We Are Monsters 🌕 Book 1 || gxg

Trapped

Consciousness brought immediate confusion and a dash of fear. Sam jolted to get away from her assailant, who was long since gone. Sunlight streamed through a wide window, slanting across her legs under the pale yellow blanket. A wall mounted television was spewing laughter, probably canned. It was the smell, though, that tipped her off. Sterile, not gross but not pleasant either, and somehow sweet.

She fumbled with stiff, aching fingers by her elbow to press the button. She held it for a few seconds, then let her arm fall back to her side. Bandages wound from second knuckle up beneath her sleeve, crisp white and uniform.

A door clicked somewhere to her left, then soft footsteps approached the partition. A nurse in scrubs covered with cat faces offered a kind smile before glancing at his watch.

"You're up early."

"Early?"

"It's about quarter after seven."

"What day?"

"Thursday."

Sam paused, counting, then said, "I've only been out for twelve hours?"

"Ten, or so."

Sam hummed, nonplussed. She was sure it would have been longer. The drugs they had her on must have been pretty intense, the pain was no where near what she should be feeling so soon after being mauled to near-death.

So it was later than she thought when she found the intruder. She should tell someone about that. Later, she didn't even know yet if they had taken anything.

The nurse introduced himself as Cameron, and Sam liked the way his warm chocolate eyes crinkled when he smiled. It almost distracted her from her situation. Almost.

He did a basic checkup and wrote plenty of things on the clipboard without commenting on them. Then, he listed off so many injuries she thought he was just naming some of the things he saw day to day. Severe lacerations to her fingers, hands, forearms, upper left arm, left shoulder, cheek, collarbone. Puncture wounds to her right side, right shoulder, and across her chest. Muscle tears all along her left arm and parts of her right. No organs were punctured, fortunately, but the muscle damage was so severe she would likely not regain full mobility of her left arm.

She didn't have to look to see the roping cuts and sutures under the bandages. Not so much see as imagine the way they must circle her pale arms, the state her poor hands must be in. She could hardly move them, be it from the bandages, the sutures, or the damage, she couldn't be sure. Perhaps all three were at fault.

Was her door wide open? Were her pipes frozen, her heater running nonstop? Had anyone else entered her unlocked home since she had foolishly left?

"Can I use a phone?" she asked, derailing the discussion about her physiotherapy appointments and how vital they would be to her recovery.

The nurse blinked a couple of times as he caught up to where her thoughts were. "Sure, you'll need to go to the nurses station, though. Do you feel up to walking or would you like a wheelchair?"

"I can walk."

She may have answered too hastily. Her eagerness to move, to get out of there, made her move too fast. The world spun and she caught herself on the edge of the bed. The nurse had lunged forward and protective hands hovered a foot away from her, ready to catch her if she toppled over.

"I'm all right, thanks." She rose to her full height, which terminated around his chin.

She followed him past another occupied bed—an elderly woman watching Family Feud on their shared television—and into the sterile hallway. Inexplicably generic landscape paintings lined the off-white walls to the vinyl-covered desk where no one was sitting at the moment.