Chapter 12

I woke to find myself in a bed with clean white sheets. I imagined an icy chill that still lingered, though my skin was warm. It was one of those things where you remember the very moment you wake up what happened. Every horrifying detail.

I sat up weakly, my muscles practically screaming in protest. Unfortunately, it was breathing that was the worst. Simply drawing in air stung like acrid poison. For a few moments I simply sat, eyes closed, focusing on a slow in and out pattern.

"You're awake," a gentle voice suddenly exclaimed. Someone rushed to my side. "Marx, can you hear me? Are you okay?"

I squinted one eye open. Arianna stood anxiously at the side of my bed. Behind her I could see the plain white wall, other beds lined up too. The hospital...

"Should I call a nurse?" she asked worriedly.

I tried to reply, "I'm fine," but the words came out harsh and painful and I cut off with a wince. I shook my head no.

"Are you sure?"

I nodded. Had that been her, before I'd fallen unconscious? What had she told the nurses? Panic seized me. Did she tell them what had happened? Did she say Derrick did it?

Could I... was that... I groaned and laid back down. It took too much energy to sit up. How long had I been out?

Arianna leaned closer to me and put a paw on my side. "Listen, Marx, it was Derrick wasn't it? Him and his friends?"

I shuddered and turned away. No, didn't want to think about it. Stupid attempt, really. I couldn't NOT think about it. It was burned in my mind like a brand. Fresh and sore.

"I saw them leaving, and the footprints," Arianna continued.

"What-" I cringed and squirmed. It hurt to speak. Like swallowing fire.

Arianna misunderstood my question. "I heard you screaming," she admitted. "I... I came running, but I came far too late." Her eyes were frighteningly sincere; just like a book I could read them; sadness, pity, horror, sympathy, another emotion I couldn't place. Her voice dwindled to an urgent whisper. "Marx, you have to tell someone; they can't get away with this."

"You didn't-?" I mouthed.

She shook her head. Guilt in her eyes. I could see it. "I told them you fell in. I wasn't sure..."

I nodded. "F-fine," I forced out. No one else needed to know.

"What?" she whispered. "But, they hurt you! I need to tell the nurses, or someone... They can't just get away with this."

"No!" I cringed and mouthed a silent cry. Hated this pain. Hated the ruined syllables that were pushed from my throat. Hated. She needed to know though. "You... won't tell anyone," I rasped. "Accident. Not a soul."

"N-no, they-"

"Not a soul!"

"M-Marx, I have to tell someone! This isn't just some small thing - what if you were really hurt? What if you..."

I glared as fiercely as I could muster in my weak state. "Not... a... soul..."

I hated her painful look too. But it couldn't be helped. No one could know. I wouldn't let anyone know. It was just an accident. Marx wasn't hurt; he'd never been attacked like that, or so easily overwhelmed - so easily made powerless and weak. He'd never been under that freezing water.