Page 93 of Penance

“Come on, Princess,” he rolls his eyes.

A smug smirk on his swollen lips as he throws his free arm over my shoulder and guides me from the room.

After saying goodbye to the entire family at least four times, Huxley finally catching onto what I was doing. Stalling… I’m forced into Frank’s car and kidnapped to the hospital. I know I’m dramatic but what the fuck ever, I hate fucking hospitals.

I’m taken in through a back entrance, avoiding any and all public areas. Rubble and Gremlin keeping Huxley and I between them. We’ve kept this little trip on an absolutely need to know basis. After everything that’s been happening over the last few days, we thought it best not to risk it. Despite recent events and Jacob’s, more than likely very accurate, suspicion that there’s someone on the inside supplying our enemies with information. I trust Grem and Rubble with my life. So no one outside of the family, these two, and Frank, has any idea I’ve even left Uncle Dee’s mansion.

The halls are white, pale blue lino beneath our feet, overly bright strip bulbs overhead. My heart drumming in my chest, anxiety clawing at my insides. I’m unsettled, and the smell of bleach and antiseptic mixed together makes me want to heave. Huxley’s fingers comfort me, even as mine threaten to break his knuckles, he doesn’t seem to mind.

Even during my x-rays, ultrasounds, CT scan and an MRI, he stays with me, keeping his hand firmly in mine or watching from behind the protective glass. His thumb traces over the back of my hand as the doctors confirm I need surgery and that it’ll happen today.

I tremble trying to kick my boots off, my legs shaking as I try to toe my feet free. Huxley drops down, sliding my boots off. The rest of my clothes already discarded, a scratchy blue gown in its place. My hair tangled up in a bun on the top of my head, a red scrunchie keeping it tamed. My piercings all removed and tossed in a little cardboard tray. Huxley threads red socks with rubber grippers on the soles onto my feet, I wrinkle my nose in distaste. He smiles up at me from his place on the floor. His navy-blue scrubs tight across his muscular chest and tight lean body. He stands up, leaning forward, hands either side of my thighs where I sit on the bed, his face close to mine.

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise you,” he tells me, brushing a gentle kiss against my lips.

I nod against him, our lips still connected, my hand coming up to cup his cheek. He draws back a little.

“You’re so brave, Darlin’. I know you’re scared but I’m here and it’s going to be fine, you’ll have the use of your hand back before you know it.”

The doctors said they’re confident that the surgery will go well. The damage not as excessive as they originally thought. Which is good news, but I still don’t like hospitals. Having spent way too long in the accident and emergency waiting room as a kid, waiting while they pumped my mum full of Naloxone.

But that’s not me.

I nod again, his forehead to my own. A knock on the door has us separating and then I’m going into surgery.

* * *

Warm fingers brush over my forehead, my eyes feeling like they’re glued shut. A brass band smashing cymbals and banging drums inside my skull has me groaning. Lolling my head to the right, I take in a long deep breath through my nose. My tongue trying to put moisture back into my very dry lips.

“I’ve got you, Darlin’,” that beautifully familiar voice assures me.

A slim cardboard tube pressing against my mouth, I part my lips, a straw pushed between them. I suck up the cool water, my throat dry and scratchy, I swallow it down greedily. My eyes still closed, I release the straw. His hand comes back to my face, his long fingers smoothing over my cool skin.

“I’m not dead then,” I croak out, his hand vibrating against my cheek.

“You’re not dead. In fact, you’re good as new. My afro on the other hand…” he chuckles softly, the sound bringing a smile to my cracked lips.

“After twelve long weeks and then physio,” I mumble, “and your hair is always beautiful.”

“Oh, stop it,” he laughs. “And you know it was worth it,” he scolds me, his voice deep but light in tone.

“Kiss me,” I smile.

“As her majesty wishes,” he whispers, his lips instantly pressing against mine.

Nothing more than lips on lips, but it has my insides warming all the same, not in the usual lust filled way. In a way that soothes my soul, softness that strokes my demon into submission. Making my heart thump harder, expanding, beating the way it should, alive.

“Tell me a story,” I murmur against his mouth, the drugs in my system making me groggy.

“A story? Okay, what sort of story do you wanna hear?” he asks quietly, his voice a caress.

“Anything.”

He thinks for a moment, his eyes on the far corner of the room. A soft smile flitting to his face, he looks back at me.

“Well, I took Kacey and Nox to Zambia to meet my gran and my cousins a couple years back. My gran is absolutely not a fan of Kacey, he ate her out of house and home,” he chuckles.

My lips kick up too as he gently lifts my hand, placing it in his. The cannula in the back of it uncomfortable but with Huxley’s touch it almost doesn’t exist anymore. My other hand in a weird box-brace thing, perched on a pillow.

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