Round Shot

Round Shot 8

There was a dull buzz, like the sound of a generator running, and this humming buzz was accompanied by a particularly bothersome beeping. The beeps fell in monotone, even fashion, never once missing their cue.

Daya squeezed his eyes shut tighter and tried to drown out the sounds. He recognized them too well, and he also recognized that too-clean smell laced with anaesthetics and antibiotics.

The humming was produced by an oxygen tank, and the beeping, from a heart monitor. He could feel a tiny pressure on his flesh arm, and this, too, was familiar; an IV stick, embedded in the skin of his wrist.

He mentally sighed. Dammit, I've landed myself in the hospital again, he thought, turning over on his side-

A sharp pain shot through his stomach, and he tensed, instantly regretting his decision. Crap, don't move, don't move! His brain screeched. Don't do THAT! He was in a hospital, and he was in the hospital for a reason; he should have known better than to shift around.

He paused to think, to re-gather his thoughts, but everything still felt somewhat scattered. He remembered a little bit, but he couldn't fully grasp what had happened, what had landed him in this hospital.

The pain brought back some more memories. Yeah, he remembered getting shot because he pushed Abhijeet Sir out of the way of the psychopath criminal bullet, and he remembered Abhijeet forcing some sort of fever-reducing pills into him, but...

...But that was it. He couldn't remember being taken to a hospital. He couldn't remember being found. Had help come, or had Abhijeet dragged him to the hospital himself?

Nah...Abhijeet cannot drag him all the way to the hospital... Daya thought, pulling the rough hospital blanket up to his nose.

He considered opening his eyes but rebuffed the thought. Hospital lights were always too bright in his opinion, and he had seen them too often for comfort. Frankly, he hated going to hospitals. He appreciated what the doctors and nurses did for their patients, but all the same, hospitals were full of sick, injured people, people who were in pain, and he hated that.

He hated knowing people were in pain.

He heard the door to his hospital room opening and closing, but he still didn't bother to look at who had entered. He heard the clicking of thick boots, heard a chair being dragged over and the weight dropped onto it, and he still didn't care.

"Hey, Daya..."

Daya didn't answer, trying to make his body limp. Maybe if they think I'm sleeping, they'll just go away. Yeah, that's right. They'll just go away. He felt too tired and drained to answer any questions anyone might shoot at him.

But the new arrival was persistent... Abhijeet: tum jag rhy ho?

Abhijeet sighed: Daya, mjhe pata hai tum jag rhy ho... tumhari saans bta rhi hai k tum jag rhy ho...

Daaarrrrnnnn iiiiittt... He instantly checked his breathing and made sure to take deep, even breaths, one at a time. There. Now they're bound to think I'm asleep.

He paused.

Gah, whom I kidding!? It's too late! Agh!

He rolled over on his back, eliciting another sharp pain from his bullet wound, and blinked his eyes open. Just as he imagined, the light was way too bright, and he winced on instinct, squinting upwards.

Abhijeet straightened in his seat and smirked softly. Daya looked over, still blinking furiously. "mjhe pata tha," said Abhijeet in triumph, standing from his seat and pressing the back of his hand against Daya's forehead. Only now, when Abhijeet's freezing knuckles met his fevered skin, did Daya realize how hot he actually felt. It was no wonder he was being given antibiotics through the IV.