Page 4 of Weather the Storm
And that’s what this is really about: escaping him and his madness, his anger and his wrath, his words and his hands. His tongue slices sharper than any razor, and his hands are merciless weapons. He breathes destruction, mayhem, and fury.
He rules with an iron fist, hell-bent on total domination over me, but there’s this small sliver of my spirit that just won’t break, no matter how hard he hits or how loud he yells. There’s this tiny, microscopic part of my soul that keeps pushing me forward, that keeps me from wilting entirely and ending it all. That sliver of hope soothes me with lies—lies about a future without him. It tells me I can run, but deep down, I know better.
There’s nowhere I could go where he wouldn’t find me.
I jolt awake, momentarily disoriented by the rhythmic beeping coming from my right.Beep. Beep. Beep.Again and again, the sound causes my temples to throb. Even though my eyes are still pinched closed, I know this is not my room, and I am not in my bed. Without warning, the events that led me here flash through my mind: hitting Simon’s truck and the subsequent ambulance ride. I remember the CT scan, and being given pain medication. I must have fallen asleep shortly after that.
I inhale deeply, trying to get my bearings, and cringe at the smell of antiseptic hanging in the air. God, I hate hospitals.
Slowly, I try to blink my eyes open, only to immediately close them again. Whimpering at the brightness of the room, I sink farther into the small, firm mattress before steeling my resolve to try again.
I peel one lid open and hold it, adjusting, before peeling the other open as well. “So bright,” I whine to myself, squinting up at the light above me. My head feels like an entire drumline has taken it as their practice space; the thrumming and pounding is incessant.
With all the strength I can muster, I roll my head to face the far wall of the small hospital room, only to startle at the sight of the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on sleeping in the chair in the corner, his light-brown hair messy, his chiseled jaw covered in stubble. “S-Simon?” I whisper, more to myself than to him.
All the same, he jolts like someone took a live wire to his skin. “You’re up?” He lunges from the chair toward me, gently taking my hand in his, scanning my body before bringing his deep-blue eyes to mine. “Are you—fuck, you have no idea how happy I am to see those baby-blue eyes right now. Let me call for your doctor.”
He starts to withdraw his hand from mine, and I let out the most pathetic whimper, halting him. “Don’t go,” I beg.
“Not going anywhere. Just gonna hit the call button,” he assures me, leaving me feeling foolish, even though that wasn’t his intention.
This time when Simon tries to release my hand, I let him. I allow my eyes to fall shut as he walks around to the other side of the bed where the call button is. I cringe at the shrill sound it makes and the subsequent static that filters through the speaker when the nurse answers.
“She’s awake,” Simon tells her, his voice full of something…a quality I can’t quite put my thumb on. Whatever it is, it sends a shiver down my spine.
More static. “I’ll let the doctor know. He should be by shortly.” And then glorious peace and blissful quiet—well, aside from the stupid monitors.
Softly, Simon runs his index finger up my arm, wrist to elbow, and back down again. “Do you remember what happened?” he asks, his voice quiet.
“Mmm…unfortunately, yes,” I say, dreading this conversation. “I-I remember hitting your truck and the a-ambulance ride here. I know they ordered a CT scan and I went to sleep after, but that’s it. What I don’t r-recall is you being here. Wh-why are you here?” I immediately regret the question, knowing it sounds beyond rude.
“Well, Goldilocks, I’ve been here the entire time—didn’t want you waking up alone. They just kept me in the waiting room until you were moved to a real room, seeing as I’m not family. Seraphine brought me, but I told her to head on home after she finished up your paperwork.”
I try to sit up, but Simon places a hand on each of my shoulders. “Stop. You need to rest.”
“Thank you, Simon. Is your truck okay?” I try sitting up again, but he just shakes his head at me.
“Don’t worry about my truck, it can be replaced—you can’t. I gotta ask though, do you rememberhowyou wrecked?”
I open my mouth to answer him, only to close it again. Open, close. Open, close, like a fish gasping on dry land. Reaching as far back into my mind as I can, I come up with nothing. “No,” I whisper, feeling silly and defeated. “H-how long was I asleep?”
“Not long. We’ve only been here a few hours. You were asleep when they let me come up—scared me good, too. The nurse had to tell me they gave you something for pain and you were napping, not unconscious.”
“Simon, why don’t I remember what caused me to hit your truck?” I ask him, my voice brittle and pleading.
A man in a white lab coat enters the room. “Good to see you awake and alert Mrs. Ellington.” I visibly stiffen at his use ofMrs., my muscles tightly bunching before slowly releasing, my heart almost beating out of my chest.
“Ms.,” I croak out. “Ms. Ellington.”
The doctor glances from me, to my chart, and back again before roughly clearing his throat. “All right,Ms.Ellington. To answer your question, it’s quite common to experience minor memory loss after a concussion. With that said, there’s no need to worry as your memory should return just fine within the next couple of days. However, for the next week, you will need to rest, preferably supervised. Do you have anyone to watch over you?”
Worrying my bottom lip between my teeth, I start to shake my head, but Simon speaks up first. “Yes, sir, she’ll be staying with me.”
“Wonderful, and you are…” My doctor trails off, waiting for Simon to supply his name.
“Simon McAllister.” He shakes the doctor’s hand with a firm-looking grip. “Do you know when she’ll be released?”
“I’ve looked over her CT scan, and she can be released as soon as I finish her chart. A nurse will be along with discharge paperwork and aftercare information. It might take a bit with it being shift change, though.” My doctor, who never once introduced himself, turns to address me. “You’ll need to make a follow-up appointment for next week, and please, take it easy.”
