Daughter of the Demon (I)

Daughter of the Demon-13-Waking up to Hope

Chapter 13: Waking Up To Hope

~Jemma~

I must say, I wasn’t at all surprised to find myself waking up in a hospital. I may have been passed out, but, that didn’t mean I didn’t remember.

The first person I saw was Jacob. Then Aunt Clara. Jacob was stretched out across four chairs pulled together, sleeping silently. Aunt Clara had her head on my bed. She was also asleep. They must have been here all day waiting for me to wake up.

I pulled the covers off me and slid my legs out of bed. They hadn’t even bothered putting me in hospital scrubs. I was still in jeans but they had stripped me down to my camisole. Probably because everything else was dripping in my blood. I shuttered, rubbing my fingers against the rough bandages wrapped around my hand and arm, all the way up to my elbow. Why was I such a complete idiot?

My throat was dry and scratchy, and I desperately needed something to drink. There was a sink and some plastic Dixie cups in the corner of the room. I took a deep breath and prepared myself for the long, excruciating trek over there.

It was hard. I stumbled a lot and almost got sick in what seemed like a mile to get to the faucet. I felt light and dizzy, and the world was swimming. I started tipping from side to side, the faucet getting farther away and swirling in my vision. I thought I would hit the ground but strong, warm hands grabbed my arms and I fell back into a solid chest behind me. Those same hands guided me back to my bed and laid me down, pulling the sheets back over me. I sat up though, reaching toward the faucet, and I noticed Jacob standing beside my bed, arms crossed, blue eyes glowing and piercing in the dark of the hospital room.

“You shouldn’t get out of bed,” he whispered down at me. There was some kind of emotion in his eyes. Something powerful and driving, but I couldn’t name it.

“I’m thirsty,” I whined.

“Hush, you’ll wake Clara.” He strode over to the sink and filled a cup full of water. He walked back and knelt down, handing it to me. “Drink slowly.”

I totally disregarded that suggestion and gulped it in large swallows. It felt great going down, but once it got to my stomach my insides didn’t take it so well. I grabbed my middle and doubled over. “Ouch,” I said through gritted teeth. “That didn’t feel too good.”

“I imagine not. You’re still low on blood, you know. They haven’t deemed it safe enough to find a donor yet.”

“That explains why I feel so light.”

“Light?”

I nodded. “Like a balloon ready to fly away.”

“Interesting.” He sat down on the side of my bed and my legs tingled.

 “Thanks, by the way,” I mentioned quietly.

“For what?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe saving my life. And I want to say sorry for being a . . . well . . . bitch. You didn’t deserve that and I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “We all have our reasons and ways we deal with stuff.” His eyes cut to mine. “But I hate the way you handle things.”

Despite everything, I felt myself blushing. And he thought I was low on blood. Apparently there was enough to rise and color my cheeks. “Yeah . . . about that . . .”

“Kind of scary.”

I pressed my lips together tight.

“So why did you do it? The psychiatrist thinks you’re trying to kill yourself.”