A/N- Super short chapter, sorry.
Sorry for the wait, I've been sick as hell.
CHAPTER 34
"Banana bag" medical slang for the IV bag full of fluids used on patients with alcohol running through their system, patients like me. Technically, I'm not a patient here BUT thanks to Boss-man, who bribed the little Asian nurse to give me the IV fluids, I'm now grumpily sitting on Punk's bed instead of snoozing in Wesley's car.
"Keep that little expression on your face long enough and it'll stay like that.", says Punk trying to poke me the wrong way
"Keep on annoyin' me and that sling will stay on for more than 6wks, pinche malcriado!", I threatened
My head throbs and pulsates and I wonder when in God's name is this "banana bag" thing gonna start healing my hangover. My brain was regretting ever drinking or ever having STOPPED. One more pulsation and I rest my head on the cold, refreshing, steel pole my IV bag hangs onto and close my eyes.
"See kids, this is an example on why you SHOULDN'T consume alcohol and/or drugs.", says Phil in a voice similar to that of the commercial man's.
Ignore him. Ignore him. Ignore him. Punk was rapidly becoming that one annoying buzzing mosquito that follows you around. WES WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU AND WHEN YOU COMIN' BACK! Boss-man had taken Maria and Colt down to the cafeteria for some coffee…about an hour ago.
"Why such a face?", asks Phil in mock concern which earns him a death glare from me, "Aw, sad that you couldn't get in Randall's pants?", he adds pouting his lips and batting his lashes
My eyes weld themselves shut, "I don't know what I ever saw in you.", I mutter under my breath, "Yes, Phil…", his name rolls off my tongue like a cuss word, "because even though I could've gotten murked by my deranged ex, not having fucked the one and only Randy Orton is a big bummer.", I turn to face him with a scowl
His face contorts into confusion, "Wait it was—"
"You know, I'm so very disappointed because I didn't fuck him OR Dave Batista…instead I got stuck having to watch my highschool sweetheart, first love…get stabbed and go down without being able to do shit other than WATCH . Yeah, just watch and believe that the motherfucker was bleeding to death. His girlfriend, perfectly fine and dandy aside from the screeching and crying DID NOTHING; ME, injured and shit, I FUCKING PICKED HIM, YOU, UP!", my eyes begin to water as flashbacks flood in. My fingers slowly turn white from gripping the metal pole, "I took you to safety. I DID. I told them to call 911, I held you as you were in and out of consciousness.", the most haunting part was coming up and my hands begin to tremble violently along with my entire body, "I'm BEYOND disappointed that instead of spending a night having a threesome with those two wrestlers…I had to be in THAT ambulance, SITTING next to you, WATCH you go delirious, HEAR you tell me…tell me you loved me…that you loved me since…that you forgave me…because for those couple of seconds you, like me, thought you were dying.", pausing I try to control myself. Try because that's all I manage, "Disappointment can't even suffice to describe what I feel about waking up in the very same hospital I've spent a couple days in instead of waking up wrapped in Randy or Dave's arms…waking up in a luxurious hotel room. Honestly, I feel stupid, above stupid, having cried for a man, one that I saved from Death's grasp, who instead of treating me a shit bit of respect and gratitude…treats me like shit, belittles me; one who seems to be bipolar being ever so sweet and then ever so nasty. MAYBE just MAYBE, my hopes were a little TOO farfetched…", I turn my head to the side so he can't see my face and whisper, "that he'd actually meant his little declaration of love and forgiveness…because that…that's what I've been wanting to hear for some time."
A calloused, rough hand grabs my arm, making me turn to face its owner. I can't bring myself to look him in the eyes. My whole being feels naked. Fingers tilt my chin up and still I refuse to look at those beautiful olive-greens so I close my eyes tightly, "Marleene…Marleene, look at me…please?"
What for? Standing up on shaky legs, I take hold of my "banana bag" and make my way to the door, but not before whispering, "Save your petty 'Sorry'…Dave is in town for his girls and Randy…he has enough on his plate—no room for a whore, like me.", I hold back my tears and look at what's in front of me…or the doorway. Maria, Colt, and Boss-man. How long have they been there? I have no clue and really don't care. Pushing passed them, Colt tries to get a hold on me but I shake him off. Maria just leans against the doorway looking at her feel, and Boss-man just runs a hand through his short hair.
Hallways become mazes. All look the same to me, perhaps because I am still a tad bit tipsy or because of the tears in my eyes. One more corner and I let myself slump down against a wall and let out all my emotions…holding myself for comfort. The idea of leaving the Chi and migrating to Maryland sounds better and better with every tear that drips from my swollen, puffy eyes…every drip my IV bag drops makes me miss Fannie, Pops, Caro, my sobrinos, and Tio all the more.