Page 67 of Killer's Obsession
“I’ll page the doctor right away.”
My lips turn down. They’re out of their minds if they think I’m sticking around here, waiting for some doctor to tell me I can leave. That ain’t happening.
Chief takes a long sip of his coffee, studying me over the rim. “How are you feeling?”
I press the button to raise the head of the bed and barely hold in the groan when my stitches start to feel like they're going to tear. “Like I got fucking shot.”
Morpheus snorts, leaning back against the wall. “Smartass. You almost died, ya’ know?”
Choosing to ignore him, I focus on Chief instead. “How long have I been here?” My voice sounds scratchy. “Gimme that coffee.” I motion for the cup in Morpheus’ hand.
He hands it to me, and I take a long gulp.
“A week,” Chief offers.
My brows go up. I’ve been here a week? How the fuck is that possible? Actually, I don’t care how it’s possible. I need to get out of here and find my girl.
Using the edge of my fingernail, I loosen the tape securing the IV to my hand and rip it off in one quick motion. Blood oozes from the tiny hole in my hand.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Chief holds up his hands, coffee cup and all, like that’s going to stop me. Yeah, sorry, Prez. No such luck. It’s time to blow this popsicle stand.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Dread shouts. He hurries over to the small sink in the corner and grabs a handful of tissues. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”
I take the tissues and press them against my hand. In seconds, it clots.
“Getting out of here.” Holding a hand to my bandaged chest, I ignore the searing pain as I swing my legs over the side of the bed. The movement knocks the wind right out of me, but I push through it. “Where are my clothes?”
“Fuck.” Chief rubs a hand over his face and growls something about stubborn motherfuckers while Dread walks over to thedoor. He pushes it partially closed, and that’s when I see the plastic bag hanging from the hook.
He lifts the bag free and pulls out a pair of jeans and a black tee. “Here.” He tosses them onto the bed beside me. “Did I mention that you’re a pain in the ass?”
I flip him the bird. He’d feel the same way if he were in my shoes.
“Right back ‘atcha, sweetheart,” he deadpans.
Fucker.
The room starts to spin like a top, and my eyes slam shut.
Shit.
Standing up is going to be a bitch.
Suck it up, pussy.
I take a deep breath and open my eyes. You got this.
I repeat the words in my head as I slide off the bed onto my feet. My legs are weak, and the room tilts dangerously for a second as I try to get my bearings. I lock my knees and breathe through it because no way in hell am I getting back in that bed.
I pull the hospital gown off, wincing at the sight of the thick bandage covering most of my left pec. The skin around it is mottled purple and yellow.
“Jesus,” Dread mutters, getting a look at what visible damage he can see. “You really did almost check out, man.”
“When it’s your time to go, it’s your time to go. Apparently, it wasn’t my time.” I grunt, carefully pulling the t-shirt over myhead. The movement tugs once more at my stitches, sending fresh stabs of pain through my torso.
I’m working on getting my jeans up when the door swings open again and a doctor comes in, clipboard in hand. He freezes when he sees me standing here.
“Mr. Tuiasosopo! What are you doing?” His eyes are wide with alarm. “You shouldn’t be out of bed! You’ve just had major surgery. Your body needs time to heal.”
