Page 15 of Wrecked
“Damn birds,” he grumbles and then opens his eyes to wink at me, causing me to laugh.
He's made it no secret that he's not a fan of chirping birds since the very first time I mentioned them to him. I still do it every now and then just to stir him up. He's so sweet and entertaining that it makes my heart hurt when I think of him being alone in here. So, if he enjoys hearing me tell him the weather, then I'll keep doing it.
I glance over and notice that he didn't eat all of the lunch on his tray, and sigh. “You can't just eat the snacks and leave the main meal. You need to eat.”
He waves me off. “You know it tastes like shit.”
“Still. You need to gain energy,” I tell him, pursing my lips together to try and hide my smile. “Please, can you eat it for me?”
He huffs, turning his head to the side, and then finally says, “Fine.”
“Thank you.” I place a hand on his shoulder and push the tray closer to him. “I'll be back in a while. If you need me before then, you know what to do.”
He nods. “I'll see you when you're back.”
When I don't leave right away but keep looking at him expectantly, he finally picks up the sandwich and takes a bite. I mouththank youto him before I turn to head to my next patient.
I step out of there feeling light and happy and then make my way into the new guy's room, faltering slightly when I realize I recognize him despite the bruises on his face and the bandage around his head. I'm positive it's the guy from the liquor store who I foolishly thought had hit on me. His eyes were closed when I first stepped through the door, but he opens them as I shuffle further into the room, and there's no mistaking that it's him.
Even though a patch of blood has his hair matted to parts of his face, and he has a black eye, along with a few other cuts on his face and neck, it doesn't take away from how handsome he actually is. Of course, I had noticed it the other night, but now that I'm not half asleep, I can better appreciate the sharp lines of his jaw, the straightness of his nose, and the fullness of his lips. His eyes, the color of shiny gunmetal, although a little tired looking right now, still hold that same intensity.
He quietly observes me as I walk to the side of his bed. I don't know if he recognizes me at all. Our interaction was literally less than a minute and hardly significant.
“Hi,” I greet him. “My name is Jasmine. I'll be looking after you now, taking over for Ruby. How are you feeling?”
“Like shit,” he answers in a quiet groggy voice.
“That doesn't surprise me,” I sympathize. “You're a little banged up.”
The guys that brought him in said he fell down the stairs. And he didn't refute that when he was asked, but the doctor's note in his file states that his injuries are more consistent with a motor vehicle accident. He has a laceration on his head and bruises on his arms, chest, and abdomen. Since there was alcohol in his system when he was brought in, he may have been driving. That would explain why they would have lied about it. This is exactly why you shouldn't drink and drive. You can crash and get hurt, or worse.
I swiftly shove those thoughts out of my mind, burying them away in the back. It doesn't matter why he's here. I'm here to help him. And by the looks of it, no one has been by to visit him since he's been in here, even though his file says that his family was notified.
“What is your pain level at?” I ask as I check his IV and take his blood pressure. “Do you feel like you need more to handle it better?”
“No, I think it's okay,” he answers, and then adds, “So this is where you work.”
My attention swings back to him.
“Excuse me?” I ask, not sure if I heard him correctly.
“I had wondered where.”
“You wondered where I worked?”
He nods, pushing himself slightly further up on the bed while trying to stifle a groan from the pain. “I saw you in scrubs the other night.”
“At Dara's liquor store,” I finish for him, nodding.
I guess he does remember me after all. I don't know why but it makes me feel a little warm inside. I do my best to ignore it, though. It's hardly the time and place.
He doesn't say anything more but I can feel him watching me, much like at the liquor store. But then again, a lot of patients watch what we do in their rooms, curious to see us in action, so it's notreallyout of the ordinary.
“Are you comfortable?” I adjust his blanket a little, even though he nods, and then I notice he hasn't touched his sandwich either. “You and Mr. Robertson from the next room over would probably get along. He only ate his snacks as well.”
He glances at the food and then back to me. “Actually, my jaw was feeling a little too sore to eat it.”
“Oh, I'm sorry.” I can't help placing my hand on his leg. “I should have realized. Would you like me to get you something else? Something softer? More jello?”
