His Captured Curiosity

Chapter 8 - Faith or Mistrust

The city that never sleeps sure looks sleepy, I muse as the greyhound bus I'm in shudders along the highway. The trip is nearly seven hours long and a plane would have been easier but I'm uncomfortably aware that my boss isn't exactly capable of confirming my next pay day.

Before leaving I made sure to visit Izzy in hospital, needing to see her before chasing this insane mystery.

The sight was rough.

Izzy was looking ashen in bed, an IV drip pumped antibodies into her system to keep infection at bay as her mouth remained tightly sealed shut with bandages. Beneath the bandages were a ridiculous amount of tiny bandages called Ora-Aid which are stuck to and fused into the mouth itself.

But that wasn't even the most painful part for Izzy. Izzy had to undergo surgery on her stomach as the amount of glass ingested had piled up and violently caught on any bit of sensitive flesh it could find. Izzy had to have her whole stomach exposed in a complicated procedure and now the evidence remains as a scar straight across her upper abdomen.

Izzy's file glared at me from the bottom of the hospital bed and I shuddered as I read '88 abrasions in total, residing in mouth, throat, stomach and hands'.

I got Izzy involved, I got Izzy hurt.

"Saints bore me Esmeralda..."

I shiver at Omen's invasive voice as his warning rings in my ears. I press my hand roughly into the cold bus window and let out a steady breath. I'm doing the right thing, I have to do this.

Izzy was awake when I entered the hospital room but her gaze was distant as I rushed to her side and took her hand gently in mine. No matter how intensely my kind gaze wandered over her features, she still wouldn't turn and face me as her eyes remained pinned to the doorway.

"The doctors say you can go home soon Izzy. They're just getting your medicine sorted and hopefully by tomorrow you'll be able to rest in your own bed." I murmur and Izzy shakes her head, producing a piece of scrap paper she was using to communicate with staff and gently presses it into my hands.

'I'm going home.' It reads and my brows soften as I smile up at her, finding her sad gaze pinning mine and chasing my smile away.

"Exactly. You'll have your plants and reruns of Friends in no time." I comfort but it only causes Izzy's face to pinch tighter in sadness. I go to grasp Izzy's hand again but snatching back the paper Izzy tiredly scribbles down her next sentence and as I comprehend it I find my features match hers.

'No. I'm really going home.'

Izzy is originally from Nashville, Tennessee, but due to it being a real crockpot of different people traveling from many different places, her accent isn't strong, however her religious upbringing was.

Her parents raised her and her six siblings to be devoted followers of God, to the degree of being home-schooled and taught that every single action, thought and word would be judged heavily and suddenly by the big man up top.

Izzy's bubble was all she knew and she was content in its safety and promise of heaven. Until she fell in love with a girl.

That's when Izzy's bubble popped.

Her family couldn't handle her being a lesbian and Izzy quickly realized that she wasn't capable of smothering it, even after being forced into countless conversion therapy camps. Izzy's teen years were filled with heartbreak, confusion and shame as she was treated like a stubborn weed.

When I first met Izzy in New York she lived with me on my couch as she had run away from home with nothing but a backpack with a change of clothes and a hundred dollars stolen from her father's wallet.