This is love

SIX

There wasn't a word invented to describe the sheer pain hurtling through every crevice and crook of my body. My bones ached, my muscles pulsated and even my veins felt sore. It was like lying on a bed of glass with a ten ton brick resting on my stomach and squishing my chest.

I didn't want to open my eyes at the light above, fearing that it would shatter my skull but then I felt the hopeful squeeze on my right hand and a presence hovering above me.

"The lights, hit the lights." I hear his warm and strong, yet panicky, voice instruct. The familiar feeling of his hand running over my forehead and into my hair. It was calming, soothing. "Hey baby,"

When I knew the strong fluorescent lights were cut off with the faint noise of the switch, I began to flutter my eyes open, aware of the hovering body above me. The heaviness that restricted my chest was lifted, when the incredibly handsome face and beautifully captivating eyes that swam with worry connected to mine. The redness that encircled his eyes with sticky lashes and damp cheeks broke my heart in two.

"Are you okay?"

Choking on what seemed to be a laugh and a sob combined into one, he drops his head with a rush of tears dripping onto my arm. I swallow back my own emotions, focusing on the crumbling man in front of me. My arms ache but I force one to rise to his face, tenderly cupping his cheek and lifting him towards me. Biting his bottom lip, he let's out another strangled choke and chuckles, wiping his cheeks across his shoulders without moving his hands from mine.

"I should be asking you that." He groggily tells me. "I'm not that one who just had surgery."

"Could've fooled me - you look a mess." I joke in a small voice. Snorting with laughter, he kisses my palm. "How long did it take? You look like you've not slept."

"Sorry to intervene," A young nurse mutters quietly. "I just need to check your stats then I'll be done. How are you feeling, Miss Fields?"

"Sore." I whispered. "Very, very sore. My stomach feels like it's still opened."

She writes on the yellow papers, squeezing the bag of fluid hanging above my head. "I'll update your morphine. We'll keep those lights off for a while to keep the headache at bay, maybe even grab you another pillow or two to get you comfy. It'll be hard to find a good position to lie in for a few weeks."

A few weeks..

"Doctor Finley will want to speak to you soon, she's just with a few other patients but I'll let her know you're awake."

"Thank you."

She takes more notes before leaving discreetly, allowing Jason to pull his chair as close to my bedside as he possibly could without getting his knees stuck beneath the crib bar. He doesn't dare let my hand go, or even loosens his grip. Back and forth he brushes his thumb across my knuckles, careful to miss the cannula that stuck from my skin.

"Have you slept?"

"Not really." He murmurs. "I think I got thirty minutes, maybe a bit more. I'm not sure. You were away longer than what was expected. They haven't told me why either. Mom called by a few hours ago. She's not long gone home again."

While I was reassured that he wasn't here alone for hours, lost in his own thoughts. I couldn't help but notice the way his shoulders twitched when he spoke and his body instantly tensed made my forehead crease. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

"Nothing for you to worry about."

"Jason..."

"Francesca, please." He pleaded desperately. When Jason addressed me with my full name, I knew he was at a new level of seriousness. Whether used in a pent of frustration or a fluster of desperation, when I got called Francesca, I knew there was a sense of urgency behind it. He was focused on our hands, and I mustered some strength to give him a reassuring squeeze "How are you feeling?"