The Cocky Hockey Captain

Chapter 32 ● Carlota's Anatomy

I was floating, floating. All the way up in the air. I thought I could see myself from above and for a moment everything was good. Right.

Then I came crashing down and woke up with a jolt.

It took me a while to actually process what was going on all around me. The walls made no sense. They seemed to undulate with flashes of light. I turned and the pillow smelled strange. Or maybe I smelled strange. There was definitely a weird taste in my mouth, kind of metallic. I groaned and that was the first sound of many that followed. Steps. Or at least they sounded close to steps. Voices? What were they saying?

The first thing I distinguished was my name. I blinked my eyes, trying to get the images to sharpen and focus. Maybe I needed to rub the wool away from them, but my arms were so heavy that I didn't think I was able to lift them.

I tried to ask what was going on and was surprised when what came out sounded an awful lot like baby gibberish. It made me start giggling, and that was when I felt the pain.

"Ow," was the first coherent thing that came out of me.

Someone was shushing me. I felt a stroke on my forehead. It was nice, and I leaned into it.

After a while I woke up again, this time with less of a struggle. The pain was forefront among all the sensations. I gasped as everything rushed back to me.

Holy shit. I'd been shot.

I tried to sit up to take a look at myself but quickly gave up on that idea. A pair of hands pushed me down gently.

"Shh, chiquita. Lay still, okay?"

"Papi?" I asked as I blinked my tears.

I was able to focus better now. His face appeared before me. New lines seemed to have appeared in it overnight.

"What's going on?" I looked around and realized that I was in a hospital room. There were a few machines hooked up to me and medicine was dripping next to the bed, connected to an IV line that disappeared into my skin. I panicked now. "Papá, qué pasa? Estoy bien?"

"Tranquila." As he stroked my forehead I realized it had been him earlier by my bed side, and the knowledge of that made a lot of the tension leave my body. I hadn't been alone for whatever had happened. He swallowed thickly as he looked down at me. "Todo está bien."

I stayed silent, just looking at him for the longest time. I wanted to press and ask him if he was sure, because normally when he couldn't switch to English it was because shit had gone south. But then again, I'd gone and got fucking shot, so shit had already hit the fan and sprayed me.

And then there was the other key fact in the matter, the one where I was the second family member to get shot at.

I cringed and tears sprung to my eyes a lot easier than usual.

"Dad, I'm sorry."

He shook his head once, twice. "You have nothing to be sorry about."

We heard a rustle and he shifted around to see what caused it. The door opened and there was Dean in a wheel chair, being pushed by a man in white, followed by a woman in a white robe and charts under her arm.

Dean's eyes widened and he stirred in the chair, to try to get up, I guessed, but the man pushed him down.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

He picked his jaw up the floor and gave me a weird look. "I should be the one asking that."

The conversation stopped as he was wheeled to a bed next to mine. The man helped him get up on it just as the woman approached.