St. Martin's Day (Second Draft)

PART 4 - CHARLOTTE CHANEY

The next time I'm conscious, I'm hearing beeping, am extremely cold, and dressed in nothing but my boxers and a hospital gown. I'm in a hospital. Great, I groan to myself. My first thought is,

What happened to all of my stuff?

I'm the only person in this tiny room; I don't see anybody else. As I am able to comprehend my surroundings, I feel that an oxygen mask has been fitted onto my face, and it's not exactly comfortable. Nothing is. IVs, tubes, masks - though at least I'm alone and don't need to face anybody... yet.

An hour passes. After trying forever to get into a comfortable position and failing, a nurse comes in to check on me. She explains the obvious.

"Your oxygen levels are coming up normal," she says to me. "it is likely you can be discharged soon, sir. The woman that accompanied you took charge of your possessions."

"What happened?" I ask her.

"From what I've been informed, you were the victim of a near-fatal asthma attack. She alerted us and was giving you CPR before paramedics arrived."

A girl? That could not have been Marie. We barely know each other and she's occupied with Robin. I'd think about other things at the moment, like Jackie, but... Jackie! Oh, they must have messed with her, those bastards.

But... who's this girl?

Before I can ponder out loud, a girl about my age comes running into the room, clearly out of breath. It's not Marie, nor anyone I've managed to get a glance at from work. I try and think of what to say, but before I can, she speaks first with no eye contact, very quickly.

"Sorry I'm late," she says, "I heard you were awake and was on the bottom floor talking to your friends who showed up with your things." She turns to meet my eyes. "My name is Charlotte... Chaney."

"Oh, I get it. Don't worry." I say back. God, I'm an idiot. "I'm Martin... but you already knew that."

She takes in some deep breaths and collects herself, sitting down on a nearby chair.

The first sentence that comes to my mind as I sit up and take this oxygen mask off my face is,

"Dude... where's my bike? Black, green spray paint, tune-ups apparent..." I ask, coughing a little bit.

Charlotte cracks a smile. "It's outside with your stuff, like I said," she explains. "We can go home as soon as the doctors say so."

I groan and flop back on my bed. It's always "when they say so" and that can take forever so they can get their money's worth. Though, I'd still like to interrogate this Charlotte while I'm still here and she's willing to talk to me.

"Are Robin and Marie down there?" I ask.

"I saw them when I came up, but I can get your stuff from them if you want... like your keys and your jacket. All this must have been traumatic for you, but even more for them." Charlotte says. She sounds like she's genuinely concerned - or genuinely pitiful. It's hard to tell. Though, I notice she sounds like she already knows me well enough to know what I want the most right now.

She must have felt the same way - traumatized. How does she know all this about me just how I... described my bike? For a moment, I'm just lost in her eyes. Her curly blonde hair. Her face... her body figure apparent in the spandex she's wearing. It's relieving to look at her, but the pleasurable moment breaks when she asks me,

"Do you need anything right at this moment, Martin?"

"Oh! Just... my phone and charger. Please tell me you have it with you."

-----

I've been here for more hours than I'd like to have been, but I'm not alone. Charlotte has been sitting here in that uncomfortable hospital chair beside me this whole time. I've never felt this before - someone actually being with me voluntarily in a situation like this. However, deep down, I know it's rooted in pity. What else would it be?

I'm able to talk to her and not feel so restricted. The tone of her voice is very sweet and... dare I say, caring. When she finally allows herself to leave for a moment, I find myself flashing a short but genuine smile. I never smile, so I quickly apologize.

"Oh, sorry you had to see that, Char," I say, covering my mouth with my hand for a moment. "My teeth are so haphazardly. I can't even go to a dentist."

She gets up with a chuckle in her throat, grabs my hand that's hiding my mouth, and gently puts it down. I'm flabbergasted.

"Martin," she says to me with eye contact. "Your smile is you. Don't you get that?"

I shake my head. "No, don't pity me."

"Do it again."

"Grin?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I want to see your smile."

So... I grin. But this time, it's genuine. For some reason.

I kind of chuckle at all of this. "You're weird," I blurt out. "But now you have to show me yours, you little slut."

Oh, dear. Charlotte laughs instead of storming out like some offended feminist. But she's smiling. She can't help it.

"You're so stubborn!" she says, laughing her head off. "But anyways, here, I have your phone and charger. I'll get your coat and keys from your friends."

As she leaves, I say from my bed to her,

"They're not really my friends, you know."

She says back audibly in the hallway,

"Don't pick and choose!"

I flop back onto my bed, arranging my lack of pillows. She's right - even if they're pretending to like me, it's company. She's company to me, I'm company to her. I don't know why she's choosing to do this, but it seems like it's on purpose.

Never in my life have I felt this before.