“What?” Scott widened his eyes.
“I was joking,” Thomas murmured, but he definitely scooped something out of the bucket and let it go on the floor. “How are you feeling?”
“Less sick, more tired,” Scott replied, forgoing the bucket so he could lean against Thomas’s shoulder.
“Did he hit his head at all?” Tim asked.
“I don’t know,” Thomas replied.
Scott hummed and touched his tender forehead. “Warren smacked me against the tanks.” He squinted to look at Thomas. “Sorry about the glass.”
“Do you really think I’m worried about the glass right now?”
“I don’t know –”
“Well, I’m not,” Thomas snapped. “Idiot.
“Grumpy bastard.” Scott sighed, closing his eyes.
“We’re almost there,” Thomas murmured. “Don’t do something stupid like fall into a coma.”
Scott cracked a smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it…”
The concussion was by far Scott’s worst injury. It wasn’t life threatening, nor was it accompanied by internal bleeding, but it came with a headache that painkillers barely touched, and he sat up in bed, clutching the sheet beneath with both hands, his eyes tightly shut. Thomas had pulled the curtain around Scott’s bed, to give him a semblance of privacy and block out the harsh lighting from the corridor, but the hospital ward was full, andloud.
Scott’s lip had butterfly stitches, along with a few cuts to his scalp, but his jaw, heel, and hand had all required invasive stitches and plenty of bandages. He had been wrapped up like a mummy and had been as polite and charming as he could be under the circumstances, but his veneer had started to crack, especially when faced with the expression of pity on the nurses’ faces.
He knew he looked bad because he was stealing Thomas’s limelight. The shock of his fully tattooed appearance quickly vanished in favour of tutting in sympathy and looking over Scott’s chopped and sliced head.
He enjoyed people looking at him, but not like this, when at any moment the curtain shifted, it revealed a doctor or nurse wincing in sympathy.
Not looking in a mirror became a necessity, and Scott went one step further, not looking at any reflective surface in case hecaught a glimpse of himself, even looking into the doctors’ and nurses’ eyes was off-limits for his own sanity.
It was only hair and a few cuts and bruises, but his hair had been hacked from his head, and the most serious cuts were in areas where he felt them at the slightest flinch or jerk. Every time he swallowed the stitches beneath his jaw tugged.
“Lie down,” Thomas murmured, plumping up the pillow behind Scott’s head.
Scott refused. He didn’t want to tell Thomas that he couldn’t stand the feel of the cold pillow against hisnowbare skin. It wasn’t vanity. It was knowing Warren had done that to him, and he’d been utterly helpless. He’d taken part of Scott away, and even knowing his hair would grow back didn’t make him feel better.
The nurse came back, making her presence known with a soft sigh.
“The headache still bothering you?”
Scott hummed.
“The painkillers should kick in soon.”
They’d been telling Scott that for the last hour, and he suspected he’d been given a dodgy batch.
“It’ll help if you lie back, try to relax.”
She tried to ease him down, but Scott refused.
“I keep telling him,” Thomas said.
Both the nurse and Thomas were staring at him, trying to work out what was going on in his head.
“I really need the toilet,” Scott blurted. He swung his legs out of bed. Thomas steadied him, glancing at the nurse for help.
