Untethered

43 | Waking Nightmare

It was seven more days before Emma woke up. Each day, Ryan forced himself to eat, bathe, even trim his beard. At night, he managed at least a few hours of sleep in a row, but as each day passed, his temper wore thin, and he grew more and more concerned. The doctors assured them that this was not unusual, that her test results were encouraging. Until she opened her eyes and told him she was fine, herself, though, he wouldn't believe it.

It was about five-thirty a.m., and he'd been up for awhile already, moving from the cot to the chair beside her bed, his large, roughened fingers stroking over her knuckles. The room was dark except for the small fluorescent light above the sink, and the glow of the machines. There were fewer now that the barbiturates had cleared her system, and she was breathing on her own, so she looked less like a science experiment. Outside, the sky was lightening from deep purple to grey, and the streetlights had just gone off. He sighed, gazing at her in the weird, unnatural, greenish luminescence. She appeared to only be asleep, but no matter how much he pleaded, she would not stir. After a short time, he dozed off again, her hand in his, when a soft whimper dragged his eyelids open.

"Emma?" he whispered. "Can you hear me, baby? Wake up, I need to see those eyes." At first, there was no response, and his face fell. Then she whimpered again, and his hand tightened around hers. "Emma, look at me. Open your eyes, sweetheart, now."

~*~*~

Emma couldn't move. Her arms and legs, and even her eyelids were weighed down and leaden, and she couldn't even muster the ability to move her tongue. Her lips were cracked, and too painful to part, much less form words. Her mind pushed at her body, urging it awake, but it was as if she was wading through thick, gelatinous muck that sucked at her body, pulling her back down.

Her breathing quickened, and she managed a small whine. Her nerves began firing, a roughness and warmth, brushing against her hand. Low, indistinguishable words were uttered, from what seemed like, far away, and she couldn't make out the meaning. She whimpered again, and fought to open her eyes, but they were glued shut. Concentrating, she finally forced them open to narrow slits, her eyelashes caked with days of grit, and her vision blurry with sleep.

"Wh-what?" Her tongue stuck in her mouth, thick and swollen, and she barely managed the one word. A thin, cold wetness slid into her mouth, and it dissolved, loosening her jaw. Ice. That's what it was.

"Em, it's me." The rough, warm thing squeezed her hand, and she tried to raise her head. A shadow loomed over her body, and her eyes finally rested on a face. Familiar. "You've been out for a long time, darlin'. Scared me half to death."

Scary familiar.

A garbled scream forced its way out.

How did he get in here?

He moved closer, and she squirmed to scramble away, finding herself restrained by tubes and wires, and blankets that seemed too heavy.

"Emma, it's okay, you're okay now. Calm down." He tried to embrace her, but she began wriggling and pushing against him, her scream, dying to pitiful whimpers.

"Leave me alone, don't hurt me!"

He recoiled as if slapped. "I won't hurt you, Em. You're safe now, I promise."

Confusion.

"Ge-get away!" She began thrashing on the bed, pulling at her I.V., and the machines monitoring her vitals. "Just stay back."

He stepped back, and she relaxed, the tension seeping out of her body, leaving her boneless and weak. Quiet sobs wracked her exhausted frame, and she slowly sank back into a murky, drugged slumber.