"The best way to make it through with hearts and risk intact, is to realize that two out of three ain't bad."
A/N: I suggest listening to “We might as well be strangers” by Keane when reading this chapter
I couldn’t see when I woke up; my eyes were covered in cloth. There was beeping, that followed along with my heart rate. I also had a breathing tube in my mouth and throat. I began to choke on it.
“I see we are awake,” a soft voice spoke in my black world.
The tube was pulled from me and I began to breathe. The cloth was taken from my eyes and I looked up to a round face and kind eyes.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” I said hoarsely, attempting to sit myself up.
“Oh I wouldn’t do that,” he rushed to gently push my shoulder down, “You’re pretty drugged up, even though I advised Pete against it.”
I looked up to a monitor and saw my weight. I blinked a few times before the male took notice of what I was staring at.
“Ah yeah,” he looked down, “Pete told me to induce a three week coma.”
“What,” I croaked, “I’ve been out for three weeks.”
He pulled a flash light from his pocket shining a light into my pupils, I squinted. He clicked it off and took note of it.
“How much do you remember?”
I felt tears come to my eyes as the images flashed through my mind. I looked back to the monitor to my weight again, 102 lbs I’d lost 26 pounds but not what had happened.
“Everything,” I cried.
My throat grew hot, stinging. My vision was blurred with tears that stung my green orbs. I coughed as my body shook. The male took my hand and squeezed it tightly.
“You’ve probably heard this too much, but I wouldn’t put your body into hysteria.”
He wiped my eyes with some cloth and then shut the monitor off as I tried to look again. He pulled the IV from my arm and I felt my arm grow cold. I wanted to move but felt numb everywhere and… in my mind.
“I going to give you a bath now, is that okay?” his cheeks flushed, “I could wait till the drugs ware off? Then you could have one yourself.”
I shook my head. He nodded and pushed his glasses higher on his face. He collected my limp body into his arms and carried me with ease across to the bath room.
“Why am I here?” my small voice asked as the male began to run the hot water, “why are you helping me?”
He brought the water over my shoulders slightly lathering soap into my aching joints. The drugs were wearing off faster as my pours took in the water. The guy was so focused on washing the sweat and antiseptic from my skin that I swore he stopped realizing I was even a woman.
“I’m Patrick,” He smiled trying to lighten the mood.
My eyes looked into his hazel ones, the eyes were somehow different than what I suspected, and he watched me stare so intricately. Patrick’s smile grew slightly wider as my lips formed a confused frown.
“I’m not a Vampire, if that’s what your wondering.”
“But you…,” I trailed off as he picked up my foot.
Patrick began to press his thumbs against the pads of my foot, and I looked to my legs for support. I somehow felt defeated by this news; I had been so used to being able to read the Vampires that I lived with.
“I didn’t want to be turned.”
I looked up into his kind eyes as he slowly lowered my foot and picked up the other. My mind wandered slightly to the choice Spencer had given me.
“Why not?” I not only asked him but myself.
“I didn’t really want it,” Patrick mumbled handing me a face cloth, “I saw what Vampires had to do to survive,” he helped me wet the cloth, “I was allowed to stay human, but,” he turned the faucet back on and pour more hot water over my shivering shoulders, “Pete’s going to turn me soon, and you.”
“Why me, I didn’t even want to be turn when I was with spen-,” I stopped mid sentence as his name caught my tongue.
Patrick noticed my sadness towards the situation and slowly shut the faucet off. He helped me stand and wrapped a towel around me.
“Patrick I feel si-,” I couldn’t even finish the word I was holding my mouth trying not to puke, my stomach had suddenly rejected what it contained.
He threw me into his arms and helped me over to the toilet where I gave a few dry heaves. Patrick ran to the sink pouring water for me; he held my shivering body against his helping me drink the water so I’d have something to vomit.
Patrick got the facecloth damp with ice water and held it against my forehead. I threw myself over the toilet spewing the cold water I had just drunk. My hair was pulled from my face, and I heard someone come in behind Patrick and me.
“The morning sickness has started,” Patrick said to the person over my shoulder, “She has two months to be turned before the embryo kills her.”
“And I thought the coma would kill the last traces of Spencer, oh well,” he scoffed, “when can I turn her?” Pete said, a certain sick and twisted tone evading him.
Patrick gripped tightly on my shoulders as I attempted to drink more water. The news wasn’t settling in as well as they thought; soon I couldn’t stop crying. So many more questions had come.
“Spencer’s not dead,” Patrick said quietly.
“Shut up Stump,” Pete hissed, “I know that, I can’t kill him and Marilyn certainly didn’t.”
I gave another heave and lost all my water. Patrick was shaking.
“Well?” Pete snarled.
“Tonight, her body will be calm.”