"I don't want to hurt you," she said in a tiny voice.
"You won't—I'm on some fucking sweet drugs." He pressed the button again for a morphine boost. "See?"
"Jake," she sighed, exasperated, her eyes falling closed.
"You can sleep on my right side," he answered seriously. "Those ribs aren't broken." He noticed her hesitation again. "Please, Alisha."
It was the please that got her. That and the soft look in his eyes. "Promise me if you wake up and you're uncomfortable you'll tell me to get up. It won't hurt my feelings."
He nodded wordlessly and shifted his body closer to the other side of the bed. He grimaced and swore sharply when pain shot through his chest and side. "M'okay," he muttered, gritting his teeth until the worst of the pain ebbed away.
She shook her head, knowing he wasn't even in the vicinity of okay; but she also knew better than to argue with him right now because he needed his rest. At the very least she could lie with him until he fell asleep and then slip away so he'd be more comfortable. "You're not a very good liar," she mumbled, pulling back the blanket and carefully climbing into the bed beside him. She rolled onto her side and tucked a hand under her cheek and looked at him.
"Wasn't so hard now was it?" he asked, casting a sideways glance in her direction.
She tipped her head back and pressed a kiss just below his earlobe, lingering there for a moment. "I'm really happy that you're (we're) okay," she murmured against his skin.
Big twined his fingers through hers and squeezed gently. "Thanks, babe."
And for the first time all day, as he slipped into sleep, he felt at peace.
Chapter 20
When he opened his eyes the next morning, he was alone in his hospital bed and there was no sign of Alisha anywhere. He wondered, as he inhaled deeply (big mistake) and swore sharply against the stab of pain, if he'd hallucinated her appearance altogether. (What? Morphine was some trippy shit, okay?)
His whole body hurt, which he supposed was par for the course when a fucking ceiling collapsed on you and rendered you trapped for awhile Beneath a heavy ass beam. Groping for his happy button, he pressed the plunger and didn't hear a beep. Trying again, he met the same result. "The fuck?" he grumbled, dropping it back onto the scratchy blanket. What was the motherfucking point of having the morphine button to dull the pain if it was gonna run the fuck out? "Fucking hospitals."
And now he had to piss something fierce. So he used the invalid buttons (as he called them; and don't think that didn't piss him the fuck off to have to use 'em) on the bed to raise him up. He may have been a badass, but he wasn't a dumbass; he knew better than to try and sit up on his own just yet. ('specially if they were cutting him off the happy drugs already) Managing to stand up out of bed (exerting way more effort than expected) he carefully made it to the adjacent bathroom.
Switching on the fluorescent light, he lowered his lashes against the brightness, allowing his eyes to adjust. Then he looked into the mirror. The reflection was worse than he thought it'd be. Dark bruises and what seemed like a thousand cuts and scrapes covered most of his face. Curious over what was lurking behind the bandage taped to his forehead, he gripped the cheap porcelain sink and leaned in for a closer look. He carefully peeled off the tape and lifted up the gauze, revealing a two-inch gash over his eyebrow that had been stitched multiple times.
He looked like shit.
(Felt like it, too.)
When he came out again, the door to his room opened and in walked Alisha, wearing the same NYU t-shirt and black yoga pants he remembered from the night before and her hair swept up into a messy ponytail. (She was a sight for sore eyes) "Hey," he said, his voice thick and gravelly.
"Hi," Alisha replied softly, closing the door behind her.
"Thought I hallucinated you last night," he smiled wanly.
Her lips quirked up a little. "No, I was here. You look better today."
Big cocked an eyebrow and stared at her incredulously. "I look like shit," he grumbled, sitting carefully down on the bed. (He wondered how to get back in bed without wincing and looking like a complete fucking pussy. Not that he thought she'd judge, but shit.)
"You look better," she repeated, dropping her coat and the bag she was carrying onto a chair. She pulled back the blankets to help him. "I had James get some things from your apartment. I figured you'd be more comfortable in sweats and t-shirts than a hospital gown."
"Yeah?" (She was awesome.) "Thanks, Lisha."
"You're welcome." Her eyes never left his as she helped him get situated. But she didn't miss the beads of sweat that popped on his forehead nor the clenching of his jaw as he attempted to push his body further up on the bed.
(She didn't comment either.)
"I also had him grab your iPod and some magazines. I didn't know how long you're going to be here, but I didn't want you to get bored." After another grimace, she couldn't keep quiet any longer (you know, about his injuries). "My goodness, Jake, hit the button."
"It's empty," he gruffly replied. "I think they cut me off."
"That's absurd," she shook her head, hitting the call button on his bed. "You just had surgery last night."
"What are you doing?"
"Getting the nurse."
"Yes?" came the voice through the speaker.
"This patient is need of pain medication," Alisha informed authoritatively.
"I'll send a nurse in," was the reply.
"You didn't have to do that, ya know," Big told her. (He wasn't sorry though that she had.)
"And you don't have to pretend you're not in pain. You were all about the 'sweet drugs' last night," she said, making quotes with her fingers for emphasis.
Big rolled his
