gowns that exposed everything. Actual clothes.
The folded pile Nurse Tina left on my bed wasn't much, baggy sweatpants large enough to fit over the cast, tied at the waist with a string that definitely wasn't part of the original design, and a plain t-shirt that looked like it could've been stolen from the kids' ward. At least it didn't smell like disinfectant.
When I finally tugged the shirt over my head, having refused Tina's help with the pants and spending a solid twenty minutes wrestling them on while sitting down, I spotted a folded note on the nightstand.
'Meet me on the rooftop when you wake up. Don't make me come drag you. -River.'
Typical.
Also, how had I not noticed he'd left this here? I must've been out cold to miss him coming in. Then again, judging by the light outside, it had to be close to midday. I'd slept most of the time away, there wasn't much else to do in this place anyway.
I tucked it into my pocket and pressed the assistance button for Nurse Tina. I didn't even need to ask her to move the wheelchair, it had been stationed in my room all week, used for bathroom trips and the two times I'd gone to visit the others down the hall.
I wasn't allowed to walk. Not for a few more weeks, at least. But the same four walls had started driving me insane, so two days ago I'd requested to see my friends.
"River-" I started.
"Got me to leave you the note." She said, cutting me off gently.
So, he wasn't here.
"How long ago?"
"About an hour. As far as I know, he's still up there."
"Are we allowed-"
"Most certainly not," She said, voice firm, then softened with a faint smile, "Am I going to stop you? No. You deserve some fresh air."
"Will you come with?" I asked.
"If you don't want me to, then no."
I shook my head.
"On my own."
She sighed.
"Can I trust you to stay in the chair?" We shared a look, "Fine," She said at last, "But make sure he helps you. And remember, no standing on it."
Her tone, stern but caring, hit something deep. For the briefest moment, it reminded me of my mother. I swallowed it down fast, refusing to let that door open. They were gone. Just like everything else.
