Page 78 of The Hitch
"Hi, Bridget." I smack my lips, trying to force any moisture into my mouth. "Can I have water?"
"Right there on the table," she says, pointing to a plastic jug that says Saint Margaret's on the side. "Use your free hand."
Oh, cool, I have a free hand. I slurp the water down greedily and sigh with relief. "Why am I here?"
"Ooh, okay, that's a big question. First, let me get your vitals. You're on a pretty high dose of antibiotics." She pushes a button on one of the machines next to me, and my arm feels like it might be squeezed off my body, but then it beeps and relaxes. I've also apparently got a little clamp on my finger with a red light. Not really sure what that is, but cool.
And then my stomach lurches when I notice the IV line attached to my not-free hand. "Oh, fuck."
"Yep, that'll happen. That's where your meds are going in, plus some extra hydration for you." She rifles through the cabinetsticking out of the wall and hands me what looks like a purple plastic sock. "In case you puke."
"Thanks. Um, where's my husband?" I ask around the water jug straw before I take another deep pull. The icy liquid settles my stomach, thank god.
"Another big question. Let's start with why you're here." She pulls over a rolling chair and sits down beside me, looking into my eyes. "Melody, you had a miscarriage. Usually, that's something your body can expel on its own without medical intervention—though we like to have medicaloversight. Unfortunately, that didn't happen until now. You have a pretty serious infection from retained tissue. Which has been, um, removed."
Retained tissue. I guess that's what the medical system calls the shredded, battered remains of my baby. Not even a baby, a fetus, but it was mine. It was ours. And Ella quite literally crushed it under her boot. I feel my cheeks heat as tears gather in my eyes.
"I'm sorry for your loss, sweetie. It's never easy, especially when it's a wanted pregnancy." She stops and gently holds my hand. "It was wanted, wasn't it?"
"Very much," I manage to choke out. It was very wanted. I was scared, of course. Scared of the future. Scared of what might happen. Scared of whatdidhappen, actually. But my fears didn't outweigh the sense of longing. The longing turned to grief. "I don't… I don't know what to do."
"That, I can help with. You don't do anything but rest, heal, and let us take care of you." She squeezes my hand and lets go again. Weirdly, I miss the contact. "Which brings us to your husband. He isn't here, and he can't be here. Melody, honey, you're in state custody. Probably federal custody, considering the multiple states at play here. I don't pretend to know the ins and outs of the legal process."
"I can't see him?" I squeak out. She sadly shakes her head.
"No, I'm sorry. No visitation in the hospital. Only your lawyer, but I'm sure he'd be happy to take a message for you. Seems like a very slick guy. Very capable." Someone knocks on the door, and I flinch. Bridget sighs and turns toward the sound. "She's awake."
The door swings open, and a stocky, balding man silently files in, wearing a familiar uniform emblazoned with the Prison Bureau seal. Bridget points to a plastic chair. "You can sit there. This one is for medical staff only."
The man nods and pulls out his phone, tucks little earbuds in, and begins wholly ignoring us. Based on the way his thumbs are moving, I think he's fully engrossed in a candy matching game before she even finished the sentence. Fine by me—I don't want some strange man listening in.
"Can I ask you something?" I drop my voice to a whisper.
"You just did, but go ahead." She smiles and leans in.
"What happened to Helena?" I can feel my chest tighten as I ask. A crease forms between Bridget's eyebrows as she thinks.
"Helena… who?" She adjusts the plastic tubing between my IV line and the bag of fluids. "Oh, the—I mean. The woman with you in the cabin? I don't think I'm supposed to talk to you about, um, potential victims."
"She's not!" I squawk, then quickly slap my hand over my mouth. The prison guard doesn't look up from his phone for a millisecond. I lean in closer to Bridget and hope against hope that she'll believe me. "She's not. She's my best friend. I would never, ever, do anything to hurt her."
Bridget studies my face, tapping her short nails on the plastic side rail of my bed. "I really can't tell you, honey. I really can't tell you that she's safe. I really can't tell you that she was questioned and released. I'd love to tell you that a scary-looking man with a name like an ancient civilization assured the news that she'd beadmitted to intensive therapy to heal from the ordeal. I'd love to tell you that, but I can't. So sorry, honey."
"It's okay," I automatically reply, then freeze. Wait a minute. A scary man with a name—Roman. Roman got her back. Roman got her to safety. Roman trusts her—Roman will keep her safe. A sigh of relief spills from me, and I lie back in my bed, shifting for comfort. "I understand."
"Good! Good deal. Well, as I was saying about your vitals? Your blood pressure is lower than I'd like to see, but it's been steadily climbing to normal levels since you've been here. Sepsis is serious, and while we would have liked to see you sooner? What matters is you're here now. And you'rehere." She stares at me pointedly. Fuck, could I have really died?
"Um, thank you. How long will I be here?" I for the water jug, just to do something with my hands.
"As long as it takes." Bridget nods and gathers her stethoscope, along with a few pens. "I'll be back to check in with you soon. If you start feeling any pain, press that red button to your left, okay?"
And just like that, it's only me and Mister Phone Game McPrisonGuard. He gives me a cursory look when Bridget leaves but quickly returns to his device. My head is no longer throbbing, and my mouth feels less like a cotton ball, which is nice. The soft beeping of my heart monitor punctuates each swirling thought in my head.
I could have died.Beep.
I can't see Dante.Beep.
Helena is safe.Beep.
