Page 83 of Mex

17

Iwake in a hospitalroom with my foot slung up in a device, fully plastered. There is no one around, and for a moment when I open my eyes, I feel scared and alone. The dull beeping of the surrounding machines is a stark reality check of the situation I’m in. Raising my arm, I look down at the drip in my hand and a few other lines attached to me. I have no idea what they are or what they do.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

Turning my head, I see a woman walking into the room wearing scrubs and holding a clipboard in her hand. She smiles at me, and I try to return it. I have no idea exactly how that smile comes across, but I do know that I gave it my best shot. Stopping by my bed, she reaches down and checks a few things while asking my name, date of birth and a few other mundane questions.

“You’ve been in and out of consciousness for the last twelve or so hours,” she explains, “you had quite the ordeal. Your foot was a mess, but the doctors are confident the surgery went well.”

“How long have I been here?” I croak.

“Nearly a full day,” she explains, “how is your pain?”

I shift slightly, but I don’t feel too bad. There is a dull ache in my foot that is almost constant, but it isn’t unbearable.

“It’s dealable,” I tell her.

She nods and writes something down. “That’s wonderful. We will keep up the medication, though. You were in quite a lot of pain the first time you woke up.”

I don’t remember that at all.

“Tai is here waiting for you. He hasn’t left. Should I go and get him?”

Tai?

Oh. Wait.

The last conversation with Mex comes back into my mind.

He told me his name, and I told him I think I love him.

I could cringe.

“Yeah,” I say. “Let him in.”

“I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake and tell him he can come in. Is there anything else I can get you?”

I shake my head.

“Perfect. We’ll be back soon.”

She leaves the room, and only a minute or so later, Mex walks through the open door. He looks exhausted. The moment I see him, I know he hasn’t slept. He is still wearing the same clothes, and his blue jeans have some of my blood marking the fabric. Still, the relief in his eyes when he sees me awake is enough to make my heart do silly things. It has a real fit when he walks in and leans down, pressing his lips to my head and holding them there for a long, blissful moment.

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