Page 15 of Dead Serious: Case 3 Mr Bruce Reyes
“Everything from the eyelashes down hurts.” I breathe heavily. “No, I’m lying. My head hurts too.”
He chuckles again. “It’s nearly time for your next dose of morphine and trust me, it’s the good stuff. It’ll at least dull the pain enough for you to get a few more hours of sleep.”
“What time is it?” From the corner of my eye, I can just about see the window, and through the raindrops, I can tell it’s dark outside.
“It’s just gone ten,” he says. “The hospital’s settling down for the evening and I’m on the night shift, so I’ll be the one checking on you every few hours.” He unhooks the alarm button and lays it on the bed next to my hand. “If you need anything—in the immortal words of the Sugarbabes—push the button and let me know.” He winks and turns his attention to Tristan. “You’re not technically supposed to be here, but I won’t say anything if you don’t. I’ve brought you an extra blanket and I may have also called for one of the porters to bring in one of the more comfortable chairs for you.” He waves a finger in Tristan’s direction. “No more climbing on the bed.”
“I promise.” He smiles and I’m grateful to Raffi for taking care of Tris as much as he is me, even though it’ll probably get him into trouble.
He leans over the bed where there is a secondary switch to shut off the main light. It leaves us bathed in a much softer night light as Raffi tucks the blankets around me gently.
“Thank you for not kicking him out,” I say to Raffi.
“As if I could separate him from you.” He smiles. “Besides, I wouldn’t kick anyone out in this weird-arse storm, so allowances are being made.” He glances down at his watch again. “Right. Ready for your next dose of pain meds?”
I nod. “You’ll keep an eye on Tris?”
“I promise,” he replies softly. I watch as he presses some buttons on the machine next to him, which releases a thin stream of clear liquid down the transparent tube attached to the back of my hand. “You should feel the effects pretty quickly.”
There’s a small buzzing in my ears and a prickling feeling that ripples over my scalp. My body suddenly feels heavier, and the pain recedes to a dull awareness.
“You know,” Raffi says, “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now because you’re so banged up, but I’ve seen accidents like yours before, and let’s just say you were extremely lucky. Your injuries should’ve been a lot worse.” He looks to the ceiling. “Someone up there was clearly looking out for you.”
“I don’t think the twinky nurse is wrong,” an unfamiliar male voice says. My eyes are rolling back in my head and my eyelids become unbearably heavy. But before they close, I could swear I see a six-foot blonde in the corner dressed in one of those skimpy PVC nurse’s costumes and wearing stockings and platform heels.
* * *
Raffi comes back to check on me several times during the night, but I can barely recall the details. I was in and out of consciousness, loaded up on morphine and exhausted beyond reason. By the time I come fully awake and cognisant, there’s a dim grey light filtering through the window, announcing the early morning.
“It’s still raining,” I hear Tristan mumble and I turn my head carefully to see him curled up in a huge, cushioned chair, one I can only presume Raffi liberated from the waiting area. He’s wrapped up in a pale blue hospital blanket and watches me with slightly red-rimmed eyes. His gaze is clear, though, as he studies me for any telltale signs of pain or discomfort. His skin is still unusually pale, and his cheeks flushed, although not as red as they were last night.
“How are you feeling?” He unfolds one of his arms from the blanket and grasps my hand with a gentle grip, his thumb absently stroking my skin as he holds on.
“Like I had a tree dropped on me.” I give him a tired smile. My fingers tighten around his hand, and I notice that although his skin feels dry, his temperature doesn’t seem to be as high. “You’re not as hot as you were.”
Tristan’s mouth twitches in amusement. “I’ve heard that happens in a relationship when you’ve been together a while.”
I chuckle slowly, lifting my head and feeling it throb. “You know what I mean. How are you feeling?”
“A little better,” he croaks. “I still feel like I swallowed a packet of razor blades, my head hurts, and I’m knackered. It’s not quite as bad as yesterday, but that could just be the pills Raffi has been bringing me every four hours and the amount of water he’s made me drink. Honestly, I’ve never peed so much in my life.”
“I’m glad you had someone to look after you,” I murmur.
“Can I get you anything?” he asks. “Raffi is on for a few more hours. He’ll bring you some breakfast soon and he said the doctor will be around to see you in a few hours.”
I nod. “I could do with some more pain relief. My leg is killing me, but I don’t really want any more morphine. I don’t want it to knock me out again and besides, it was giving me weird hallucinations.”
“I’ve heard that happens sometimes.” Tristan grins. “What did you see? Dancing policemen? Rainbows and glitterballs?”
“Actually, I saw a really tall blonde with a deep voice. She looked like a stripper.” I narrow my eyes as I try to recall the details.
“A stripper? What, likeMagic Mike? I didn’t know you had a thing for Channing Tatum.” He snorts, which starts him coughing again.
“No.” I grin. “That would have been rather enjoyable. But no, it was a six-foot blonde woman in one of those sleazy nurse’s costumes with white stockings and platform heels.”
“You saw her?” He draws in a wheezy breath, the smile sliding from his face. He turns toward the corner of the room. “I’m sure he didn’t mean sleazy,” Tristan says to the empty space, rolling his eyes.
“What?” I reply in confusion.