Page 17 of Stand: Part One
I watched a lot of movies, most of which were either action, mysteries, or documentaries. Comedies would make me laugh, and horror films would make me jump, so anything that would cause involuntary movement was automatically out.
There was also lots of reading, most of it medical to help me understand my condition and anything else I could learn about the human body. I was also given a small medical device that used ultrasound waves to help heal my bones faster. I hoped it was working. I wanted to get the fuck out of this bed.
When I was strong enough to finally sit up on my own, I needed something else to do besides read and watch movies all day. Carla had offered to set up my art supplies next to my bed, to which I was only too eager to accept. We needed some damn color to distract me before my depression took the full-time shift.
When I was allowed any sort of pain medication, my physical pain would mostly be numbed away, but my emotional pain could withstand anything. When I’d been this injured last time, at least I had been surrounded by the beauty of the island and the ocean. But now I was stuck underground with no windows and no scenery to be had. Just blank white walls. I needed my art to help liven the place up.
The fear of my recovery didn’t help either. The temporary loss of my hip function was detrimental to my ability to fight or move in any capacity. To be able to bear weight, to withstand force and exertion, to enable flexibility, support strength, and speed in motion. All of that was needed to complete a simple kick. And most days, I could barely move my knee without strain.
Sid would come in every day and try his best to be encouraging, reminding me to be patient while my bones healed and to enjoy the rest while I could. Because once they were healed, then the real hard work would begin—learning to walk again. I dreaded it as much as I looked forward to it. The frustration would be real, but at least I wouldn’t be trapped in this bed anymore. I’d rather stumble around like a toddler than waste away under these sheets.
But the most surprising thing I found about being stuck down here was how little Darren visited me. At least while I was awake. After he’d magically appeared from the shadows that day, completely drenched in blood, I hadn’t seen him for a week.
The times he did visit were brief, and he wasn’t exactly the greatest company. Other people might find it difficult to read him, but I was so well-tuned to his very essence that I knew when something was off. I could sense it the second he stepped into the room, feel it touching my skin like a cloud of smoke. And while he may pride himself on keeping his emotions in check, I could see he was always on the verge of losing that carefully constructed self-control.
Darren’s rage was palpable, a thick invisible fog that permeated the room so much so I almost found it difficult to breathe around him. Sometimes I’d wake up in the middle of the night and catch him watching me from my bedside. His eyes would pool with hatred when he looked at me, his gaze sweeping over my broken body. Like if he glared at it enough, it would heal itself out of fear of his wrath. And while physically this sucked for me, emotionally, I could see it fucked with him hard.
My injury was the manifestation that he was, in fact, not the master of everything. He could not control the universe or all the beings within it. My world was not as impenetrable as he had thought, especially behind the supposed safety of his gates. And he was beside himself.
Because it meant he had failed me. And he did not like to admit defeat.
It didn’t matter that he had eviscerated the people responsible, that he had avenged me for what they did. It would never be enough. What was done was done and he couldn’t do anything more for me than what he already had. For the first time, it seemed he was helpless. And it did not suit him.
It was such a strange fluke that no one could have predicted. Intentional infliction of harm was expected, but accidental? Unheard of. Unimaginable. Impossible. Not under Darren’s watch. Everything was always under his control. Until it suddenly wasn’t.
I supposed that, in the end, there might be some kind of silver lining. Eventually, I would physically recover and move on. But Darren would live with this emotional turmoil for the rest of his life. Living with the fact that he’d been bested by chance.
If fucking with Darren’s mental state required taking another bullet, would I do it again? I just fucking might. Because witnessing his internal struggle was too damn delicious. For once, he suffered alongside me, which made everything all the more bearable.
So when he came to me this morning with a surprise visit to tell me I was being moved out of the infirmary and back into our bedroom, I thought my favorite movie would be over. But we were just moving on to the sequel.
I couldn’t help but notice how gentle Darren had been as he lifted me from my hospital bed and carefully placed me into the heavily padded seat of the wheelchair. His eyes scanned every twitch of my face as I absorbed the discomfort of sitting upright in a chair for the first time in over a month. I realized I was still holding up my weight from the arm of the chair, fearful of increasing the pressure I was already beginning to feel.
“How’s the pain level, Mrs. Davis?” Sid asked, his voice laced with skepticism.
“Um,” I murmured as I slowly lowered myself even farther into the seat, wincing with each inch.
“Fuck it, I’ll just carry you,” Darren insisted, his arms reaching out.
“No, no,” I argued, a groan in the back of my throat. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
When I finally allowed my entire body to relax into the chair, the pressure increased, causing me to suck in a huge breath as my hips adjusted to the added weight. The pain was dull, but it was still noticeable nonetheless.
Looking up at Darren and Sid, with the rest of the nursing staff surrounding us, I didn’t want to give them a reason to keep me buried down here any longer. I wanted the fuck out.
“Really, I’m good,” I assured, hoping my fake-ass smile was convincing enough. I knew Darren could see right through it with the look he gave me, but he wouldn’t argue. He wanted me out of there just as much as I did.
Sid nodded. “Alright then, let’s go,” he said, signaling to one of the nurses to wheel my wheelchair to the door.
We all moved through the hallway like some kind of single unit, Darren to my right, Clive and Owen ahead and to my left with Camaro, while Sid, two nurses, and Carla made up the back, carrying my books and tablet. No one said anything as we piled into the giant elevator and returned to the world above.
When the elevator doors opened, I was reminded how much brighter the sun made everything look. I nearly winced as I was wheeled out of the elevator and down the hall toward the staircase. Pausing at the bottom, Darren reached down to lift me out of the chair.
“Put your arms around my neck.”
Reaching up, I gripped the hard, curved muscle of his wide shoulders and slid my arms around his neck. It was hard not to tense up as he placed his hands under my knees and carefully pulled my body to his chest. He took each step slowly, working hard not to jostle me until we reached the top. Clive carried up my wheelchair, but Darren refused to put me back in it, preferring to carry me the rest of the way to our bedroom.
The bed had been made up with far more pillows than I remembered, and a medical station had been set up next to my side.
