The Prince and the Punk [EDITING]

Chapter 34

Janice

My head feels like it's filled with cotton candy.

I don't mean that in a fun way; I mean my head feels like it's full of some light, sticky substance that doesn't function like a brain.

When I open my eyes, I'm not sure where I am. Everything seems hazy, like I'm looking through fog. My surroundings are dark and shadowed, and I think maybe this is hell, until my eyes focus enough to recognize a hospital room.

There are several tubes and wires attached to me, and I want to touch them, but my arms feel like lead.

A machine next to me beeps twice, and a few seconds later, a dark-skinned woman in a dark green coat enters the room. Her curly black hair is kept back with a headband, and her full lips stretch into a smile, revealing bright white teeth. The fluorescent lights above us turn on automatically when she enters, illuminating the room in all its sterile glory.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," she says. "We're glad you're here."

"What... what happened?" My voice is scratchy and hoarse. "Who are you? Where am I?"

"My name is Dr. Forrest, and you're safely back on Earth," she answers. "Do you have any memory of what happened?" She sits down in a cushioned chair beside my bed so she's at eye level with me, and her expression turns sympathetic.

I swallow. "I remember... Mars. We, uh, we blew up the—the tower thing." I shut my eyes, furrowing my brows in an attempt to remember what happened on the red planet. And then it hits me. Everything comes flooding back at once. "We were attacked. By the Zinnans. On the way back to the others. And... I was shot... and—and so was Slater." My voice cracks at the end of the sentence.

Dr. Forrest nods, pursing her lips. "Unfortunately, Lieutenant Slater passed away."

I wrench my eyes shut and take a long, shaky breath, trying to hold back the small sob that still escapes me.

Slater is really gone.

"If it's any comfort at all, he died almost instantly." She snaps her fingers, attempting a small, sad smile. "So... he didn't suffer. It was quick."

"Yeah, I know it was quick," I say bitterly.

She looks down at the floor. "I'm sorry. Let's talk about you, though, okay?" she says gently. She gestures to my leg, which is elevated and covered in bandages. "You're lucky to be alive. An inch to the side and the bullet would have hit your femoral artery, and then this would be a very different story."

"Oh, good, so Slater gets a perfectly deadly shot, and I get hit right where it won't kill me," I growl.

"Not exactly." She glances down at the chart on her tablet. "Looks like blood loss had you hanging on by a thread for a while. You could easily have joined him. It'll be a while before you're back to 100%, and even then it's entirely possible that you have a permanent limp. Zinnan bullets tend to do a number on the bones."

I don't respond. I don't have the strength to. Suddenly, the conversation seems like more effort than it's worth, and my mushy, cotton candy brain just doesn't have the capacity to continue.

I turn my head and stare out the window. It's dark out, and the light inside the room turns the glass into a mirror. It reflects my face in impressive clarity, and I glimpse the horror show that is my face.

My eyes are puffy and dark, and my face is more gaunt than ever. My hair lies flat on my head, dark with grease. The bandages on my right leg make it look twice as big as my left. I watch myself lie there helplessly, looking just small, weak, ugly, and completely insignificant as I feel.