Page 69 of Eternally London

I open my eyes again.

“Better?” she asks.

“Much. Thank you.”

“Loïc, this is the surgeon who stitched you up yesterday. He’s doing his rounds.”

The doctor asks me all sorts of questions about discomfort and pain levels. He goes over the surgery yesterday, and I thank him. I ask him when I can leave because all I want is to go home. I’ve never been a fan of hospitals. He tells me that it will be at least a week. I try not to act like an asshole, but I can’t hide my disappointment.

“It’s okay, Loïc. It will go by fast,” London reassures me.

The day consists of scans, nurses, doctors, and a whole lot of fuss over me, which makes me extremely agitated.

I get to talk to some fellow officers from the VA and get my account of the events into the record. I tell them that I’m not pressing charges against Tommy. They reassure me that he’s getting help, which is all I want for him. I want him to get help and find happiness. As soon as I’m out of here, I’ll do everything in my power to make sure that happens.

London’s family brings Lindi by for a visit. They also bring London a change of clothes and some essentials. She showers here, as she refuses to leave my side. London and Lindi sit on the bed with me, and we read books. The three of us also fit in a nap, which is heaven. I’ve never been into naps, but sleeping during the day is my new favorite thing at the moment. I’m constantly exhausted. I know it takes a lot of energy for the body to heal itself, and if my energy level is any indication, I have a lot of healing to do.

Finally, the family leaves, and London and I are left alone again—at least until the nurse returns in an hour to check my vitals.

“How are you?” London asks.

“Good. Tired but good.”

“Do you want to go to sleep?”

“Not yet,” I admit.

“I have an idea,” she says with excitement. “We could do a round of Twenty Questions. Remember how we used to ask each other questions while you were deployed?”

“Oh, I remember.” I remember every moment I’ve ever had with London. The only parts of my life that show up in color are the times I’ve had with her. The rest is just white noise.

My memories are like an amazing movie trailer. They show every good part of the film, leaving one feeling like they have to see that movie, or they won’t be able to go on. That’s how it is with London. She’s every good part, every highlight. I don’t need to watch the rest of the movie because, at the end of the day, she holds the best scenes.

“We should think of some questions,” she says, pulling up a chair beside my bed.

“I’m pretty sure I know everything there is to know about you, London Wright Berkeley.”

“Not everything.”

“Everything.”

“Really? Prove it.”

“Well, I know that your favorite ice cream is mint chocolate chip, yet when you buy ice cream, you always buy Ben and Jerry’s because you have this idea in your head that they are the best, and if you’re going to splurge on ice cream, you want it to be the best.”

“You’ve got me there,” she agrees.

“I know that you nervously twirl your hair every time you read over an article for the last time before you submit it because, even after publishing hundreds of great articles, you still don’t feel confident in your writing.”

“Maybe.”

I grin. “I know that you say you’re a dog person, but you love cats just as much. In fact, I’d say a lion is one of your favorite animals. I know that, if you see a few pieces of dirt on the floor, you’ll kick it under the rug instead of grabbing a broom.”

“Um, excuse me. I do not push the dirt under the rug.”

I narrow my eyes at her.

“Fine, you’re right.” She waves her hand through the air.

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