We all know that writers block will get the best of us. I just had a bed spell. Steph my buddy, this if for ya. We share in the suffering of writers block.
I swallowed once, and then let my head rest back on the pillow that was on the bed. The tears made the slightest of sounds as they hit the papery covering over the pillow. I was barely able to see Edward's blurred outlines as I cried, trying to stop the whimpers from passing my trembling lip. His face seemed to try and mask the slightest smile. He cleared his throat once with a rough cough, and said a few more words.
"I'm glad you said that Roxanne. Now, you need about a week to heal before we start showing you around and getting you into the whole system. We have a call button that I will place here on your bedside, so you can call if you need anything. We do in fact have a large medical staff here, all professional and receivers of degrees in medicine. So, you have nothing to worry about. Also, I might want to add I wouldn't want you to be completely lonely in this week of recovery. I will have some people sent in to keep you company around the clock. And, Miss Bennet, this is not the last you will see of me. I will be keeping a close eye on you. You have shown great potential already. I saw some of the marks you left on those who helped you here. Very impressive." If my tears hadn't been so blurred, I would have said he winked at me. Then, he walked out once again. I was left in my own thoughts.
A few minutes later, after extreme emotions flowed freely through me, the door opened again. And who else other than one of my worst nightmares; Mike. He was wearing jeans and a casual flannel shirt layered with a black leather jacket. He smiled at me and I really did look at him. He was tall like I had thought before and was just as muscular as I had thought a while ago.
He had an easy, casual smile on his face. I swallowed my pride and gave a somewhat stupid smile back at him. That only made him grin wider, but I couldn't do anything about that. Now that I knew what was going on, it would be so much easier to talk to him and not hate him. He really was just doing his job, and didn't hate anything about me. He sat down in a chair beside the bed, and looked at my bandaged arm and then snapped his eyes back up to me. He ran a hand through his dark brown hair and drew in a breath.
"It got you good, huh?" I knew of course that he was referencing the monster that had jumped me in the hall. I gave a sarcastic scowl, and then sighed myself. I had forgotten to ask for any pain medication.
"Yeah, it did. And you just figured that out?" He let out a chuckle, seeming not to notice the way my teeth were gritting together as a fiery, stinging sensation was crawling up my one side.
"I heard you got a few strikes in on it. I mean, you were amazing for a beginner. Not many people got as far as you did. A few even pass out when they see it. But I mean, you fought and you did GOOD." It took me a minute before I realized that he was praising me, and then I blushed. He chuckled as my face tinted pink, but it quickly faded as my teeth ground together again. His smile dropped and he raised an eyebrow.
"You feel okay?" I shook my head, really not willing to lie as I got a sick feeling come all over me. My stomach churned and I felt the bile rising in my throat. Mike must have seen the look on my face, and jumped up from his chair. He threw open a cabinet on a small stand next to the bed and grabbed out a basin. He thrust it into my arms just as I lost what little I had in my stomach.
Left gasping and gagging, Mike gently took the basin from me. My throat and mouth burned, as did my wounds from the violent way I had lurched in my bed. I heard Mike walk away, but I didn't make an attempt to call him back. I just lay there; my eyes squeezed shut in pain and more pain. That was the only thought that echoed in my mind. Pain.
Eventually the footsteps returned, but I didn't bother to open my eyes. I was tired again, but the pain was preventing me from slipping into the sweet release of dreams. Metal scraped on that white, white tiled floor and I heard the rumpling of something that was probably WHITE. So much white. Pounding at the edge of my vision, white. The silence in my ears, white. The bandages down to the fire in my wounds, all of it white.
I was drowning in the sea of white, unable to escape. My lips trembled, and a whimper escaped me. I was falling, slipping below the unbearable all-consuming white. Suddenly, a hand gripped mine. I only then realized my sweating palms were grasping the metal rails on the side of the bed. I gratefully grabbed the warm, human substitute and felt it pull me out of the drowning. My eyes slipped open, and I saw Mike there, a worried look crossing his face. His lips were moving, but the image wavered before I could catch anything he said. A mumbled and morphed sound of footsteps joined undistinguishable mumbles. Soon, the white started to ebb away and was replaced by a black.
My eyes opened a last time, and I peered up into Mike's deep brown, worried eyes. When he saw mine open, he smiled, his dark lips parting to reveal perfect teeth. He spoke a few short words.
"Hey shorty, you're gonna be alright. Sorry about that. You're gonna be good. When you wake up, I'm not gonna be here. It'll be Tom. See you later." I caught his smile and captured it as I slept into a world of dreams and no pain.