The Creative Process

Chapter Ten: So That Means...

Thomas had a broken ankle.

    And a few possibly fractured ribs.

    And a chipped tooth.

    And so many cuts and bruises I couldn't count them.

    So when I woke up, He and Kate were arguing about the hospital.

    "No one here can treat a broken bone Thomas!"

    "Arthur probably can!"

    "You don't know that!"

    "What if he sets something off there and he gets exposed?"

    "What if he doesn't come?"

    "I'm coming," I spoke up, sitting up from where I was laying on the floor.

    "Oh you're awake!" Kate shot up from where she had been sitting on the coffee table across from Thomas, seated at the couch. "Are you feeling ok?"

    "My head hurts a lot but I'm fine, why aren't we on our way to the hospital?"

    "Ask him!" Kate motioned to Thomas on the couch in exasperation.

    "No need," I hopped up a little faster than I should have, stumbled, and steadied myself, "C'mon, lets get you fixed up," I helped Thomas off the couch and towards the door.

    "Oh so you'll just listen to him?" Kate groaned, grabbing her keys off the table and opening the door for us.

    I took one step outside, the morning sun caught my eye, I guess Kate had gotten us home and asleep over the night, I stumbled backwards, nearly dropping Thomas. My head was splitting and I could barely see but I waved off Thomas and Kate's concerns and carried on. We made it to the car without further complications and managed to get Thomas and I into the back seat. I collapsed against the window and closed my eyes. I felt Thomas' hand on my arm and squinted over at him.

    "Is it getting any better?" He whispered,

    "Not yet but it always wears off pretty quickly," I assured him.

    He smiled sadly, "Ok, be careful,"

    "By the way, where did I drop us when I got us out of there?"

    "Back where you and Kate parked the car, it was a miracle she got both of us in the car in the first place."

       

    ~~~

    By the time we'd helped Thomas into the Emergency Room and signed in, the headache was barely noticeable. The doctor, a friendly older man with crinkly eyes and a smile, came in less than a minuet later and helped us into a room. The exact second I walked through the hallway had to be the worst physical pain I'd ever felt; thank god Kate and the doctor were holding Thomas. I stumbled backwards and caught myself on the wall. The doctor stood up straighter and asked,

    "You alright, son?"

    "Yea, yea, I'm fine, yea I'm fine. Just, where's your bathroom?"

    "Down this hall and to the right," before he could even finish talking, I was gone. But the further down the hallway I got, the worse the pain grew. Pain has always been one of the strongest feelings to sense but this place was like pepper spraying my brain. Well, actually I have no idea how that would feel but I imagined something like this. I could hear everything; every tiny splinter, every broken bone, every mourning heart; and I could do nothing about it. All I could manage was to lock the door and collapse against the sink. Slowly, excruciating slowly, the headache faded to bearable.