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Huh.
Why are his words so…shaky?
And his blue so pale?
I’ve never seen that color come from him before.
What’s wrong?
What’s going on?!
Just as I prepare to let the questions flow out of my mouth, I realize I don’t recognize the chair he’s occupying. Or the window behind him. Or the machine beside him.
Concern crashes into confusion causing me to frantically whip my frame around to observe my surroundings, to try to figure out where I am, whereweare, why we’re here – wherever here is – yet the hysterical motions amplify aches all throughout my body to the point I release a blood curdling scream.
My best friend snaps his head up in horror and quickly ends his call. “I gotta go, Ma. She looks like she’s actually awake this time.”
This time?!
What does he meanthis time?!
Questions aren’t allowed to be verbally formed due to him sweetly scolding, “You need to be careful, Angel Cake. Last thing you wanna do is accidently rip out one of these wires.” Slater slides himself to the very edge of his seat to fix whatever got messed up during my thrashing. “Trust me. I’m a trained medical professional.”
Desperate to see the color I love so much return to his words encourages me to tease, “Nah. You just play one on T.V.”
A warm chuckle is attached to an amused nod. “Hey, if you wanna start callin’ me Doctor McHunky, that’s fine by me.” Giggles reverberate around the room, shifting his stare from my arm back to my eyes. “You haveno ideahow thankful I am to hearthat soundagain, Arley.” Rather than wait for me to say something, Slater resumes smoothing the tape back down, an action that elicits whimpers to seep past my slightly parted lips. The new noises have him cutting his crystal gaze back up to my brown. “Too hard, baby?”
Urges to repeat the sound are instant courtesy of the new butterflies dancing around my stomach.
Wow.
And here I thought I couldn’t love being called anything more than Angel Cake.
His eyebrows suddenly lift higher in question prompting me to answer in the form of a slow headshake.
Relief quickly reclaims his expression as he finishes the task in silence. Afterward, his hand lingers on top of the area, thumb gently stroking the territory, simultaneously soothing and protecting it.
Me.
“I know those glasses aren’t your favorite,” he kicks his chin the direction of my face, “but I didn't exactly have time to swing by your place and grab another, so you’re stuck with the brown ones you keep in my truck for emergencies.”
Giving the leopard print spares an adjustment is absentmindedly done.
“Do you know where you are?”
“The hospital?”
“Do you know how you got here?”
A much faster headshake than before presents itself.
“What’s um…” He does his best to maintain his composure; however, the shakiness in the words falling into the space between us tells me exactly how scared he truly is. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
Sucking in a deep breath occurs in tandem with shutting my eyes.
Whatisthe last thing I actually remember?
Was it drinking with him on my couch?
