Thursday Evening
folder
Romance › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
22
Views:
3,329
Reviews:
26
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Romance › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
22
Views:
3,329
Reviews:
26
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Not a concussion
A/N~ I hate being sick. Thanks for the reviews.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I woke and my head hurt. It pounded and I felt nauseous, like I had some sort of stomach bug and a killer headache at the same time. And my mouth was dirty. I hadn’t brushed my teeth before I went to bed. I could run my tongue over my teeth and feel the fuzzy plaque that had built up.
Had I passed out?
I reached for him almost instinctively, expecting him to be there. For him to look relieved that I had woken up. But I didn’t find him. Slowly, I recognized the sound of the shower. It was late. Much too late. He should be in bed. I move my head to look at the clock and I’m in more agony. Why the fuck does my head hurt?
I try to go back to sleep, turning my head even more. The touch of the pillow causes me so much pain, I reach up and touch my head. I feel the rough texture of scabs and dried blood matted to my hair. I still can’t remember. What the hell?!
I grope my way to the bathroom. I have to know.
My scalp’s a congealed mess. There’s dried flecks of blood in my hairline, like my face has been cleaned for me, but the nurse lacked the time to finish. I rip open the shower curtain, and he’s standing there, staring straight ahead. I have to shout for him to look at me, and I turn off the water to avoid making the floor incredibly messy.
He finally looks at me. His eyes are wide and he looks skinnier than normal. I can see every muscle popping on his arms and every muscle on his stomach.
“What’s happened?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
I wiped off his face when I saw it. For a second, I thought he was dead. His eyes were closed and I had to listen for his breath at first. He’d been hit on the head, like she had said he would be.
He seemed whole. He seemed safe, and I was happy as I realized that he was alright. He’d be fine. But my mind started to drift. It went back to what today had been and I shuddered as I looked at him. What would he say? What would he think?
Before I realized it, I was backing away from him. Thinking about how I would tell him what I did. But I couldn’t. And I’m in the bathroom, turning on the shower, like I always used to do. I’m surprised the habit is still there. I thought it would have disappeared. But it hadn’t.
The shower’s on and I’m scrubbing at my skin, every bit of it that I can reach. The bar of soap has broken in half; I’m running it across my body so hard. I don’t even hear him enter.
I’m not clean yet, and he’s looking at me, shutting off the water. I’m glad he’s awake. I’m happy he’s here and that he wants to know what’s the matter. But I’m not clean. He shouldn’t see me this way. But he’s asking me, and I know that I’ll have to tell him…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I woke and my head hurt. It pounded and I felt nauseous, like I had some sort of stomach bug and a killer headache at the same time. And my mouth was dirty. I hadn’t brushed my teeth before I went to bed. I could run my tongue over my teeth and feel the fuzzy plaque that had built up.
Had I passed out?
I reached for him almost instinctively, expecting him to be there. For him to look relieved that I had woken up. But I didn’t find him. Slowly, I recognized the sound of the shower. It was late. Much too late. He should be in bed. I move my head to look at the clock and I’m in more agony. Why the fuck does my head hurt?
I try to go back to sleep, turning my head even more. The touch of the pillow causes me so much pain, I reach up and touch my head. I feel the rough texture of scabs and dried blood matted to my hair. I still can’t remember. What the hell?!
I grope my way to the bathroom. I have to know.
My scalp’s a congealed mess. There’s dried flecks of blood in my hairline, like my face has been cleaned for me, but the nurse lacked the time to finish. I rip open the shower curtain, and he’s standing there, staring straight ahead. I have to shout for him to look at me, and I turn off the water to avoid making the floor incredibly messy.
He finally looks at me. His eyes are wide and he looks skinnier than normal. I can see every muscle popping on his arms and every muscle on his stomach.
“What’s happened?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
I wiped off his face when I saw it. For a second, I thought he was dead. His eyes were closed and I had to listen for his breath at first. He’d been hit on the head, like she had said he would be.
He seemed whole. He seemed safe, and I was happy as I realized that he was alright. He’d be fine. But my mind started to drift. It went back to what today had been and I shuddered as I looked at him. What would he say? What would he think?
Before I realized it, I was backing away from him. Thinking about how I would tell him what I did. But I couldn’t. And I’m in the bathroom, turning on the shower, like I always used to do. I’m surprised the habit is still there. I thought it would have disappeared. But it hadn’t.
The shower’s on and I’m scrubbing at my skin, every bit of it that I can reach. The bar of soap has broken in half; I’m running it across my body so hard. I don’t even hear him enter.
I’m not clean yet, and he’s looking at me, shutting off the water. I’m glad he’s awake. I’m happy he’s here and that he wants to know what’s the matter. But I’m not clean. He shouldn’t see me this way. But he’s asking me, and I know that I’ll have to tell him…