CHERRY FLAVOURED || Re-Write

FIFTEEN

SPENCER REID POV

I was taken to a special room to take care of my fractured ankle. It wasn't my entire leg that broke, but the kick was severe enough that it shot through my leg and paralyzed it with fracture-level pain. I felt my bones crack but I didn't care enough to pay attention to it.

When I got to my hospital room, the doctors began working on my leg and asking questions. I began asking them questions, too: 'Where is YN?,' 'Is she okay?,' 'Can I go see her?'

They answered my questions, but they didn't answer them well: 'She's fine,' 'You'll see her soon,' 'Stop fighting, we're trying to help you, sir.'

At first when they called me sir, I would correct them. I'd say, "It's Doctor, sir," and they'd correct me right back by saying, "I'm Doctor too, sir." It irked me to sit in front of the asshole doctors and listen to them joke about how superior I felt when they were around. Truth was, I didn't feel superior, I only wanted them to respect me. But after the fifth 'sir,' I sat quietly and let them inject me with numbing shots and work on my leg.

After five hours of sleep and a leg that would not stop aching–no matter the medicine I took–I was awake and restless. I sat up with my foot propped up on five lumpy pillows and looked around the room. It was empty and it smelled of sick people. The scent wafted into my nose and ran down my body. It somehow made my leg feel as if it caught on fire.

I groaned and dropped my head back onto my pillow. I looked around trying to find a lurking nurse, a possible chair to knock down to catch someone's attention. The hallways were dim and no one walked past. I wasn't aware of the time, but I could hear the clock ticking.

I reached my arm around the bed and felt for a button. I hissed at the strain in my arm but sighed when I felt the differing button. I clicked it and pulled my arm back, resting it beside my body. I waited for a nurse to walk in and ask what's wrong. Instead, she came running in, a stark white color washing over her dark skin.

"What's wrong?" she exclaimed. She rushed up to my bed and would not stop checking every possible problem I could be facing.

"I just need to know where my girlfriend is," I said.

She looked down at me with darkened eyes and a flat smile. She spread her lips as she began talking under breath–cursing at me, calling me a fucking waste of time. I chuckled and looked up at her as she walked towards the end of my bed.

"I'm sorry," I added, "for clicking the emergency button."

"It's alright, but don't do it again. Asking about your girlfriend isn't an emergency, it's just a strong need to know."

"It sounds about the same to me," I said.

She angled her head slightly up to catch my full face and that's when she squinted her eyes and clenched her jaw. She patted my foot a bit too harshly and I sucked in a breath of air. A chuckle fell out of her mouth and she smiled. "Only press it if you're dying. You don't need to spend a lot of time here, but one of your co-workers came in here telling us to keep you in your room for as long as possible."

I rolled my eyes. "Can I take a guess on who it was?"

"You can try."

"Tall Hispanic hunk of a man. Probably made you fall to your feet or something."

She laughed and threw her head back. She lifted her left hand and showed me her fancy ring that most likely cost a fortune. "I am married," she enunciated. "He did not make me fall to my feet, but he was handsome." She didn't stray from the end of my bed, she simply remained there and observed her ring like she hadn't seen it until now. "His name was Luke Alvez, sure you know him. He said something about your girl."