Treasured

8)

Wren's P. O. V.

I refused to look up as June and Mr. Price entered the room again. Doctor Farre looked grim and disturbed as he stood at the foot of the bed. I knotted my fingers together under the covers in an attempt to ground myself. My leg was one mass of throbbing, fiery agony at that point. I knew the tear tracks were visible on my cheeks, but I couldn't bear to see the looks on June or Mr. Price's faces when they realized that I had crumbled under the pain. I chewed my bottom lip as Doctor Farre began to speak in a gruff, grief-filled voice.

"His leg..." Doctor Farre was struggling a bit. "His leg is irreparable. I'm so sorry, Edward. I wish there was something I could do. But...It's a very old injury, and I'm not sure my more radical methods could change anything even in the beginning. The main source of his pain is from muscle and nerve damage. I can give him something for the pain but it will affect his focus and clarity."

I turned my head away, used to the words that were flowing from the Doctor's mouth. But this time they were delivered so tenderly as if Dr. Farre was actually pained with the news. With the helplessness of the situation. My heart felt like it was cracking beneath his words. For some reason, it hurt worse when Dr. Farre told Mr. Price than when my old doctor told my Uncle.

"I see..." Mr. Price sounded choked up. "It's up to Wren - I would understand if he chose to ease his suffering. He was hurting so much this morning he couldn't even stand on his feet by himself. I wouldn't think any less of him."

"Wren? What do you want?" Dr. Farre's voice was so tender, like a mother's gentle smile. "Do you want something for the pain?"

I had already made this choice. My other doctor had insisted on it when I was younger, but I hated every moment. They would give me something for the pain, but I couldn't remember anything that happened. It was all a daze. It was like an indistinct dream that I would forget in the morning. I wasn't in control. I wasn't even living. I was just...there.

I gave my head a slight shake without hesitating for an instant. I refused to be wide awake and yet sleeping my life away. I didn't want to forget the good things in my life. The hard, ugly things that made me who I was. I didn't want to forget the grief, the people I missed.

"Are you sure?" June asked, startling me as his hand landed on my shoulder.

I couldn't handle the touch. I was a mangled piece of flesh. He didn't want to touch me. If he knew what I really looked like he would think I was a horror show. Something to look at and pity. I shrugged his hand off, still refusing to look at anyone. I nodded again, pressing my lips together in a straight line. They wouldn't persuade me otherwise.

Three pairs of footsteps trailed out the door, leaving me to myself. Tears instantly filled my eyes. I didn't deserve to cry. I knew exactly why I was in such pain. I knew why this was my fate. I deserved everything that had happened. It was all my fault! A small sob caught in my throat and just like that, I was crying all over again.

The words rang in my ears. I couldn't stop them from repeating in my head like a chant.

I hate you! I wish you were dead!

My own voice mocked me. I curled into myself, hiding under the blankets. I couldn't bear it. I had wished for my parents to die, the last thing I said to them was that I hated them. I couldn't even remember why I was angry with them. All I could hear was my voice shouting at them, the patient, understanding look on my mother's face, the stern, but unbreakable glint in my father's neutral face.

I missed them so much. But how could I, the person that wanted them dead - how could I mourn over them? How could they accept my endless guilt as an apology when their lives were cut short?

"Wren?"

I recognized the voice as Sal's. What was he doing here?

A slightly larger body curled around mine, keeping the blankets in place just as they were. The weight of his arms was comforting, as was his quiet presence. I cried in despair and grief. I wished my leg would hurt worse. I wished it had been me instead of my parents. They could have another kid to replace me, but nobody could take their place.

"Wren, I made you some more tea and some of the medicine the doctor wanted you to take," Sal murmured close to my ear.

He waited for a few more minutes and then helped me sit up against the pillows he had fluffed and piled against the headboard.

"If it was agreeable with you, I was going to eat my lunch in here with you," Sal explained. "I brought some extra food just in case anything looked good to you. Doctor Farre said you should probably try to eat something."

I looked over the tray, reluctantly deciding on the cottage cheese and a few berries. It was something, but it shouldn't be too hard to get down. Sal grinned happily at me as he dished a small bowlful of the fruit and cottage cheese up.

"I would suggest taking this first," Sal made a face as he held a smelly vial out to me. "It smells pretty bad. But then you can wash the taste away with your food."

I saw the wisdom in his words and quickly gulped the foul concoction down. I blinked as I worked not to gag it all back up. It tasted horrible - like Doctor Farre had mixed frog guts and lamb's brains together and decided to mix it with mud or something. I definitely hated it.

"Here," Sal sympathetically said, offering me the bowl of food.

I took a bite, relieved when the cottage cheese cleansed my palate with ease.

"I'm sorry Doctor Farre couldn't fix your leg," Sal softly mentioned, watching me carefully.

I kept eating, undisturbed by that topic. I didn't really care about being fixed. I mean, it was a bother and an inconvenience, but I deserved to be in pain and to be weak for the rest of eternity for what I did.

"You weren't upset by your leg, were you?" Sal correctly perceived.

I paused, glancing up at him for a moment.

He looked so much older and wiser in that moment, with his beautiful long hair framing his face. His lips were slightly turned down, and his eyes looked melancholy at the thought.

"What is it?" LaSalle probed.

I refused to answer, completely shutting him out. I wasn't going to tell someone I'd only known for three days what had happened. How the burning house haunted my nightmares. How I had lived in pain and suffering for years trying to make up for my wrong doings. How I was the one at fault. How I had endured the harsh remarks from the rest of my family - my Aunt, my cousins...

I refused to go back to people pitying me for something that was my own fault.

"Wren?" LaSalle sounded alarmed.

I realized I was shaking and sweating, my breaths coming in shallow pants as visions and images came back to me. I shook my head, tugging at my annoying curls in an attempt to make them leave.

"Wren, it's alright," LaSalle frantically tried to calm me. "You're safe. You aren't there anymore. You're here with me."

I ignored the pain that shot through my whole body as I dragged my crippled leg to my chest, rocking back and forth with effort. I buried my face in my knees as my heart tried to escape my chest and my lungs squeezed painfully. My head throbbed, my bones ached, and before I knew it my lunch was trying to climb up my throat. My eyes widened, and I hastily looked around for something to throw up in.

LaSalle seemed to pick up on my queasiness because he scrambled for the empty chamber pot just under the bed, bringing it up to my hands just as everything exploded from my mouth. I retched and heaved countless times before I was finally done. I brought my dinner from the night before up, along with the honey lemon tea, my lunch, and the foul-tasting medicine. I was soaked with cold sweat, my body was trembling from the violence of my sickness, and my world was tilting dizzily.

LaSalle must've taken the pot because the next thing I remember were gentle hands laying me back against the cushions and soothing voices murmuring together. My eyes drifted closed and I finally fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

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