I’m really tired of waking up not knowing where I am or who is around me. It’s honestly getting boring.
I manage to open my left eye, just slightly, and look around frantically searching for Maggie.
When I find her, relief and happiness flood my entire system, but then...
Well, it’shim.
In a wheelchair.
Holding my daughter.
“Wha—”
“Shit, I told you to be quiet,” he snaps at someone standing behind him. I don’t bother looking up to find out who. Ineed to stay fucking awake this time so I can keep looking at Maggie. I need to make sure she’s safe and happy and?—
Without missing a beat, he lowers Maggie from his shoulder so her head rests in the crook of his elbow, then offers her a bottle of formula.
A hitman is feeding my daughter.
And no one seems to be threatening me.
Where?
How?
Who?
What?
That’s really all I need to know right now, but I can’t seem to be able to move my mouth to ask any of those questions, and instead of having the time to keep trying, my body betrays me yet again.
I know it’s going to be different the next time I wake up. My thoughts are clear enough and my body is in less pain. So much so that my eyes open right when I want them too.
I see a crib on the left side of my bed—hospital bed, I realize, but first I have to look inside that crib.
I find the controls to move the bed up quickly, and though my movements are a little slow, I can actually press the button, so I’m sitting up in no time.
My vision turns blurry the second I lay eyes on her. My perfect little human, sleeping peacefully, she’s... That onesie she’s got on... I didn’t buy that for her. Didhe? Have they been taking care of her while I’ve been no better than a potato?
I move my eyes away just long enough to find the help button and press it hard three times.
Soon enough there’s a nurse rushing in, smiling in a detached way that tells me nothing at all.
“What day is it?” It’s the first thing I need to know.
“November third,” she answers without missing a beat, and keeps walking to the monitors next to my bed. After staring for a long moment, she takes my arm, inspects the IV insertion, then nods to herself. “I’m going to call the doctor, let him know you’re awake and lucid.”
She seems to be missing the confusion on my face, or maybe I lost the capacity to show emotion, because she just walks out without another word.
Almost a week asleep and practically dead to the world and she’s got nothing else to say to me?
What kind of hospital is this?
Not a real hospital, it turns out.
I still can’t really wrap my head around the fact that theDempsey family has a clandestine clinic where they actually operated on me.
And I’m still alive.
