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Mason.
He’s asleep, his arm draped over his stomach on what looks like the tiniest cot in the world. He’s facing me as if he fell asleep watching me. Like I might disappear again. He looks so handsome, though the dark shadows around his eyes tell me he’s exhausted and guilt washes through me.
But is he real?
Did I really survive that?
Carefully, I attempt to sit up in bed, only to collapse back to what has to be the most comfortable mattress I’ve ever slept on.
Maybe I’m just tired.
I try again and this time, pain blooms from a spot on my shoulder and I grunt, but it’s nothing compared to the screeching of the alarm that goes off somewhere in the room.
Well, fuck.
“Hannah. . .” Mason’s voice is gruff and thick with sleep and before I know it, he’s by my side, laying me back on the bed.
Those hands definitely feel real.
“You can’t get up, baby,” he murmurs, voice dark and sleep-riddled. Mason’s sleepy voice has always been my favorite thing, though I haven’t told him that.
“I’m sorry.” I wince at the sound of my own croaky voice. I sound like I swallowed a bucket of sand. Luckily, Mason is there with one of those fancy hospital cups full of water and I drink it down thirstily.
Jesus, how long have I been out?
“Twelve hours,” Mason murmurs, eyes glinting almost black in the darkness of the hospital room.
Did I say that out loud?
“I have to pee,” I grumble, my cheeks flaming. How the fuck am I supposed to get out of bed if it wails like a banshee every time I do?
“I’ll take you.”
“That’s okay,” I start, but he’s already slipping his hands under my legs to help me stand.
I’ll admit, once I’m on my feet, I’m glad for his help. Funnily enough, I feel like a baby deer, learning to walk for the first time.
I do my business and I have to tell you, peeing in front of Mason is a strange experience. He just doesn’t seem to care. It’s as if we’ve done this thousands of times.
By the time I’m done, and making the long journey with Mason and my IV pole back to the bed, a nurse is entering the room.
Doctor Dicky—yeah, that’s his name—looks me over, explaining a bunch of things I don’t understand. Everything passes by in a blur and I begin to wonder if I’m actually still asleep and this is just a dream.
Maybe I’m in a coma and this is their conversation over my lifeless body.
Maybe I never really made it out of that church.
I have so many questions. No answers, but also . . . no energy to ask, either. By the time the doctor is looking over my shoulder, I’m nodding off.
“Get some sleep,” Dr. Dicky says. “I’ll be back to check on you in a couple hours.”
I nod, though my head feels like it weighs a hundred pounds.
The doctor leaves and then it’s just me and Mason. He sits down in the chair beside me and I stare at the x-ray still on the wall across the room.
“Explain.”
He lets out a deep breath and leans forward, his shoulders sagging as he leans on his knees.
