“Neither am I,” I say.
At least not anymore.
Chapter Eighteen
~After~
Dr. Watson is sleeping in my room again.
I haven't had any nightmares in weeks, but here he is, slumped over in a chair on the side of my bed, his elbow propped up on the metal arm of the plastic chair, his head propped up in his hand. For a second, I just stare at him. He looks completely different when he sleeps. The cold, controlled demeanor is gone. His perfectly proportioned face is relaxed. He looks almost...almost... like he's at peace.
I can't stand the thought of waking him, but my legs are restless and my insomnia has refused to let me get more than two hours of sleep at a time. I've been up in intervals since ten o'clock. Part of me thinks this is because my body has finally healed and the other part of me knows it’s anxiety.
They're letting me out tomorrow.
I've been here for 4 weeks and all day the staff has been telling me that I get to go home tomorrow.
The funny thing is; I don't have a home.
I don't even have a pair of shoes.
Sliding out of my bed, I take my time placing each foot on the cold tile floor, careful not to make even the slightest amount of noise. I grab the metal pole that has my IV bag connected to it and pull on it slowly, wincing every time one of the wheels lets out a tiny squeak. I pick up a cord that's wrapped around one of the wheels, and begin to back up when I feel warm hands on my waist and hot breath against my ear. “What are you doing?”
I jump, let go of the pole and clutch my chest. My heart races, pounding against my fingertips and I let out a sigh as I stare up at an upset looking Dr. Watson. Funny, I prefer his peaceful, sleeping look. “I can't sleep,” I tell him. “I was just going to go for a walk.”
He huffs and lifts an eyebrow. “By yourself?”
“Yes, by myself.” I roll my eyes. “Is it that absurd that I'd want to take a walk by myself?”
“Given what you've been through in the last month, yes, it is.”
“Dr. Watson, the nurses have had me up and walking on my own for weeks now. They've let me walk the halls alone. I promise you, I'll be fine.”
“Nonsense.” He tucks his right arm through my left one. “I'll go with you.”
“I can go myself,” I insist. Something tells me this man isn't used to people telling him no. Another part of me knows that people are usually following his orders not the other way round.
I've had some time to observe the inner workings of this hospital
and I've witnessed the rest of the staff members treat the doctors like Gods. They always check with the doctors before signing off on a chart. Or the nurses swoon, giggling in quiet voices whenever they walk past. The doctors hold all the power here. But I assume it’s like that in all the other hospitals. After all, they are saving people's lives.
“You're not going by yourself, Adelaide. I will accompany you. I don't want to hear another word about it.”Dr. Watson reaches behind himself and hooks his fingers around my IV stand, and then he circles it in a half-crescent, keeping it level with his left side. The tube connected to my arm pulls a little at first, but once we start moving it doesn't pull anymore.
Dr. Watson guides me out the door, his hand on the small of my back, and then takes my arm again once we're in the hall. There are a few nurses working the midnight shift and a tall, leggy blonde is propped up against the reception desk, conversing with a short, petite brunette. Both are pretty, but the blonde stand out to me. Her flaxen hair shines beneath the bright lights in the hall and in spots it looks like there are glittering strands of gold in it. Her lips are plump, full, and light pink in color. Her eyes are cat-like, the color bordering between light brown and hazel. As far as her figure goes, let’s just say, she's curved in all the right places. She whispers something to the brunette as we pass then giggles flirtatiously, batting her long lashes. “Hi Elijah,” she says in a sultry voice. “Oops.” Another giggle. “I mean, Dr. Watson.”
My eyes find Dr. Watson's and I'm puzzled by his reaction to this woman. He nods politely in her direction, says, “Good Evening, Gretchen.” Then his head snaps straight and he gazes down the long hall in front of him. It's like he's oblivious to the fact that she has eyes for him.
When I decide we're far enough down the hall that we're out of hearing range I speak up. “That woman was very striking,” I mention casually.
Dr. Watson peers down at me, making eye contact. “Gretchen, yes. She is attractive.”
I stare up at his face and notice the length of his full, thick black lashes surrounding the droplets of honey he has for eyes. They curl up like they're smathered with mascara and I told back the urge to touch them. “She likes you.”
“I know,” he says as a proud smirk appears on his lips.
My eyes widen. I'm taken aback by his arrogance. I've been around this man more times than I can count on my fingers and toes. He's been brooding. Cold. Distant. Even mysterious. But never arrogant. I wasn't sure he had it in him. “Well forgive my observation then,” I say trying not to sound haughty. But I suspect my reply comes out haughty anyway.
For the first time ever, he flashes me a smile that touches his eyes and a flicker of amusement resides in their amber waves. “I've upset you,” he says, making an assumption.