Yooooo who's excited for the next season of Hannibal? I'm dying inside.
I slept well past noon the next day. The heavy curtains certainly helped with the task. I blinked and rubbed my eyes, floundering about on my bed until I managed to reach the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was almost 3pm. I groaned and flopped back down on my pillows. I felt like I hadn't slept at all. Throughout the night I'd had the horrific nightmares, most of which involved me screaming and bathed in blood as they had the previous day at the hospital. I got one look at myself in the mirror through heavily lidded eyes and cringed. I was even paler than yesterday, dark circles giving away my poor sleep. I rubbed my face vigorously and grumbled to myself, stalking back to my room. I grabbed my speaker and stripped down before climbing into a hot shower. It felt nice to be in a normal shower rather than the impersonal, sterile shower of the FBI.
Afterward I sat at the foot of my bed watching water drip from the end of my hair onto the thinly carpeted floor for the duration of several songs. My hair was half dry by the time I snapped out of it. I sighed and rubbed my tired eyes once more before wrapping the towel around my head. I winced at the sting and pulled my hands away. I must've fallen asleep with my contacts in. I'd been pushing the limit with taking them out for a while now and I doubted the tears had helped. I spent several frustrating minutes pulling them out of my eyes to toss them in the garbage. I sighed and settled on my back up glasses – a simple square plastic frame in dark red. I wriggled into a pair of clean underpants and struggled a few seconds with fastening my bra. I stood in front of my bed with my arms wrapped around myself as I stared blankly at my clothes haphazardly pulled out of my suitcase. I grabbed a pair of dark wash, whiskered flare jeans and stepped into them on while I continued to scan for an appropriate shirt. Rubbing my arms anxiously, I settled on a long, white racer-back tank top and my favorite crimson dolman sweater. It hung a bit too loosely on my frame since I'd lost weight, but it would be fine if I wore a belt with it. I dug a black woven belt out of one of the inner pockets of my bag and fastened it loosely around my waist to make my sweater hang a little more flattering. I called the front desk to apologize and ask if I could check out late. I growled in frustration. If I was going to be charged again anyway I may as well stay another night.
I ran around my room putting on deodorant, perfume, and eyeliner as I grabbed my purse. I moved a few things from my messenger bag, which had fallen in a heap on the floor during the night, to said purse and made sure I had my phone and charger. I pushed a pair of brown feather earrings into my lobes and wrestled the long chain of my bird skull necklace down over my head. I needed a few of my important things close to me for reassurance today. I hopped out of my room, shoving my feet into my black high tops. I didn't bother with the tie-dye laces. I snatched my keys off the coffee table as I dashed out the door. It was brighter outside than I had anticipated. I hissed audibly as I fumbled in my bag for my sunglasses. I called my grandma as I backed out, apologizing profusely for my tardiness in contacting her. She understood of course. She was making a run to the store at the moment though and would have to call me back. I heaved a heavy sigh and switched my stereo to play the CD that was loaded.
My nerves hadn't had a chance to recover yet. I still felt skittish and jittery. I hoped that would pass soon. I had the next couple of days off, but I took the initiative and called my employer to explain the situation to them as well. Thankfully they let me put in the paid time off for the rest of the week. I was glad to have one less thing to worry about for a while. It felt like a small weight had been lifted off my shoulders, and for that I was grateful. The crushing weight of my remaining worries lingered, though I attempted to force them to the back of my mind for the time being. I made the firm decision in my mind to find some flowers for Abigail's room. I had to make a few calls, but I was finally able to locate a shop that had the specific flowers that I was looking for. I stopped in at one of the coffee shops in the hospital lobby to grab something to drink and a bite to eat. I'd barely gotten two steps before my phone rang. It was my grandma. I sat down at one of the tables.
"Hey," I said weakly.
"How are you this morning?" she asked cheerfully.
"I'm just really stressed right now," I whispered pleadingly, my voice cracking.
The sound of my voice was foreign to me. Surely I was listening to someone else speak my mind, someone with a voice that made them sound so broken. I sniffled, listening to the soft pat of my tears dripping onto the table. My hands flew up to cover my face. I couldn't explain the shame I felt at feeling so weak and helpless in the face of so much chaos. My face twisted at my relentless inner turmoil. I had a lot on my plate to deal with prior to the incident. One more thing on my mind and the cup was overflowing. I wished she were here to hug me and offer me some form of physical comfort. She whispered soothing things into the phone for what felt like hours until my hysteria subsided into hiccups.
We spent the next few minutes discussing other things. The topic of Abigail Hobbs was cleverly avoided. As I picked at the salad I'd bought I voiced my concerns about my roommate's boyfriend. She listened intently while I ranted on, allowing me to vent my frustrations. My stomach felt queasy. I picked out the slices of cucumber and fixated on eating them, the flavor [or maybe the scent] oddly relaxing. As though she could read my mind, she spoke up.
"Have you eaten anything today?" she asked poignantly.
I smiled. "I'm eating a salad right now. I slept pretty late so I didn't get a chance to earlier." I was silent for a moment, wiping my cheeks dry. "Thank you, grandma," I added quietly. "I love you."
"I love you too, sweetie," she replied with a light chuckle. "I'll let you go. I imagine you'll be on your way to the hospital?"
I nodded solemnly. "I'm there now. I haven't gone up yet."
She let out a breathy sigh. "Let me know how she's doing. Take care of yourself."
"I will. I'll call you later. Bye."
