“Honey, no. You can see him when you’re better. You can’t move and risk injuring yourself further. I won’t allow it.”
I narrow my gaze, the skin scrunching as much as it possibly can. Not asking for permission again, I inhale to brace my ribs as well as wrap my arm around my side for good measure and sit up. My legs slide off the side of the bed so I’m finally sitting up. Short huffs are the only breaths able to escape as the pain restricts my chest cavity from fully inhaling.
“Charlotte Windsor, get back in bed.”
I evilly glare at her once more and grab my IV cord. Lifting my arm up to expose the needle in my skin more, I get closer to it and pause right atop my skin.
“I’m seeing Ben, whether you allow it or not. So, either you help me, or I’m ripping out this fucking IV cord myself and crawling to find him. If you care about me at all, I’d like to think you wouldn’t want me risking a bleed out. So, find me afuckingwheelchair and let’s go or else.” Each word is painful to get out as my muscles awaken further to restrict more from the anger tensing them up, but I push through.
Her eyebrows fold inward and her bottom lip quivers. It does nothing to me. I don’t care how she feels right now. All I care about is if she’s going to help me or not.
She gives a quick nod and disappears into the hallway. Soon after she arrives back in the room with a wheelchair. Her expression’s troubled, but she doesn’t say anything. Thank God, because I can’t handle hearing her stark voice grate on my ears anymore.
“Put it right next to the bed and lift the sheet up so it acts as a hammock for me to sit into it.”
“Char-“ She stops her sentence at the hard expression on my face. My nostrils flare and I stare her down, daring her to continue what she was about to say.
Her head shakes in disapproval as she ties the blanket to the other side of my hospital bed and drapes it over the wheelchair. I scoot over onto it.
“Pull it taught.”
Once pulled tight, I unevenly glide on it and land hard into the seat of the wheelchair. A hard, sharp sting cuts through my torso from the jolt to my rib and leg. The vomit balls up in my throat but I swallow it down, refusing to let anything else delay me from getting to Ben.
“Take me to him.”
She wheels me out of the room to a few rooms over. Tears well up when she sets me in front of his door. I’m not sure if it’s from relief that I’ll get to see him or fear of seeing him in the state he’s in. She knocks softly. Hesitantly. Like if she knocks too hard the door may explode.
Joans puffy face peeks around the now ajar door.
Now I see the real reason mom didn’t want to come here.
As if I’m invisible, Joan stares her down like she’s the son of Satan. It’s not until I attempt to lean over to see past her to catch a glimpse of Ben and wince in pain that she notices me. Her eyes widen, mouth parting slightly, before opening the door enough to get out and closing it shut behind her.
“Charlotte.” Her voice trembles as she bends down and gingerly wraps her arms around my neck.
She kisses the top of my scalp and stands back up, now directly in front of my mother.
“I’ll take her to see Benjamin.Youare not welcome to come in. I’ll bring her back to her room when she’s done visiting.”
The angry tension crackles so much between them that if it was possible to light a match right now, I’m sure the air would burst into flames.
“I swear, I didn’t have anything to do with this.” Her voice quakes but she tries to hide it.
“We’ll see about that,” Joan says as she approaches my mom. I’m unable to turn to see what’s happening behind me but I can hear their quick inhales.
Finally, I see Joan open the door enough to call Koa to hold open the door for us to go in. His face is less puffy than hers, but no less exhausted. His teary-eyed gaze watches me as she rolls me and my IV stand into the room. I don’t bother looking back at my mom to see where she goes or what she’s doing. I’m not sure if she had anything to do with this or not, but she’s tied to my father and right now that’s enough for me to want to avoid her.
Small steady beeps are the metronome that play as I finally get my first glimpse of my sweet, sweet man. Tears cloud my vision as I poorly try to control my short,sharp inhales. Pain racks my lungs and the muscles in my chest and face from holding back the cries and screams I want to let out from seeing his condition.
His head is wrapped to where you can only see his eyes, and his mouth has an intubation tube stuck out of it for breathing. His left leg is casted, and his body’s encased in a metal brace for limited mobility, while the skin that is left showing on his arms is bruised black and blue with cuts all over.
Joan rolls me right up to his side so I can grab his one free hand that’s almost completely taped up. It only allows a small part of skin-to-skin contact with his fingers, but it’s exactly what I need. They’re chilly, like he’s been out working and cutting wood in the winter without gloves all day again.
The shakes overtake me as I lose control, crying to the point of near hyperventilation as high pitched squeals exit my trembling body. I bring his hand to my lips and hold it there, gently kissing what skin I can touch over and over again as I try to bring any sort of comfort I can to him and myself. Unfortunately, it does nothing to dissuade the anguish destroying my soul.
Is he going to be ok? Will he get through this? What am I going to do if he doesn’t?
A comforting touch rests on my shoulder.
