Okay, Chapter 11 has arrived. Sorry I have been taking a bit longer than previous updates, but school has been taking over lately… Damn school!
Anyway, thanks so much for reading and PLEASE keep reviewing!
Thanks!
~JOEY~
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
-The Hours After-
Chapter 11
In a state of pure mental and physical exhaustion, my mother finally left my side. She had nothing left to say or give and she had cried all the tears one person could possibly cry in a certain period of time. She said something about praying, which shocked me beyond words. I just couldn't picture my mother kneeling in a church, begging God for a favor. We never went to church as a family. I always thought it was because I was lucky. What kid wants to sit quietly for hours on end, listening to some monotonous man preach something that we just don't understand? Maybe Ma is religious, but was just too nervous about bringing two dangerously destructive young boys into a place where making a scene is just SO easy. That was probably it... Either way, she has turned to whatever small thread of religion she has in her to plea her case to God. Maybe I should give it a shot. I'll pray... pray that this whole thing doesn't turn her into a bible-thumping freak like Fred. I don't think I could handle that as well as Faith did. In fact, I KNOW I couldn't. The mere thought makes me shudder.
I have been slipping in out of this weird, semi-conscious state. I don't know quite what to make of it. I can still hear everything that's going on around me - I can feel the doctors and nurses manipulating my body, but I just can't seem to open my eyes or move. It's like I'm paralyzed. I haven't had much of an urge to fight it though, at least in this state, the pain is minimized and I can sustain my own breathing.
The lights went off a little while ago, signaling to start of the night shift. Doctor Grander had stopped by before I slipped into my semi-coma - even though he wasn't scheduled to work until later on. He looked like a teenager in street-clothes. Funny how a uniform can alter someone's appearance so drastically. His eyes were sad when he was addressing me. He just wanted to make sure I was 'comfortable'. I have come to hate that word. To be comfortable I would have to be in my OWN bed, sleeping when I FEEL like it and not when someone injects powerful liquids into my veins, and I certainly wouldn't have holes on the sides of my chest. But, I nodded to make him feel like he had done his job. He looked so defeated, he's really taking this whole thing personally. I can relate.
Now, the hustle has died down, the lights have dimmed, and the soft beeps from all the life-sustaining machinery around can be clearly deciphered. I'm simply bored. I am feeling better, without actually feeling better. I don't know how else to describe it. I just don't feel as helpless as I did before, but at the same time, the aching in my chest, throat and head can be nearly unbearable at times - despite the constant parade of drugs.
In an attempt to entertain myself, I see what functions I can regain as the drugs begin to wear off. At first, I could only wiggle my fingers, but now I can open my eyes, turn my head from side to side, and move my arms a fair bit.
I feel a drop of sweat trickling across my forehead and wipe it away with the back of my right hand. I mentally celebrate the small victory. Super, I can wipe my own sweaty forehead. Apparently, I've also become easily amused.
There is little to no activity around me and the painkillers have almost totally worn off, so I decide to take advantage of the opportunity to engage in an undisturbed sleep. I close my eyes and try to mentally block out the increasingly painful throbbing that is wracking my defenseless body.
Just as I'm about to drift off, I hear the shuffle of feet approach my bedside. As much as the medication is needed right now, I wish they would wait just a few more minutes until I'm asleep. Surprisingly, there is no one adjusting my IV and I can't hear any papers rustling. Despite the pain and exhaustion, my curiosity is getting the best of me.
"Bos."
My eyes shoot open at the soft sound of the familiar voice.
Faith is sitting beside my bed, wrapped in a housecoat, looking tired and worried.
Several seconds pass before I recover from my shock and start to compose my thoughts.
Before I can even begin to think of something meaningful to say, she gingerly takes my hand in hers.
"Your mom came to see me today," she whispers the statement without lifting her gaze from my hand. "She's… she's upset, Bos," she pauses shifting her eyes from the machines at my bedside, back to our hands. "She thinks you're giving up."
I want to yell at her. I don't know why - she's not saying anything that surprises me, but at the same time, there's just something about being called a quitter that rips me to pieces. I feel like I'm being accused or personally attacked.
"Faith…" I'm interrupted by a string of violent coughs that cause me to cringe in agony. Why do I bother?
She shushes me as if I'm a newborn child. Despite the pain, I mentally laugh.
The coughing finally ceases and I concentrate on taking a few shaky breaths before I return my attention back to her concerned face. She's actually looking at me now, making no attempt to avoid my gaze.
The taste of blood stabs at my senses. I close my eyes and gently swallow and I feel a damp cloth being wiped across my sweaty forehead.