Once I hung up, I tucked my unfinished salad into my purse and headed down the hallway. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other as the elevator slowly crept to my intended floor. I glanced at my reflection in the doors and ran my hand over my hair, pulling the length of my half-assed braid over my shoulder to play with. When the doors opened I quickly slipped past them into the hallway. I looked at the pale walls and floors. I didn't like hospitals. They made me feel vulnerable. Right now I felt vulnerable enough on my own. When I walked into Abigail's room I didn't expect to see Hannibal seated beside her bed again. He must have gone home at some point because he was wearing a different suit than he was yesterday. His jacket was folded and neatly laid over the back of his chair. He looked up at me, apparently surprised to see me back so soon. The sleeves of his colorful button-up shirt were rolled back from his forearms. I looked away abruptly, smiling to myself despite the heat I felt rising in my cheeks.
"How is she?" I asked to draw my attention elsewhere, setting the vase of dark red lilies on the table beside her bed. I fluffed them up and adjusted their positions while I waited for him to reply.
"She's stable," he answered. "No dramatic changes. She's shown no signs of waking."
I nodded, leaning forward to inhale the floral scent for several calming seconds. I heaved a sigh, opening my eyes, and pulled up a chair on the other side of her bed. I glanced up at him to judge his reaction to my doing so. He didn't seem to mind, but I figured I should ask anyway.
"Do you mind if I join you?" I questioned, pointing to the chair at my side.
He looked away from the vase of lilies I had brought to my face, blinking away his train of thought. "Not at all."
I nodded and curled my legs comfortably underneath myself before sitting. I pulled the Hobbit out of my purse and opened it to my marked place, settling into the peaceful silence between us.
Hannibal
He watched out of the corners of his eyes as she cuddled up in the chair across the bed from him, eyes scanning the pages of her book until she found her spot. She seemed strangely complacent sitting amongst the equipment and noise of the heart monitor and voices of the nurses noisily chattering at the desk outside the room. It didn't grate against her nerves as it did so many others, apparently. He looked over at the pale blue vase of speckled, crimson lilies she had brought in. They were a peculiar choice, considering the circumstances, but she must have good reason.
She giggled quietly at something amusing in her book, gaining his attention again. She was leaning on her right hand, traces of a smile still evident on her lips. The index finger of her left hand absently twisted the brass chain around her neck, her thumb and middle finger stroking the small bird skull pendant in a rhythmic fashion. Her shirt was too big for her. It hung off her freckled shoulder, the harsh fluorescent lighting catching the angles of her facial features and casting shadows in sharp relief. She was wearing a small, square pair of crimson glasses today. Judging by the redness of her eyes and the way she rubbed at them every so often, she had slept in contacts. He noted their puffiness and the residual coloring still blotching her skin. She'd been crying again – quite recently.
He turned the page of his newspaper, though he obviously wasn't reading it. She didn't seem to notice him watching her. His eyes cautiously swept over her once more. Her hair was in much the same fashion as the day before, if perhaps a little less neat. A few shorter strands were hanging loose about her face. She pushed them back behind her ear occasionally, but they never stayed put. Her tongue ran across the hoop through her lip [she had changed the ring out since he had seen her last]. Her fingertips fumbled over it, tracing her lips to rest at her chin. He recalled the sensation of her skin against his – the smoothness, the softness. She had a rich, musky floral scent; a hint of fallen autumn leaves. Even now from across the bed it teased his senses.
She adjusted her seating and his eyes swept back to the paper in his hands lest she catch him staring. She pulled her braid over her shoulder, twisting the end between her fingers. She had stopped reading her book, though it lay open in her lap still. Her eyes were fixed on the flowers she had brought with her, a distant emptiness in her gaze. She was lost in her thoughts. The longer she stared, a small crease formed between her eyebrows. Hannibal turned the page and folded the paper, straightening in his seat. The movement seemed to rouse her from her frozen state. With a jolt, she inhaled sharply and blinked a few times, the anxiety melting from her features. She looked down at the book in her lap, looking almost surprised to see it there.
She cleared her throat and looked around in embarrassment. Obviously she was checking to see if he had noticed. He was sure to appear perfectly absorbed in his newspaper, eyes lazily roaming the page of a story he didn't care to read. Seemingly satisfied with the gesture, she returned to reading her book and twirling her braid. It was something he made a note of. Perhaps she was prone to such hypnotic states? It was clear to him that suffered from some sort of anxiety disorder, though to what extent had yet to be seen. If she didn't call within a week or two, he would find one excuse or another to make contact. She would make quite an interesting project; that much he was certain of.
I had made sure to set an alarm for the next morning. The sound of it blaring through my music was slow to wake me, but eventually had me rolling over to swat at it in the darkness. I groaned and flopped back on the pillows with a sigh, dragging my hands down my face. It was a chore to force myself out of bed and into the shower, dressing myself in a pair of denim shorts, a burgundy pullover sweatshirt, and some black combat boots. I shoved everything back into my bags and packed up my car before checking out. I secured a scarf around my neck to block the chill in the air, shivering while I waited for my car to warm up. I sat on my cold hands and leaned against my steering wheel, trying to calm my breathing. The thought alone of driving back to my house was enough to make my eyes brim with tears.
I cleared my throat and wiped my eyes, throwing my car in drive. I scowled out the windshield, stopping to get a coffee on my way to the hospital. I wanted to see Abigail one last time before leaving town. I was relieved to see that her hospital room was empty. I wasn't sure that I could handle another encounter with Dr. Lecter before my long drive home. She looked peaceful. The color was returning to her face. I touched her hand, smiling tensely.
"I'm so sorry," I whispered. "I had no idea…" I laughed hoarsely and shook my head. "Not that I would've been able to help you if I had known, I suppose."
The alarm on my phone went off, signaling that it was time for me to get on the road. I sighed and pursed my lips, closing my eyes for a few seconds to gather my thoughts. I retrieved my worn down copy of The Hobbit from my bag and set it on the table beside the vase of flowers I had brought her. I nodded firmly and gave her hand a squeeze.
"I'll see you when you wake up."
