“Yes.”
Someone that isn’t Mark asks a question. It doesn’t register. I lean into Mark’s hand with a sigh.
“Anything else hurt?” Mark asks.
I don’t think so. I think it’s just the pain in my leg radiating out everywhere. I try to roll over toward Mark but pressure on my chest holds me still. I blink, squinting up at Mark. His face is pale against his dark hair.
“Don’t move around,” he tells me.
I think hard before saying, “Bed.”
He bends down, kissing my forehead again. His breath hitches. “Soon, okay?”
Cool hands grasp my arm. It’s held still and something wet brushes against the crook of my elbow. I try roll again, but can’t move. “Mark.”
“It’s just something to help you sleep,” Mark reassures me. “And those strong painkillers you wanted.”
There’s a pinch. Coolness spreading through my arm, and then I’m gone. Nothing hurts.
???
The first thing I feel when I wake is a warm hand covering mine, the exact same as when I passed out. I blink and get my bearings, taking in the room. The white walls and humming machines are a giveaway about the hospital, though I’m in a lot less pain the last time I found myself waking up in a hospital bed, and this time I remember how I got here.
And this time, I’m not alone.
I glance to my side. Mark is asleep; head bent awkwardly to rest on the back of a chair not designed for sleeping in. He’s still wearing his outfit from the party, though the waistcoat is undone and the first few buttons on the shirt are open. I stare, watching him breathe in and out for several seconds before looking away. The curtains to the outside are pulled, though no light creeps through the edges, so it must be night. And there are blinds pulled down on the door’s window, letting in a small amount of light from the hall.
There’s enough residual light for me to see myself. The only machine I’m hooked up to looks like a drip. The blankets are heaped up, and when I move my leg, tenderness washes over me. I’m on painkillers, but I can already tell if I wasn’t, I would be sore.
I roll my head so I’m looking at Mark again. His neck is going to hurt if he sleeps like that. I twist my arm so that my fingers are facing upwards and lightly trace Mark’s wrist. I only do it twice before Mark moves. He sighs, straightening up and stretching his neck. He opens his eyes; and they immediately meet mine.
Mark jolts.
“Kyle, hey,” he whispers. He leans in, fingers gently combing through my hair. “You okay? The doctors said you’d be out for another few hours. Do you feel any pain? I can get someone to adjust the dosage.” There’s a note of stress in Mark’s voice.
“I’m okay,” I tell him. “Sleepy and tired, but I’m not sore…” I sigh. “I suppose I’m going to be later?” I ask gently.
Mark swallows before he nods. “Your knee is…bruised. They had your entire leg on ice to try to get the swelling down enough to get the prosthetic off. They cut it off in the end.”
I sigh again. “I’m going to be in bed a while, I guess.”
Mark’s lips press tightly together, the red whitening under pressure.
“Hey, it’s okay,” I murmur. “I’ll be all healed up in no time. And you’ll keep me company, won’t you?”
“Of course.”
“I’m okay Mark.”
Mark bows his head, his forehead landing on my shoulder. I reach up to thread my fingers through his waves. “I’m okay. Don’t worry, alright?”
“I was scared.”
“I knew you and Chris would come get me,” I say. “Thank you. And Eddie—is he okay?”
Mark straightens up enough to see all of me. “He’s good. He’s got stitches, and he’s concussed, but Damien has him set up in a private room next door. He’s got Bethany with him, acting like he’s a hero, so he’s well pleased with himself.”
I smile. “He’s a good guy.”
