Path To Restoration (Fighter's Den, #3)

Chapter 17 - Delilah

Ever experience those moments where your brain is awake before you are? You feel like you can't move and even opening your eyes is taking too much strength but you're aware of everything going on around you. You can hear what's being said, feel every touch, but you can't move or respond. Your body feels like it's locked up and suddenly, you're mind is nothing more than a prisoner.

It's a pretty scary experience.

That's probably why I whimper when I find myself unable to move or speak even though I know I'm awake, and the talking around me comes to a hush.

"Honey?"

I know that voice.

Mama, I want to say. But I can't.

A warm hand threads through mine, slightly trembling, and I know it's not Mom's. It feels too big and too calloused.

"You're okay, Angel." What feels like a set of lips softly brushes against my knuckles and I tingle with awareness but I still can't move. I try to, though. Especially when that wonderfully deep and gentle voice tells me, "We're right here, baby. Hold on for us, okay? We're not going anywhere."

I want to hold on. I desperately fight myself to stay alert but I can feel my control slipping. I feel helpless and for a second, just a second, I'm able to tighten my hand around the one holding mine and I hear a sharp inhale in response. I think somebody says something but I can't be sure.

Because darkness finds me again.

***

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Shut up, I want to scream.

The incessant noise feels like a sledgehammer to my brain, which is now pulsing painfully in that spot right between my eyes. My head feels like it weighs a ton and my temples throb. God, this is awful. I just want the pain to go away and that damn beeping isn't helping.

My eyes shift behind my closed eyelids when I sense movement in the room. I hear the shuffling of shoes right before I feel my arm being lifted. Something wraps around my bicep, tightens, and tightens some more before it's released and taken off.

Then there's more talking. Words like blood pressure and brain activity and continuous monitoring. I know all of these words mean something but I can't make sense of what. Every time I try to, my head just hurts even more. So I stop thinking and I stop paying attention to what's happening around me and I do the only thing that brings me relief; I let my brain shut off again.

***

"Her scans look better."

I don't know that voice.

"Brain activity has significantly improved in the last twenty-four hours but we'll have to keep an eye on her and make sure she's stable."

It's a woman. But I'm not sure what she's talking about.

"When will she wake up?"

I know that voice! It's my mom.

"That's hard to say because the brain is extremely unpredictable. There's only so much we can determine based on science alone but it should be sooner than later. Her charts are very promising."

"Thank you, doctor. Will you let us know if something changes?"

That's definitely not a woman's voice. It's deep and sort of raspy, as if it's coming out of a scratched throat. From screaming? Crying? I don't know what but something is wrong. That voice shouldn't sound like that. I know that voice, somehow.