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“Wouldn’t dream of it sweetness,” he smiles.
As I rest my head against the tile wall, I watch the bright pink water run from my body down the drain. Most of it belongs to Travis, but some of it is mine. My head still hurts, and it’s too difficult to stand upright with the adrenaline wearing off, so I slide to the floor and curl up into a ball. Being so worried about Travis, I nearly forgot about the head injuries and lacerations, and the throbbing and stinging is overwhelming.
I know he’s going to be ok, because he promised me he would be, but my brain is still a jumbled mess, and I’m trying not to cry. He doesn’t need me to be a blubbering fucking mess right now. That can come later. So a smile it is.
Sliding to the center of the shower, I slowly wash all of the dried up blood from my hair from a seated position. Not even having enough energy to pull myself up.
Zoning in and out, my head is completely empty. Nothing but the sound of water hitting the tile, and muted static. I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting like this but the water is turning cold and the runoff is clear again. No more pink.
It’s then when the shower door slides open and I look up to see Riot leaning against the wall. His arm and shoulder are bandaged and blood is beginning to seep through the bandage on his right bicep.
“Come on sweetness, Dr. G needs to take a look at your head before he leaves.”
I nod and part my lips to ask but the question won’t come out.
“He’s ok. Stitched up and good as new. Zeke and I carried him to bed, he just needs to sleep it off.”
Exhaling a sigh of relief, I take the hand that Riot offers me and climb to my feet, dizzying a bit on the way up. He turns the shower off and wraps me in a thick warm towel. Helping me dry off, he steadies me as I slip into a pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt before helping me walk out to the living room.
I sit down on the couch and the man in the glasses walks over to me, taking a seat beside me.
“Alright honey. I’m Dr. Guston, I work with the guys. Riot here told me you hit your head?”
I nod, “Yeah, I uh, before I was taken and again here on the floor.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Just a little dizzy, kind of tired.”
“Mmm,” he nods.
Reaching into his bag, he pulls out a small piece of gauze, and dabs at my forehead. The gauze is quickly saturated, and I didn’t even realize I was still bleeding.
“I’m going to put a stitch or two in this just so it heals nicely, is that ok?”
I nod again and fidget with the hem of my shirt as he gets to work cleaning and stitching the wound, as he continues talking to me.
“Any nausea?”
“No.”
“Do you remember everything that happened before you got here?”
“Yes, I mean. Yes, and no. There’s a blank period before I woke up… I think I was knocked out.”
“Mmm,” he responds.
After a few moments of silence, he finishes up with my stitches and he gets a small light out of his bag, using it to assess the reaction of my pupils to the light.
“Follow my finger,” he says, moving his index finger slowly from side to side, up and down, and I follow each movement just using my eyes.
“You’ll be okay sweetheart. You definitely have a concussion, but I don’t see a need for further scans. Just get rest,” he turns to look at Riot, “she can’t be left alone, at least for 12 to 24 hours. Travis is sleeping it off, so is someone staying?”
“Yeah, we got her,” he answers.
“Alright then,” Dr. G responds as he packs his bag up. “Riot, you call me if anything happens. I mean anything.”
“You got it doc, thank you.”
