the replacement project :: c.h.

eighteen » saving muke and emma's what?!

a/n - i know i know i know i know it's been eighty-two years, i get it. 

school's been so hard guys, i'm sorry. i'm honestly struggling a lot and i've just been required to work especially hard lately, which is why this is so damn delayed. i've finally got it finished though, and it's a pretty event-filled chapter so i hope that makes up for it somewhat! the beginning is a bit ramblish, i noticed that. but pls hang in there, i really do think it gets better towards the end.

excuse any grammar or spelling errors, this isn't thoroughly edited yet, i just really wanted to make sure i'd get something up for everyone tonight. 

also, muke gif for this chapter bc there's quite a bit of them in here, im laughing. (remember when luke didn't have a beard?)

thank you guys for putting up w my bs, it's an extremely difficult thing to do. 

love and love and love, stay happy,

x bri. 

-

[ cara ] 

"How long until I can take them out?"

"About seven to ten days, beb." 

"Can I scratch it?"

"Elena, no."

I groaned and brought the hospital blanket further up on my body so that it reached my chin. I glared at Calum who was sitting in a chair beside me with his head resting on the bed, and he stared back up at me with his eyebrows raised challengingly, and I grunted. "It itches, Calum!" 

"It's a stitch, of course it's gonna itch." Ashton cackled from the other side of the hospital room, Michael swatting his arm but snorting along with him anyway into the back of his palm. There were actual two year olds in front of me. I rolled my eyes and shifted to lay on my side, whimpering in discomfort when the top of my head rustled against the pillow. I'll be honest, I'm a child when it comes to injuries. I'm a child in general, really, but injuries are befall my worst. I can't even handle stubbing my toe, never mind stitches. 

Turns out that not long after Emma had walked out, or not long after I kicked Emma out, rather, I'd fallen somehow and bashed my head against the coffee table and it cut right open and bled like the top of your head was on its period, Ashton had said. The blood all over his gray shirt pretty much confirmed it. Michael had even told me that they were going to attempt to give me home-made stitches, "but I can barely work the toaster properly, so we figured we may as well just take you here," he pursed his lips sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

Calum must've noticed the large frown etched onto my face, quickly leaning in to press his lips onto my forehead, leaving them there for a while before pulling away. "You'll be fine." 

"There are staples on my scalp, Cal."

"Hey, you're alive, smile." He whispered and grinned at me encouragingly before forcing himself to get up. He winced while stretching out his right arm and I felt terrible - he'd been sitting in the same chair for two hours after my surgery waiting for me to wake up, and he looked pooped. His skin was still as pale as it had been before I'd passed out and his black hair was branching out into all different sorts of directions and there were circles under his eyes that reminded me of a raccoon - and if I didn't feel so horrible, I probably would've laughed. Calum tucked his fuller bottom lip inbetween his teeth, "You're not on your deathbed, you even said it earlier. You had me worried though, you know? I-I thought it'd be worse, I thought you'd knock yourself out into a coma or something. It seemed a lot more intense than the other ones, you couldn't breathe or anything. I don't think I ever want to be in a waiting room again."