Splintered [Complete | GB+SB]

Nine: Lovephiltres

For @reshmess, who didn't do anything that qualifies as harassment, and has apparently figured out that I'm a sucker. But for realz, last update for a couple days!

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I became aware of a voice speaking to me, low and soothing, saying the most extraordinary things.

"...unrolled the newspaper baton idly and read idly: What is home without Plumtree's Potted Meat? Incomplete. With it an abode of bliss. My missus has just got an engagement. At least it's not settled yet. Valise tack again. By the way no harm. I'm off that, thanks. Mr Bloom turned his largelidded eyes with unhasty friendliness. My wife too, he said. She's going to sing at a swagger affair in the Ulster Hall, Belfast—"

"What in the world are you going on about?" I groaned, attempting to open my eyes but failing horribly. It was so much effort, and my head was spinning. A cool, damp washcloth was placed over my eyes and I sighed in relief.

"I am reading you Ulysses, by James Joyce. It is considered one of the hardest books to read in the English language, but I've heard it is easier to get through if you read it out loud. Personally, I'm not sold on that, but since I had a captive audience and the motivation to keep reading, I thought I'd give it a try. If you'd slept much longer though, I probably would have switched to something less onerous, like one of Sean's medical texts."

"Owen?"

"Yes, Miss Sorenson. How are you feeling?"

"Why are you calling me that?" I knew I sounded really grumpy, but I wasn't exactly feeling my best and I felt like we were somehow devolving in our relationship when he said that name.

There was an uncomfortable silence, and then, "Because I take a great deal of comfort in formal structures," Owen said, and sighed. "Once upon a time, it helped me get past some of my insecurities, and then became a habit I find hard to break. I'll try not to call you that if you don't like it."

"I...I guess it's okay. As long as it doesn't mean we're drifting apart. Shit. I think I said that out loud."

"You did, Miss...Sang. That's probably the medication you're on, and your concussion. You can expect to be a bit disoriented and woozy for some time, and, I believe the word Sean used was floaty."

"Yeah, about that... where the hell am I and why are you here, and are there needles stuck in my arm?"

"What is the last thing you remember?"

"Umm...kissing you in the restaurant."

"I see. Is it at least a good memory?" I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Yes, Owen, very much so."

"That's good. That's very good." He paused for a moment, then continued. "From what we can piece together, after I dropped you at your car and kissed you goodnight, you returned home and your stepmother attacked you with a meat tenderizer. You were able to block it to some extent, so it wasn't a direct blow, but it hit you hard enough to cause a concussion and a rather deep laceration on your scalp. Heads wounds tend to bleed quite a bit, so by the time you walked down to the diner seeking out Luke for assistance, you had lost a significant amount of blood — not a dangerous level, but enough to weaken you and make you very disoriented on top of the concussion. North and Silas rushed you to the hospital and notified Sean--"

"I'm in the hospital? Owen! I can't be in the hospital! I have to get out of here..." I said, struggling to sit up, my head spinning so fast I thought I'd be sick. A cool hand rested gently on my forehead, anchoring me, and I moaned at how good the cold and pressure felt on my skin. "Please, Owen," I whispered, "I need to go. Help me."