Page 47 of Dirty Quinn
Warmth fills me, starting at my arm and radiating across my body and down to my toes, until my thoughts are muddled, and movement doesn’t seem so necessary any longer. Blackness beckons, and I succumb.
* * *
“Quinn? Quinn, honey, can you hear me?”
This time my eyes open to find Daria sitting in a chair-bed next to me. She’s covered with a blanket and has her head resting on a pillow. I glance down to see that it’s her hand I clutch in mine. Her fingers that are caressing my wrist.
I nod so she knows I can hear her and try to sit up.
“Don’t move,” she says. “Just rest.”
“Why?” I croak.
“Because you need it.”
I nod. Satisfied with that answer until I realize that I don’t knowwhyI need it.
“Why?” I ask again, my dry tongue sticking inside my mouth, making my words thick.
“So, you can get better.” She squeezes my hand softly. I want to get better. So I believe her. But as I’m drifting back to sleep, I remember that I want to ask what I’m getting better from.
* * *
The room is dark. Lit only by the glow of the machines next to me. I can hear hustling in the hall, but inside here, all is still. Daria snores lightly beside me. I turn toward her, but something tugs me back. It’s a string. No, a wire. Is that a tube? There’s a tube in my arm. Why do I have a tube in my arm? How does it even fit through my skin?
I hear the beeping again. It’s the machines that are beeping. Why are they beeping?
“Daria?”
“Quinn? It’s okay, honey, I’m right here.”
“Where are we?”
“You’re in the hospital. Just for a little while so you can get better.”
“What’s wrong with me?”
“Do you remember what happened?” she asks, her voice soft and gentle.
I shake my head.
“Andrei Turgenev kidnapped you.”
“Hmmm.” I try to lick my dry lips, unsuccessfully. Daria leans in with a wet sponge and dampens them for me. “I’ve always wanted to be kidnapped.”
“I know,” she smiles, but it’s sad.
“Why are you sad?”
“I’m not sad. I’m just happy you’re okay.”
“Are you okay?”
She nods.
“Did you rescue me?” As I ask, a memory drifts into my mind of being mad at Daria for not coming for me. Why wouldn’t she come for me?
“I was hurt,” she says. “I couldn’t.”
