Officer Genevieve Perez.
A diligent police constable. She's quick, both mentally and physically, with a gun by her side at all times. The 24-year-old does her duty to the best of her ability, and absolutely nothing can distract her when she sets a...
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Ten days later
Golden rays seeped into the hospital room through the windows. They were glorious, and Genevieve had the lights turned off so she and her surroundings could bask in the sun's glory. The room looked much warmer, and way more inviting than the bright white atmosphere.
Genevieve was no longer lying down like a dead body. Her rear balanced her entire form against an edge of the hospital bed. Her legs were outstretched so her bare feet could touch the ground, and her palms were planted flat against the bed for even more support.
"He's here. Do you want him in?"
She turned her neck to see the head of Sarah's peeking in from the door, and Genevieve nodded as a yes to her question.
For the past week or so, Genevieve had been brushing away visitors. It was that they wanted to see her, but she didn't want to see them. She'd manage things through text messages or calls, and nothing more. It was her dear friend Daron who called her every single day to keep her company, since he couldn't come in person. His job as a dispatcher required him to stay at the police station all the time.
Daron's presence on the other side of the line reminded her that she was still human. He inadvertently made sure her emotions were still in check.
Sometimes they'd rant to each other for hours on end, about nothing too significant. Sometimes they'd laugh until Genevieve's wound ached, and Daron would either scold her or threaten to end the call if she didn't stop torturing herself.
And sometimes, they'd cry.
They'd shed tears in the remembrance of their third musketeer. They'd cry together, and it was if their heads rested on each other's shoulders. It was incredible how a single phone call could do so much for Genevieve. Somehow, it kept her sanity from falling over the edge.
Out of all the visitors, there was one that she wanted to see too. But she had been pushing him away just like the others. However, that changed today. Genevieve had finally combed up enough courage to let the person into the hospital room.
Her head snapped in the direction of the door, when she heard it open. The warm rays illuminated the figure of Owen as he stalked inside, whereas Genevieve remained where she was. She didn't stand up to approach him, or maybe even hug him as a greeting after so long.
Owen stopped right in front of her. Endless concern was etched onto his features, and he took a second to take in her appearance. Genevieve could tell that he hadn't slept properly in a while. The point was made by his dull eyes and messed up hair, that implied how a hand had been run through it too many times. But she didn't know what caused that.
"How are you feeling?" His scouring gaze finally stopped on her eyes when he voiced his question, but Genevieve didn't reply. She sat as she had been sitting, and her blank stare bore holes into his face. Owen was faintly puzzled at her lack of enthusiasm upon seeing him, but he said nothing of it. He only shifted his weight from one leg to another, which is a gesture one does when they don't know what to do or say.
