j a k e
"Do you want some more water?" George asks from his place at the doorway.
I shake my head, lethargically rolling away from him. "No, I'm okay."
George gives me a look but nods. With one last glance, he exits my room, leaving me with only the rays of sunlight peaking out of my blinds for company. I sigh, digging my face into my pillow, hoping for darkness to overcome the sunshine. There's still several hours until sunset, which means several hours until I can get sleep. I've been tired constantly ever since I've left the hospital, but I've never been able to sleep well in the daytime. I guess with my anxiety riding up, it's not helping much.
It's supposed to rain tonight, so I'm counting on that. Even now, through the thin slits of my blinds, I'm able to see cloud cover approaching, dauntingly sneaking up on the sun, ready to hide its warmth from the world. Usually, I don't like rain too much. But now, I appreciate it. It's relatable.
My head stays buried in my pillow for a little longer, but then my breaths have no place to go, and I have to lift my head. I regret saying no to the water George had been offering me now; I'm parched, but have no energy to do anything about it. Instead, I push the feeling down- if I don't think about it, it usually goes away. That's what I'm hoping for, anyway.
It's hard not to think about how thirtsy I am, though. There's not exactly much to keep my mind off of things when I'm stuck in bed. It's not that I'm bedridden; George has just suggested that I spend the day resting, and after stressing him out so much, I don't want to say no.
The guilt is still there, after all. Every time I see George's look of concern, Kate's stiff movements, or Grayson's name pop up on my caller ID, a wave of guilt crashes over me. I hate that George and Kate are missing work. I hate that when I came home, I heard Graham crying downstairs. I hate that Cleo is ignoring me. I hate that it's all my fault, and I can do nothing about it except for lie around and wait until I can gather enough energy to go downstairs. It's my fault, even if no one else will say it. My own grievous fault.
I was released on the condition that I still be taken to a therapist, which is doctor's orders. I tried to beg Kate to not let me go earlier today when I found out, but she had just kissed my forehead and told me to sleep. I barely made it out of the hospital; I know that there's a slim chance George and Kate are going to let me skip out on therapy, too.
I hadn't gotten the details, so I was able to not dwell on it too much. For now, at least, I can just relax. No therapy, no clinic, and no Reese. Even though I forgave him, things have still been immensely tense between us. I shake my head. No, I need to stop thinking about those things.
My head has cleared and I'm just about to drift off when I hear the doorbell ring. I blink a couple of tomes, relying on my hearing to determine who it is. Grayson, Reese and Connor aren't supposed to come by until tomorrow, and considering the tension between us, I doubt they'd disobey that order. However, I think they may just have when I hear George open the door. The voices are muffled, but it sure as hell sounds like a teenager downstairs.
There's footsteps leading someone upstairs, which surprises me. I'd honestly thought George would turn away the visitor. I force myself into a siting position, ignoring the throb it sends throughout the soreness of my body, waiting intently for whoever it is.
I'm not sure who exactly I was expecting to walk in, but it sure as hell wasn't Danny.
Danny looks better than ever. His blue eyes are sparkling, blonde hair actually brushed for once, and skin glowing. His face breaks out into a smile as soon as he sees me, and I've never seen him beam brighter. Danny looks nothing like the insecure, upset version of him I saw when he was first admitted. He looks healthy and strong, loud and proud, living and breathing, which is amazing enough to make my day ten times over.