"Bosco, I just can't imagine what life would…"
"Stop," I whisper just loud enough to be heard without inducing another bout of painful coughing. "Don't talk about me like it's over."
She tries to smile despite the fact that tears are beginning to stream down her face. She almost looks proud. She's proud that I haven't lost my will to fight. Little does she know, I'm only fighting for her.
The drugs are officially out of my system. A shiver runs through my body, contradicting the overwhelming heat that has enveloped me. They should have come back by now - I'm sure I'm well overdue for my next round of drugs.
My breathing is now consistently shaky beyond my control. Faith is running her hand up and down my arm, as if sensing my severe discomfort. I have to admit, she knows me better than anyone… even my mother.
I close my eyes to fight off the nausea that's ripping through me. My heartbeat can be felt everywhere on my body. It must be because I'm so hot.
Faith is reapplying the cold cloth to my forehead. I can hear her sniffling, trying to stifle the tears that threaten to spill.
"Can I help you?"
That's definitely a nurse. Thank God.
Even though breathing is not all that difficult right now, my chest is heaving heavily. I cough a few times every third or fourth breath due to the sheer strain on my lungs.
"I've only been here for a few minutes. He seemed alright when I got here."
Faith sounds a little panicked - almost defensive. I don't think the nurse was blaming her for my condition. Then again, she arrives in a hospital and the second she awakes, is told that she's under arrest for attempted murder. I don't blame her for being suspicious and trying to cover her ass.
"It's okay, he's due for more sedatives, antibiotics and painkillers. That should take the edge off," she winks at Faith.
Is this funny to her? Because it sure as hell isn't funny to me!
I can tell by Faith's expression that she isn't quite sure what to do with the nurse's comment - so she says nothing and backs away from my bed.
As quickly as the sedative is injected, my body begins to relax. The muscles release and my breathing starts to regulate. Through experience, I know the painkillers will take longer, but any relief is welcome right now. The aching has leveled off, but is relentlessly consuming every inch of my body.
"Try to relax, Bos." It was a demand, not a suggestion. Even now she's bossy. I miss that.
I realize that my jaw is clenched tightly and I loosen my grip in an attempt to look as comfortable as possible for Faith's sake.
It feels like the air conditioning has just been turned on. The nurse must have increased the coolness on the cooling blanket.
"Is it normal for him to have such a high fever?"
Through my half-opened eyes, I see the nurse sympathetically shake her head, 'no'. Faith just gives a slight nod and nervously sits back down on the stool beside my bed.
After several alterations to my chest tubes, IV's and cooling blanket, the nurse leaves Faith and I alone in the dark.
"Swersky, Sully and Davis stopped by to visit me today," she tells me in a quiet voice while rubbing her thumb over the top of my hand. "They said they aren't allowed to come visit you anymore. Since Fred's little outburst, they've been pretty strict on limiting visitors to family members only," she breaks while she shifts in her chair. "They said the FBI has backed off of me, for the time being. Unless Cruz shows more evidence, her case against me is pretty much a wash… Thank-you for standing up for me. They said you managed to say something to the agent to contradict Cruz. I can't imagine how you did it, Bos… I mean, look at you."
Thanks, Faith.
But really, stop it. Stop thanking me. You have no idea what REALLY happened that night. If you did, it wouldn't be thanks you'd be throwing my way.
Despite the guilt-induced irritation that accompanies her apology, I can't help but feel relieved. Things are beginning to slow down… calm down. I hate the spinning feeling associated with coming out of drugs. It makes me feel like a junkie - not to mention, extremely nauseous.
"Anyway, I said I'd come up here and see how you're doing when the hospital died down for the night. Then your Mom came to see me," she wipes a tear off her cheek and continues. "I had no idea it was this bad, Bos. I knew you were sick, but I just assumed you would get better. But you… you never get sick. I can't even remember the last time you had a cold… It's scary, Bosco."
Yeah, it's scary. Scarier than you could ever imagine. I wish I could tell her that I DO feel better. As hard as that is for me to believe right now as I fight off pain and nausea left, right and center, things are actually beginning to look up… I think.
I allow my eyelids to drift shut and begin to slip into an induced state of sleep.
She came to see me. What more could I possibly ask for? People don't fully understand how important a 'partnership' is - how strong the bond is between two people that consider themselves 'partners'. This is what I'm talking about. She made the effort to drag her ass out of her OWN hospital bed, just to check up on me. It's making sacrifices, but as far as you're concerned, it's not a sacrifice because you consider that person a part of your family - a part of yourself. That's a partnership… and that's exactly what Faith will always be to me.
