How to Save a Hero [ManxMan]

Chapter One: Recovering

Unfortunately, not eating only seemed to make it worse, which is why I reluctantly climb out of bed. I still pause on my way to the kitchen to use the restroom, noting the messy - and likely to stay that way - state of my medium brown hair, the almost-sickly pallor to my tan skin, the faint stubble on my chin, and the slight redness of my hazel eyes in the mirror. My hospital stay was short enough that there was no time for muscle atrophy, so I am still in good shape, but I also look two wrong moves from ending up on the floor.

Since that is probably because I really need to eat, I shuffle my way to my kitchen, making a bowl of cereal with sliced bananas. Normally, my breakfast is more wholesome – eggs, sausage, and toast – but there is no way I am spending more than a minute preparing breakfast with this powerful ache. Maybe for lunch, since I do need the iron.

Just as I sit down at the wooden counter in my kitchen to eat, though, my cell phone starts ringing in the bedroom. With a low groan that is cut off halfway – it causes the tingles – I push the short stool away from the counter and stand up. Though the grey rug is nice and fluffy, the matching grey tiles I have to walk over cause my toes to curl from the cold as I awkwardly walk into the living room.

My apartment is not very big, with a single bedroom and bathroom, but it is better than most of the others I considered when moving, as this one has its own full kitchen and a balcony overlooking the rocky Oregon beach of the Willamette River. Most of the apartment is relatively undecorated, as the living room only has a couple decorations on a glass table under the television mounted on the wall and the white – pardon, cream – couch fails to really add excitement to the room. In fact, it kind of just takes up a lot of spaces, making the room seem small and crowded. The important part, though, is that it is comfy.

The balcony has a single wooden chair and a couple of little plants in alcoves in the wall. That is one common theme my apartment has – plants. The bathroom is filled with them; some hang from the ceiling while others are either in pots on the floor or on their own little shelves. There are a few other decorates, but the main theme is plants.

Even my bedroom, as barren and small as it is, has a giant potted plant right next to the bed. The wall-to-wall queen bed takes up a good third of the room and is positioned directly under a skylight – a curse to anyone trying to sleep in – and there is a mini table that looks more like a stool at the foot of the bed, since there is no room on either side. The bedroom has no door, only a grey curtain I put up myself. And yet, despite the lack of bedroom privacy, the closet beside the curtained doorway has a door, which I still find odd after a year of living here. At least the designer gave the bathroom a door.

Snatching my silver phone off the small table, I answer it before it can stop ringing. "Hello?" I greet-ask, having not glanced at the caller ID before answering.

"Dakota Liam Zito," the familiar voice of my father, Wesley Zito, says, sounding exasperated. He used all three of my names; this can't be good. "Why is it that I had to find out through Mr. Lee that you were shot?"

Since there is no one around to see it, I do not attempt to hide my cringe. "I was going to tell you," I defend, while silently thinking, eventually. Becausecalling my dad about receiving an injury that could have been lethal – but was not – was one of the last things I wanted to do. It is right down there with eating fried grasshoppers and letting someone record me while I am recovering from laughing gas or another strong pain killer.

"Uh-huh," my father hums in disbelief. A second later, he sighs and asks, now more weary than frustrated, "How are you doing? Mr. Lee said you're fine, but it still must have hurt."

"Yeah," I admit. The shock I had falling into almost immediately after being shot was a blessing, really. It probably would have hurt more otherwise. "The meds sucks, but the doc said it should stop hurting in a week or so, if I follow their instructions like a good boy and eat all my veggies."