She is wearing blue scrub pants, but her scrub top is white with cats all over it. "I was wondering if you would wake up for me." She smiles and comes over to me. “How are we doing?" Her black hair is pulled back in a ponytail. She has white hair around her temples, her stethoscope hangs around her neck, and her glasses sit on the edge of her nose.
"Fine,” I say, trying to steady my heartbeat because the machine is picking it up. His eyes go from me to the machine and then back to me.
Her brown eyes look up at me from her glasses. “Is that so?" She tilts her head to the side. “So you don’t feel like you’ve been hit by a truck?"
I want to laugh because not only does it feel like I got hit by a truck but it feels like a bus and a whole motorcade were after it. "I’ll be fine."
"Do you want me to up your pain medicine?" she asks, walking over to the hanging IV bag and doing something to it.
"No," I tell her. “It makes me groggy."
"It allows your body to heal,” she says.
"She said she doesn’t want it,” he says, his voice nothing like when he talks to me.
She looks over at him, and I’m expecting her to tell him to take a seat, but she shakes her head. “I’m going to go and see if I can get you some Jell-O."
She turns to walk out of the room, leaving me alone with the stranger. I try to sit up, but the sharp pain from my left side makes me stop moving.
I look over at him, and his eyes have never left mine. He steps forward as he stands beside the bed. “If you are feeling pain, you should tell her.” His voice softens as he sits in the chair beside my bed and puts his hand on mine. The heat of his hand warms me up. “Your body has been through a lot.”
“I said I’m fine,” I almost hiss out. “Now, before I get sucked under again." I lick my lips, and I wish I did have water. The dryness of my mouth makes my tongue feel thick. “How long have I been here?”
He doesn’t answer me. Instead, he walks out of the room, and I watch him. I look down at the hand in a cast and then fist the other one. I try to sit up, but the left side pulls again, making me wince.
"Here,” he says, coming back in with a white Styrofoam cup. “It’s ice water. The coolness will help your throat." I look at him and then the straw and then back at him. “Four days,” he says. “I’ve been by your bedside almost five days. If I wanted to hurt you …" He leans in, bringing the straw closer to my lips. “I would have."
His words roll around in my head. His hand never moves from in front of my mouth. I open my mouth, placing the straw between my lips, and take a little sip. He was right. The cool water makes my mouth and throat feel amazing. "Thank you."
He nods at me. “Okay, shall we, then?" I look at him. “Let’s play twenty-one questions. What’s your name?"
"What’s yours?" I ask back, ignoring the throbbing from my wrist.
"Quinn,” he says softly. "Now it’s your turn." I look at this man who doesn’t even know my name, yet he sat by my bed for the past four days.
"My name is Willow,” I say softly and then look down. “Where am I?"
"Hospital twenty minutes out of Clarkstown,” he says, and I start to think of where that is. The past five months have been a roller-coaster ride, if I’m honest. We didn’t stay in the same spot for more than three days. I spent more than nine straight days sleeping in the car, and then we spent a month in that fucking cabin.
"The blond woman,” I say, looking at him. “Is she okay?"
"Her name is Chelsea,” he says. “She’s going to be fine. He shot her in the shoulder." My eyes go big. “Went right through. Her wrist is also broken."
I put my head back and close my eyes as the relief that she is okay washes through me. "I tried to warn everyone," I say. “I tried to run, but he caught me and …" I stop talking when I look down to see my hands shaking. I don’t even know, but my hand goes to the side of my leg. I’m even afraid to look under and see the damage he left. He always made sure to put the bruises where no one could see. He was good at that.
I watch his eyes as I ask the next question. "How is …?" I don’t even want to say his name, and my heart speeds as the monitor picks it up. I look around, afraid he might be in this hospital right now. Afraid he’ll pop up when I least expect it. Just like he always did.
Quinn sees it, too. “He’s dead."
I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. “Wh—" I start to say. My mouth gets drier and drier as I try to comprehend what he just said to me.
"He’s dead," he repeats. “Lifted a gun and tried to shoot Mayson, and the sheriff shot him."
"You were there?" My heart goes around and around at the thought that I’m finally fucking free. He’s dead, and he can’t hurt me. Nothing is holding me back. I’m free.
The tears sting my eyes, and no matter how much I fight it, a lone tear falls over my bottom eyelid. I lift my hand and wince in the action. I close my eyes, and another tear comes out. "I’m sorry for your loss,” he says, and I open my eyes to look at him.
“My loss?” I ask, not sure I heard him right. “Are you the police?” I ask him. “Is that why you are here stuck to my bed? Do you need a statement from me?" I snap at him. “Or am I under arrest?" My hands get clammy, and my heart rate goes up even more. The back of my neck gets hot, and my stomach feels a burning sensation in it.
"How much pain are you in?" I open my eyes and look at him as he stands there with his arms across his chest. His arms look bigger.
"I’m fine,” I say.
"Bullshit,” he says, his voice going just a touch louder than before.
He’s about to say something else when Doris comes back in with a bowl in her hands. “I found one." She holds up her arm.
"She’s in a lot of pain," Quinn says, and I look at Doris.
"It’s not that bad,” I say, and I look over at Quinn.
"Stop being so stubborn and tell her how you really feel." He shakes his head.
"On a scale of one to ten," Doris says, “how much pain do you feel?”
“Zero,” I lie to her. Quinn huffs, but instead of saying anything, he just walks out of the room.
“Okay, he’s gone now,” Doris says. “Tell me the truth.”
“I’m fine,” I say, and she looks at me.
“No one is going to think less of you for feeling pain.”
I turn my head and watch Quinn from the window as he stands there with the phone to his ear. No doubt calling whoever he needs to call to give them a rundown of our conversation. Just another person in my life who needs something from me.
“Are the police outside my door?” I ask her, and she looks at me confused. Her eyebrows furrow.
“The police?” she repeats the question.
I close my eyes as the pain gets to be too much, and my face grimaces. “I need to get out of here,” I say, and she looks at me.
“I’m sure eventually you will.” She smiles, and I just look at her.