TBC.
Anyway, thanks so much for reading and PLEASE keep reviewing!
Thanks!
~JOEY~
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
-The Hours After-
Chapter 11
In a state of pure mental and physical exhaustion, my mother finally left my side. She had nothing left to say or give and she had cried all the tears one person could possibly cry in a certain period of time. She said something about praying, which shocked me beyond words. I just couldn't picture my mother kneeling in a church, begging God for a favor. We never went to church as a family. I always thought it was because I was lucky. What kid wants to sit quietly for hours on end, listening to some monotonous man preach something that we just don't understand? Maybe Ma is religious, but was just too nervous about bringing two dangerously destructive young boys into a place where making a scene is just SO easy. That was probably it... Either way, she has turned to whatever small thread of religion she has in her to plea her case to God. Maybe I should give it a shot. I'll pray... pray that this whole thing doesn't turn her into a bible-thumping freak like Fred. I don't think I could handle that as well as Faith did. In fact, I KNOW I couldn't. The mere thought makes me shudder.
I have been slipping in out of this weird, semi-conscious state. I don't know quite what to make of it. I can still hear everything that's going on around me - I can feel the doctors and nurses manipulating my body, but I just can't seem to open my eyes or move. It's like I'm paralyzed. I haven't had much of an urge to fight it though, at least in this state, the pain is minimized and I can sustain my own breathing.
The lights went off a little while ago, signaling to start of the night shift. Doctor Grander had stopped by before I slipped into my semi-coma - even though he wasn't scheduled to work until later on. He looked like a teenager in street-clothes. Funny how a uniform can alter someone's appearance so drastically. His eyes were sad when he was addressing me. He just wanted to make sure I was 'comfortable'. I have come to hate that word. To be comfortable I would have to be in my OWN bed, sleeping when I FEEL like it and not when someone injects powerful liquids into my veins, and I certainly wouldn't have holes on the sides of my chest. But, I nodded to make him feel like he had done his job. He looked so defeated, he's really taking this whole thing personally. I can relate.
Now, the hustle has died down, the lights have dimmed, and the soft beeps from all the life-sustaining machinery around can be clearly deciphered. I'm simply bored. I am feeling better, without actually feeling better. I don't know how else to describe it. I just don't feel as helpless as I did before, but at the same time, the aching in my chest, throat and head can be nearly unbearable at times - despite the constant parade of drugs.
In an attempt to entertain myself, I see what functions I can regain as the drugs begin to wear off. At first, I could only wiggle my fingers, but now I can open my eyes, turn my head from side to side, and move my arms a fair bit.
I feel a drop of sweat trickling across my forehead and wipe it away with the back of my right hand. I mentally celebrate the small victory. Super, I can wipe my own sweaty forehead. Apparently, I've also become easily amused.
There is little to no activity around me and the painkillers have almost totally worn off, so I decide to take advantage of the opportunity to engage in an undisturbed sleep. I close my eyes and try to mentally block out the increasingly painful throbbing that is wracking my defenseless body.
Just as I'm about to drift off, I hear the shuffle of feet approach my bedside. As much as the medication is needed right now, I wish they would wait just a few more minutes until I'm asleep. Surprisingly, there is no one adjusting my IV and I can't hear any papers rustling. Despite the pain and exhaustion, my curiosity is getting the best of me.
"Bos."
My eyes shoot open at the soft sound of the familiar voice.
Faith is sitting beside my bed, wrapped in a housecoat, looking tired and worried.
Several seconds pass before I recover from my shock and start to compose my thoughts.
Before I can even begin to think of something meaningful to say, she gingerly takes my hand in hers.
"Your mom came to see me today," she whispers the statement without lifting her gaze from my hand. "She's… she's upset, Bos," she pauses shifting her eyes from the machines at my bedside, back to our hands. "She thinks you're giving up."
I want to yell at her. I don't know why - she's not saying anything that surprises me, but at the same time, there's just something about being called a quitter that rips me to pieces. I feel like I'm being accused or personally attacked.
"Faith…" I'm interrupted by a string of violent coughs that cause me to cringe in agony. Why do I bother?
She shushes me as if I'm a newborn child. Despite the pain, I mentally laugh.
The coughing finally ceases and I concentrate on taking a few shaky breaths before I return my attention back to her concerned face. She's actually looking at me now, making no attempt to avoid my gaze.
The taste of blood stabs at my senses. I close my eyes and gently swallow and I feel a damp cloth being wiped across my sweaty forehead.
