The Pretenders (ON HOLD)

chapter 10

There was too much white. The walls, the tiles, the ceiling, the beds, the uniforms, the bright lights. It was all so suffocating. To the point where Peter could barely think. He couldn't see. Or speak. Barely breathe.

He hated hospitals. They were an overly sterile, eerily bare place of suffering and distress. The crying babies, the screaming toddlers, the moaning children, the wincing adults, the crippled elderly. They were all there.

Then there was warmth. On his forearm. It was a delicate warmth; one that sent a pleasant zing through his blood. It was a distraction from the overwhelming sickness he was beginning to feel after being in the hospital so long.

"Peter?" The voice was so familiar. Soft and warm like the sensation on his arm. There was something strange about it though. The urgency.

"Me?"

"Seriously, Peter! Of course I meant you! What other Peter is there?"

Wendy.

He turned to face her; her cheeks were red as they often were when she was all heated up about something.

"Sorry," he said quite simply, finding it hard to concentrate while he was in the hospital. He was fighting a wave of nausea that had risen in his chest, "Sorry, what's wrong?"

"Well you didn't have to say sorry twice," It was so typical of her to pick something like that up. "It's just that Simon is asking for you."

The warmth, it was her hand. He noticed it now, gently resting on his arm. She often laid it there when trying to get his attention. Well, it worked so he could see why. What he didn't see, was why it worked?

"Ok."

"Are you ok?" she asked.

"Yes."

"It's just that you don't seem very at ease. Or talkative, for that matter. I mean...just forget it. Simon wants you. So come, please."

"Sorry."

"See what I mean," she continued, while leading him to Simon's room in the hospital, "All these one word comments. And you seem kind of pale. Are you sure you're ok?"

"I don't like hospitals," he replied stiffly.

"Oh. Oh, ok. Well I'll tell Simon to make it quick then."

She'd taken her hand away and now there was nothing to soothe Peter's smothering sense of claustrophobia. The walls were imploding. His head throbbed, a knot formed in his throat that he couldn't swallow. Dizziness overtook him. Sweating. Panting. Falling.

"Peter?"

Who?

* * * * *

"Peter?" It was Wendy. The urgency had left her voice; now it was just soothing. She'd put her hand on his arm again, hoping it would wake him up. Well, it did.

"Me?"

"Well, is that your name? Because, quite frankly, I'm not so sure anymore. It's what I've been calling you for the past week, but every time I say your name, it's like you've never heard it before." She wasn't angry, just making a point. But Peter could still hear the edge of concern in her voice.

"How's Simon?" he asked.

"That was unexpected. You didn't say 'What happened to me? Where am I?' like people who just collapsed normally do in the movies.," Wendy commented with a gentle smile on her face. Obviously, something was wrong or she wouldn't be acting so calm. But he decided to play along for the while.