Page 91 of Cuts Like An Angel: Part 3

“Shush,” Rosie said, brushing her hand through his hair. He could only manage to nod.

He was in and out with that. One moment he’d be speaking, the next he was opening his eyes again, and god knows how much time had gone by. Rosie was always there. Mark a couple of times. Nurses too. People coming in to check on him, but when his eyes closed, all he seemed to find was darkness. If he dreamt anything, he didn’t remember.

When he opened his eyes again, he could at least move his head. The mask had gone off his face and instead he had a tube across his top lip with two little plastic nozzles in his nostrils. When he closed his mouth, the air was cold and strange feeling. “Rosie,” he said her name as a whisper.

She was in the seat, legs curled up, head back a little with her eyes closed.

“Just going to take your blood pressure,” someone said from the other side of him, and he turned as a young man was strapping his arm up and attaching him to the machine. “Stick this on your finger.”

William nodded.

“How are you feeling?” the man asked.

“Like I got hit by a bus,” William said, feeling a little more alert this time. “Or maybe it was a train. Something big.”

“A car,” Rosie said. She rubbed sleep from her eyes and came to stand at the other side of him. Her hair was a stray mess around her head, and she yawned when she spoke. “You were hit by a car. He was coming fast down the main road. Took you right off your bike.”

“You’re a lucky man,” the man said.

“I don’t feel very lucky right now,” William said. Not if the pain he felt was anything to go by.

“There was a grass verge,” the man said, “Apparently you hit that. You’d have been a bigger mess if not for that.” The machine bleeped next to William. “Blood pressure is okay. Better than it was. How is the pain?”

“How I imagine it would be if I had been hit by a bus,” William said. Not exactly descriptive, but his brain was fresh out of sarcasm and the ability to assess what he felt.

“I’ll see if you’re due for more medication. They’re serving breakfast. I’ll bring you something. I think they said it’s okay for you to eat now.”

“The doctor said they’d be moving him,” Rosie said, “Do you know when that will be?”

“A couple of hours or so yet I expect. Moves usually happen when the doctors have done their rounds and people get discharged.” He patted William’s bed. “I’ll be back in a moment with something to eat.”

When he was gone, William closed his eyes again. At least this time he didn’t drift off into some oblivion. He could hear the machines in other rooms and the sounds of other patients, the usual coughs, murmurs, bleeps. “You’ve been here all night?”

“Yep,” Rosie said, “Mark was here too, but he’s had to go to work. He’s been in and checked on your mother. Made her breakfast and stuff.” There was a pause. Something in the way she did it that made his already painfilled guts ache. “I know your mother only wants you, and you don’t like the idea of care, but Mark mentioned getting some emergency care for her. Said he could pull a few strings. I know your mother wouldn’t--”

“Do it,” William said, cutting her off. The last thing he needed was to worry about Maria and what she needed, and the last thing Rosie needed was to have to deal with all of that. Maybe it was about time she had care. It’d been what, one, two months since she’d been back, and already they were all feeling the effects of it.

William blinked again, took a breath, which hurt like a bastard. How the hell was everything connected to things that didn’t even make sense? He breathed and his arm ached. He yawned and his abdomen felt like he was the star of the Aliens films. He needed to cough, but God, he didn’t dare do that.

“They think you’re going to be in here a while,” Rosie said. “They’ve had to put a plate in your wrist. They had to put your bones back in place in your leg, so they mend properly.” She smiled down at him. “When you do something, you make sure you do it properly.”

“Never call me Arthur.”

“Arthur?”

The puzzled expression she gave him was almost enough to make him laugh.

“Half a job. Arth … ur?”

She laughed, he laughed with her and two seconds into the laugh, “Jesus-H-Christ.” He took a breath and then didn’t dare to move as the pain settled. “That was a mistake.” His eyes watered with it.

“As well as your wrist and leg, you managed to get a couple of rods or something in your gut. One was okay, but the other needed some repairing. The doctor says they’ll both be fine, though. Just need to heal.”

“Are you sure I didn’t cut myself in two?” he wheezed out the words and lowered his hand to his abdomen. Not that he could feel anything. He was covered in bandages.

“Oh, William …”

“Just give me a second.” The pain rode him like waves going through his body, but if he lay still, like trying to hide from a monster, maybe it would go away.

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