His Saving Grace

Chapter Thirty

The smell of antiseptic made my nose itch. I tried to lift my arm to scratch it, but as I slowly raised it, I felt as if a weight was pushing it down, and as if someone was throwing punches at it, so I let it fall back slowly to my side. I strained my ears, and I could hear beeping noises and the muffled voices of people. I wiggled my toes and fingers. I couldn’t feel anything. I rolled my head to the side. The pillow was soft and fluffy, but with the way it smelled like bleach, I was sure this wasn’t my pillow at home. I slowly opened an eye, willing myself not to close it as the light burned my eyes. When I had adjusted, I opened the other one and blinked several times.

I looked down. My torn, possibly bloody prom dress had been replaced by a thin hospital gown that had the hospital’s logo printed on it. I looked around. The room was stark white with two blue sofas on either side of it. There was a window to my left, and it was dark out. On the other side of the room was a glass window and I could see doctors and nurses and patients who were on wheelchairs and gurneys rushing about, their voices muffled and distorted. I wiggled my toes and fingers again, and was pleased when I felt the soft fabric of the bed sheet underneath them.

Well, except for the fingers on my left hand, which were caught in something else. I realized that it was hair, from a very familiar head.

Garrett.

The suit I last saw him in was replaced by a black hoodie and jeans. He was leaning against the bed, face buried in the sheets. My hand was on top of his head, and one of his hands were on top of my hand. His other arm was stretched out, draping over my left knee. I averted my gaze from him.

Prom. How long had it been since that horrible night? As the minutes passed, my head started to throb, and when I touched my temple my hand landed on a strip of gauze that covered most of my forehead. I looked at my arms. Bruises that were turning into a sickening shade of purple and bandaged wounds and rough, prickly scars covered almost every inch of my skin. I peeped into my hospital gown. There were bruises everywhere.

I tried to straighten up, doing my best so as not to wake him, but when my hand moved a little his hand dropped from his head. He stirred. I froze.

He raised his head and pushed the hair away from his eyes. He blinked, looking straight ahead, and then he looked at me. For a while we just stared at each other, and I felt a little conscious since I was wearing nothing but a hospital gown.

“Katie?” he said, his voice hoarse. His blank eyes were suddenly filled with so much emotion.

“Hi,” I said, my voice so small and soft that I could barely hear myself.

He suddenly looked away and stood up, bending over to straighten the sheets. “Are you feeling any better?”

I shook my head. It hurt. “No, I don’t know. How long was I out?”

“Three days,” he said after a moment’s pause. He stuffed his hands in his jeans, his eyes downcast as he awkwardly stood there beside my bed.

“Hey,” I said after the silence that followed his answer. “What’s bothering you?”

“Nothing,” he muttered.

“Really,” I said, trying again to sit up.

“Don’t move, it’ll make your head wound bleed,” he said, still looking at his shoes.

I folded my arms across my chest, wincing. Every part of me was hurting—even breathing and blinking hurt. “You’re easy to read, Garrett. Something’s bothering you.”

“I just,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I…I can’t look at you anymore.”

Well, that stung.