I clear my throat, trying to tread slowly here.
“He said you sent him. He mentioned things we talked about while I was there.”
“Little weasel probably listened through the door. I’m sorry,” he says taking another step in.
I keep my body from retreating further. I’ve been in the hospital for four days now and that’s four days without pills. I wanted to tell the doctor that I needed some sort of anxiety medicine, but it felt like a weakness. What if Crusher or one of the club members found out? Would they label me as Nicole’s unstable friend who is completely crazy that got her…almost got her killed?
“Pretty flowers,” I say trying to sound tough, but I have a feeling it’s going to take a bit to find that voice again. It’ll at least be after I get out of here. Being in a hospital brings back memories. Memories I shouldn’t have. Memories that are slowly cutting holes inside of me, and that’s bad because I already have craters the size of football fields.
“You look like a daisy kind of girl instead of roses,” Beast says as he puts the vase down beside my bed.
I touch the petals slowly. They are beautiful. Bright, soft petals the color of sunshine with warm dark brown centers.
“Why do I look like daisies?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“Daises are strong. They can grow in the middle of a desert with little water. They bend and flow with the wind and still remain standing. Their stems are strong.”
My finger moves over the stem thinking on his words.
“The stem looks like a weed to me,” It’s probably not the nicest thing to say. They’re pretty, I don’t mean that. It’s just once…couldn’t I be like something beautiful…instead of something less…
“Looks can be deceiving,” he says bringing his hand under my chin and pulling my eyes from the flower to his face. “You have your own beauty, hummingbird.”
“What the fuck is going on here?” Crusher asks from the door and I can feel the anger vibrating off of him. He’s staring Beast down and I bite my lip. You can feel the testosterone fill the room.
Beast turns around to face Crusher. I get there is probably hostility between the clubs, because of what happened and with Nicole right now, but I can’t handle any more fighting…not now. I’m on a razor’s edge as it is.
“How’s Nicole?” I ask Crusher, trying to redirect the conversation.
I stand up and wince as a flash of pain enters my bad leg, Beast places his large hand on mine and offers me his support. I push down using his arm almost like a cane. Once I get my balance and shift my weight to my good leg, I look up at Crusher waiting for his answer. His dark eyes are glowing…some anger yes, but something else I can’t really decipher.
“She’s showing signs of coming out of it. They’re monitoring her closely. You can go see her before I take you home if you want,” Crusher says.
I swallow and think about what he says, before I answer.
“I don’t think it would be good for me to go to the club…”
“Why the fuck not?” Crusher growls and Beast blocks me from his path. It’s sweet, but even without my pills I don’t really fear Crusher…I don’t know why.
“I’m not exactly the most loved person around the Savage Brother’s MC right now. I just think it would be better for everyone if I stay at the house that Nicole and I rent.”
“No. You’re coming to the club, where I can take care of you.”
“It doesn’t appear you’re taking care of her now,” Beast says, folding his huge arms at his chest and making his biceps pop so much, I think they might need their own zip code.
“What would you know about it?”
“I have eyes,” Beast shrugs “You’re more than welcome to come back to the club with me hummingbird, my club will take care of you.”
“You’re the fuck-ups that got her in this mess to begin with.”
“Funny, I’d say that’d be your president pissing off the wrong people,” Beast responds to Crusher.
Four…three…two…one…please let me hold on to my sanity long enough to get out of here, get to the house, swallow some pills and regroup.
“I can take care of myself. Can you two stop your pissing match over your clubs until I get out of here, please?”
I feel them looking at me, but avoid them. Instead, I choose to busy myself with packing up the hospital toiletries they gave me in a plastic bag the nurse gave me.
“I have your discharge papers, Miss Smith.”
The hospital nurse comes in with her clipboard and papers, oblivious to the tension in the room. Me? I breathe a little easier having her in here with me until she looks at me and I see the disdain there.
“Thank you,” I answer trying to ignore the dull ache of pain that is slowly increasing the longer I remain standing.