Forever My Lovely

Chapter Two: Rehabilitation

Ava awakened to sounds of wheezing. Groggily, she opened her eyes and slowly looked at her bleak surroundings. By the door she saw a tray with some food on it, pale looking stale bread and a glass of water that didn't look clean. It wasn't much, but at least it was something. She didn't know how it got there; she figured her captor must've come while she was sleeping. She looked down. Her restraints were loosened. She slipped her arms out one at a time then moved down to free her legs. A small cough reminded her that she had woken up to a wheezing noise that had not originated from her. She turned her head to look directly behind where she was sitting. Her heart dropped into her stomach.

"Henry? Oh my god, Henry!" She ran to his side.

"It's not as bad as it looks, I...ahhhh" He said, hissing in obvious pain.

"You're not a very good liar." She attempted to lighten the conversation, but she couldn't hide the tears welling up in her eyes.

His clothes had been torn. His long pants now exposed most of his left leg and some of his right. His shirt was ripped at the neck and his hoodie was in a ball next to him on the floor.

Lacerations, bruises, dried and fresh blood mixed together. His right eye was swollen shut, and there was a large gash above his left eyebrow. Scanning her eyes further down, she was unable to see the wounds under his shirt, but she could tell he had been hit there from his posture, and the way he winced every time he shifted it. His leg was twisted at an unnatural angle. He looked as though he had been through hell, for a second she mused that this indeed was a hell of sorts.

"I thought you were dead." She said as she began to tend to his wounds.

"Nope, I'm still kicking. Although maybe not as effectively now." He spoke slowly, as though it took great effort to pronounce each syllable.

She ignored his poor attempt at humor and began to look at each wound individually.

"Can you move your leg?"

There was a silence and then a hiss of pain that escaped from his lips. She had her answer.

"It looks like it might be broken, but it hasn't punctured the skin. Just don't move it for now. I don't want you to make it worse." She advised, refusing to look at his face again, she continued to examine the rest of the injuries.

"I'll have to clean the cuts on your face before they get infected. How the hell did you get over here from the door?" She said, and she inspected the rest of him.

"I crawled on my good arm." He asked.

"You don't know that. We could be out of here any day now. "

She looked into his eyes to search for some small hint of sarcasm, but all she found was sincerity. Concealing a smirk, she huffed and continued to assess his wounds.

"Why are you holding your shoulder like that?" She asked.

"It hurts like hell."

"I thought you said that was your good arm."

"It was, before I placed all my body weight to crawl on it."

"Maybe it's dislocated. That's what it looks like to me, but I'm not a doctor."

"Can you fix it?" He asked.

"I mean, if that's even what's wrong, then maybe. I've only ever seen it done before. I'm not sure that I should, I really don't want to make it worse."

"Well, I don't see any medical professionals around. If you think you can fix it, I'm giving you my blessing to try."

"I don't know."