The Little House of Paints

Chapter 26

The bed I wake up in is no longer unfamiliar. Sure, it isn't my own, but I've been here before. This bed, this room.. The only thing missing this time when I wake up is the owner. Though he can't be far because I can hear the rumble of his voice outside of the door, talking to someone.

The conversation is hushed as if not to wake me up. There is a slight urgency in his voice. However, the conversation is too low for me to exactly make out what they are discussing. I am about to get out of bed, when a shooting pain goes through my neck. A terrifying, horrible pain. My hands immediately shot up to my throat trying to figure out what could possibly be causing the discomfort.

They are met by the feeling of gauze and tape. It all comes rushing back. My phone call with Teagan, the cemetery with Miller, the studio, my dad. I swallow, but due to whatever damage was inflicted to my neck, the action hurts. All I can hope is that Miller has some kind of pain medication around here. Slowly looking around, I see nothing. Disappointment rushes through me when there is no Advil anywhere to be seen.

The door creaks open. Miller shuffles his way back into the room. His facial expression reminds me of the day that he came over to my house for the first time since being reunited. A man who has the weight of the world on his shoulders. No, this time he looks like someone who had been relieved of all that pressure only to have to throw right back onto him.

He slumps over in a chair that must have been set next to the bed some time in between the last time that I was here and now. Last time Miller was in here with me, he had laid on the bed. Now, there is a chair. Whether it was because he thought that might be an overstep or because he didn't want to hurt me, I don't know. Either way my heart warms a little at the action. Throwing it back into the freezer, I make my state of consciousness known to him.

"I hope that was a doctor because I need some pain meds, now."

His hands are now left palms up on his knees, a ghost of the position that he had probably been sitting, his eyes looking over my face taking in the damage. There might be some bruising there, but the main pain is in my throat.

After his quick examination, he takes a bottle of pills out of his pocket. Taking out two, he grabs for the pitcher that has been placed on the end table along with a glass. How did I miss that? He carefully pours the water before handing it over to me along with the pills. I smile grateful for them.

I throw the two tiny white pills into my mouth along with a careful sip of water. I honestly was going to forgo the water completely, but under Miller's watchful eye, I feel compelled. They go down with little trouble.

"Dr. Colfield said that the cut on your neck was minor. No permanent damage was done. It will scar though unfortunately. But, in a couple of weeks you should be good as new." I tend to doubt I will ever feel 'good as new'. He continues on, "How are you?" Even he cringes at the question.

"Just peachy," I reply. He is about to say something, when I hear a noise from outside the door. A scratching, more than likely an animal unless there is a new kind of knocking that I am unaware of. "What's that?" At the question, Miller actually looks a little sheepish.

"It's Jericho." Dad must have- I stop the thought. He isn't at home anymore, thus he couldn't have let him out. So, either my cat has taken up lockpicking in his free time or he was brought here.

Seeing the confusion on my face, Miller says, "He showed up a little after you got here. We don't know how he got out." That very well could be a lie, but at this particular moment, all I want to do is snuggle with my baby.

"And why is he outside?" Even at my sickest, Jericho is right by my side, taking any opportunity to not move and absorb someone's heat for the entire day.