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“The hospital. You've been receiving fluids all night and morning. Your color is finally coming back. They hooked you up to a feeding tube because you weren't staying awake long enough to eat.”
“How'd I get here?”
“They found you passed out behind the wheel in front of the emergency room entrance a few days ago. You drove here.”
Panic rises in me and I try to stand up. Unable to catch my balance, I stumble backward onto the bed.
“Easy. Your body needs to rest. You've been through a lot. You both have.”
My eyes widen. “Iggy. Where is he?”
“In the room next door.”
“I need to see him,” I say, trying to get up again. My knees buckle and I fall to the ground.
Connor helps me up and guides me back to the bed. “When you're better.”
“No. Now,” I shout.
“Calm down. He's okay. I promise.”
“I have to see him.”
“I'll tell you what. Let's get some food in you and I'll go down to the lobby and grab a wheelchair while you eat. When you're done and if he's awake, I'll take you to him.”
I swallow hard, my throat raw. “Yeah, okay.”
“Good. I’ll call for the nurse and let her know you're ready for your tray. They have to order you one.”
I nod and position myself against the back of the bed. Connor steps beside me and adjusts my pillows.
“I stocked some water bottles in a portable fridge in here for you, along with some of your favorite drinks. They said you're allowed Gatorade and bubbly water.” He walks to the window and grabs a bottle from the fridge.
“We'll start off with this first though,” he says, handing me the water bottle.
“Thank you. For everything.”
He smiles softly, resting his hand on top of mine. “Of course.”
Without thinking, I flinch. He takes a step back, his eyes widening.
“I'm sorry…I don't know why I did that,” I tell him.
“Don't apologize. The doctors and nurses warned me to approach you with caution. I should have listened.”
I bunch the sheets in my fists, sinking into myself. I'm too afraid to even let my own brother touch me. My captors might be dead, but in a way, they're still winning.
Connor hits the call button and asks for my lunch tray. As he goes downstairs to get a wheelchair, a woman in green scrubs pushes a table above my bed and sets a tray on top.
“Here ya go, hun. Remember to go slowly. We don't need you getting sick.”
I stare down at the contents, scrunching my nose. “This isn't food.” I gesture toward the green Jell-O, apple juice, broth, and a blue popsicle.
“I know. We have to take it slowly, starting you off with a liquid diet, and then we'll move to solids when we're sure you can handle it.”
I roll my eyes, sighing in frustration. “Alright.”
“We'll see how you do with your lunch. Maybe you can have something more fulfilling for dinner.”
