CHAPTER TWO
When I woke up it felt like days had passed. I wasn’t refreshed from sleeping, just felt even more exhausted. I could feel that there was someone beside me, unusually close. I opened my eyes and an angel was inches from my face. I gasped and jolted in my bed slightly.
“Sorry!” He said, backing away slowly, his hand grasping the pole of his drip. I stared at the strangers face until I remembered who he was, Peter Peckering, the man with the unfortunate name and my new roomie. I had been introduced briefly to him right after I had been told that I would die in days. He jolted me out of my reverie about yesterdays occurrences by asking me a question.
“What’s your name?” I scowled with frustration, like I could answer! ‘I’m hooked up to a bunch of wires, idiot, I can barely breathe, never mind speak.’ I thought loudly at him. He waited patiently and then eventually picked up my chart. I felt violated, that was private and he was greedily reading every line. I grunted my disapproval.
“Kerry-ann Wymer. Oh God, this looks terrible. I’m so sorry.”
“Kerry.”
“What?” He looked at me startled and I stared back. I couldn’t help but correct him from using my full name but even I was surprised that I was able to open my mouth at all.
“Kerry then. I’m Peter.” He waited for a moment and then shuffled back to his bed, muttering about crappy slippers under his breath. He sat down with a huff and looked at me with a glint in his eye.
“Hey don’t take this personally but you look awful.” He laughed and I narrowed my eyes, what an ass.
“I’d murder a cake right now. Can’t though.” He poked his stomach which was no doubt firm and toned. I guessed he was referring to his gall bladder.
“A really big one. Chocolate of course, there’s nothing better. With ice cream at the side, and you could warm the cake so it melts a little. Oh, I can taste it!” I imagined the cake he was describing, dripping with rich chocolate that smelled of heaven. To my surprise, my mouth felt wet. I was drooling.
“I’m drooling.” I told him, sitting up in my bed a little more.
“Yeah... me too.” He replied dreamily, his eyes closed as he breathed in his imaginary smell.
“No you don’t understand...” I trailed off, licking my lips. It was a miracle. What was this? I was meant to be drying up until I died, not suddenly leaping back to health. I smashed the button that was at my side for the nurse, pressing it over and over again with two fingers.
“What are you doing?” Peter looked at me like I was mad. The nurse came in, looking annoyed at the constant ringing. She took the button away from me and put it on the side.
“What’s wrong dear? Are you in pain?”
“No.” Startled by my speech, she reached for my chart and then examined it alongside my current readings. Her brow furrowed and she walked over to an intercom on the wall.
“Can Dr Yammy come to room 14 please, Yammy to room 14.” She placed the chart back on the end of the bed and I watched her leave, hips sashaying from side to side. Silence permeated the air of the room, her footsteps echoing down the hallway. Voices were hushed but hurried. The nurse spoke in a rushing and panicked tone. There was quiet and then hurried footsteps which slowed to a gentle pace outside the door. The doctor walked in, a picture of calm.
“Let’s have a look see.” He hummed to himself and clicked his tongue against his teeth as he checked all the machines that bleeped by my sides. I shifted in my bed and he watched me like a hawk, fascinated.
Peter peeked out from the side of the doctor, watching me with him.
“You’re getting better.” He said slowly.
“Why?” I croaked, my throat cracking with the rare use. Turning to consult the nurse, she just stood in silent with her eyes to the machines. He shook his head.
“We don’t know.”
“Sorry!” He said, backing away slowly, his hand grasping the pole of his drip. I stared at the strangers face until I remembered who he was, Peter Peckering, the man with the unfortunate name and my new roomie. I had been introduced briefly to him right after I had been told that I would die in days. He jolted me out of my reverie about yesterdays occurrences by asking me a question.
“What’s your name?” I scowled with frustration, like I could answer! ‘I’m hooked up to a bunch of wires, idiot, I can barely breathe, never mind speak.’ I thought loudly at him. He waited patiently and then eventually picked up my chart. I felt violated, that was private and he was greedily reading every line. I grunted my disapproval.
“Kerry-ann Wymer. Oh God, this looks terrible. I’m so sorry.”
“Kerry.”
“What?” He looked at me startled and I stared back. I couldn’t help but correct him from using my full name but even I was surprised that I was able to open my mouth at all.
“Kerry then. I’m Peter.” He waited for a moment and then shuffled back to his bed, muttering about crappy slippers under his breath. He sat down with a huff and looked at me with a glint in his eye.
“Hey don’t take this personally but you look awful.” He laughed and I narrowed my eyes, what an ass.
“I’d murder a cake right now. Can’t though.” He poked his stomach which was no doubt firm and toned. I guessed he was referring to his gall bladder.
“A really big one. Chocolate of course, there’s nothing better. With ice cream at the side, and you could warm the cake so it melts a little. Oh, I can taste it!” I imagined the cake he was describing, dripping with rich chocolate that smelled of heaven. To my surprise, my mouth felt wet. I was drooling.
“I’m drooling.” I told him, sitting up in my bed a little more.
“Yeah... me too.” He replied dreamily, his eyes closed as he breathed in his imaginary smell.
“No you don’t understand...” I trailed off, licking my lips. It was a miracle. What was this? I was meant to be drying up until I died, not suddenly leaping back to health. I smashed the button that was at my side for the nurse, pressing it over and over again with two fingers.
“What are you doing?” Peter looked at me like I was mad. The nurse came in, looking annoyed at the constant ringing. She took the button away from me and put it on the side.
“What’s wrong dear? Are you in pain?”
“No.” Startled by my speech, she reached for my chart and then examined it alongside my current readings. Her brow furrowed and she walked over to an intercom on the wall.
“Can Dr Yammy come to room 14 please, Yammy to room 14.” She placed the chart back on the end of the bed and I watched her leave, hips sashaying from side to side. Silence permeated the air of the room, her footsteps echoing down the hallway. Voices were hushed but hurried. The nurse spoke in a rushing and panicked tone. There was quiet and then hurried footsteps which slowed to a gentle pace outside the door. The doctor walked in, a picture of calm.
“Let’s have a look see.” He hummed to himself and clicked his tongue against his teeth as he checked all the machines that bleeped by my sides. I shifted in my bed and he watched me like a hawk, fascinated.
Peter peeked out from the side of the doctor, watching me with him.
“You’re getting better.” He said slowly.
“Why?” I croaked, my throat cracking with the rare use. Turning to consult the nurse, she just stood in silent with her eyes to the machines. He shook his head.
“We don’t know.”
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