"Bosco, I just can't imagine what life would…"
"Stop," I whisper just loud enough to be heard without inducing another bout of painful coughing. "Don't talk about me like it's over."
She tries to smile despite the fact that tears are beginning to stream down her face. She almost looks proud. She's proud that I haven't lost my will to fight. Little does she know, I'm only fighting for her.
The drugs are officially out of my system. A shiver runs through my body, contradicting the overwhelming heat that has enveloped me. They should have come back by now - I'm sure I'm well overdue for my next round of drugs.
My breathing is now consistently shaky beyond my control. Faith is running her hand up and down my arm, as if sensing my severe discomfort. I have to admit, she knows me better than anyone… even my mother.
I close my eyes to fight off the nausea that's ripping through me. My heartbeat can be felt everywhere on my body. It must be because I'm so hot.
Faith is reapplying the cold cloth to my forehead. I can hear her sniffling, trying to stifle the tears that threaten to spill.
"Can I help you?"
That's definitely a nurse. Thank God.
Even though breathing is not all that difficult right now, my chest is heaving heavily. I cough a few times every third or fourth breath due to the sheer strain on my lungs.
"I've only been here for a few minutes. He seemed alright when I got here."
Faith sounds a little panicked - almost defensive. I don't think the nurse was blaming her for my condition. Then again, she arrives in a hospital and the second she awakes, is told that she's under arrest for attempted murder. I don't blame her for being suspicious and trying to cover her ass.
"It's okay, he's due for more sedatives, antibiotics and painkillers. That should take the edge off," she winks at Faith.
Is this funny to her? Because it sure as hell isn't funny to me!
I can tell by Faith's expression that she isn't quite sure what to do with the nurse's comment - so she says nothing and backs away from my bed.
As quickly as the sedative is injected, my body begins to relax. The muscles release and my breathing starts to regulate. Through experience, I know the painkillers will take longer, but any relief is welcome right now. The aching has leveled off, but is relentlessly consuming every inch of my body.
"Try to relax, Bos." It was a demand, not a suggestion. Even now she's bossy. I miss that.
I realize that my jaw is clenched tightly and I loosen my grip in an attempt to look as comfortable as possible for Faith's sake.
It feels like the air conditioning has just been turned on. The nurse must have increased the coolness on the cooling blanket.
"Is it normal for him to have such a high fever?"
Through my half-opened eyes, I see the nurse sympathetically shake her head, 'no'. Faith just gives a slight nod and nervously sits back down on the stool beside my bed.
After several alterations to my chest tubes, IV's and cooling blanket, the nurse leaves Faith and I alone in the dark.
"Swersky, Sully and Davis stopped by to visit me today," she tells me in a quiet voice while rubbing her thumb over the top of my hand. "They said they aren't allowed to come visit you anymore. Since Fred's little outburst, they've been pretty strict on limiting visitors to family members only," she breaks while she shifts in her chair. "They said the FBI has backed off of me, for the time being. Unless Cruz shows more evidence, her case against me is pretty much a wash… Thank-you for standing up for me. They said you managed to say something to the agent to contradict Cruz. I can't imagine how you did it, Bos… I mean, look at you."
Thanks, Faith.
But really, stop it. Stop thanking me. You have no idea what REALLY happened that night. If you did, it wouldn't be thanks you'd be throwing my way.
Despite the guilt-induced irritation that accompanies her apology, I can't help but feel relieved. Things are beginning to slow down… calm down. I hate the spinning feeling associated with coming out of drugs. It makes me feel like a junkie - not to mention, extremely nauseous.
"Anyway, I said I'd come up here and see how you're doing when the hospital died down for the night. Then your Mom came to see me," she wipes a tear off her cheek and continues. "I had no idea it was this bad, Bos. I knew you were sick, but I just assumed you would get better. But you… you never get sick. I can't even remember the last time you had a cold… It's scary, Bosco."
Yeah, it's scary. Scarier than you could ever imagine. I wish I could tell her that I DO feel better. As hard as that is for me to believe right now as I fight off pain and nausea left, right and center, things are actually beginning to look up… I think.
I allow my eyelids to drift shut and begin to slip into an induced state of sleep.
She came to see me. What more could I possibly ask for? People don't fully understand how important a 'partnership' is - how strong the bond is between two people that consider themselves 'partners'. This is what I'm talking about. She made the effort to drag her ass out of her OWN hospital bed, just to check up on me. It's making sacrifices, but as far as you're concerned, it's not a sacrifice because you consider that person a part of your family - a part of yourself. That's a partnership… and that's exactly what Faith will always be to me.
TBC.