𝐅𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫

33

I heard a loud noise that sounded like my alarm, a blaring beeping sound. I kept my eyes shut and moved my arm up to turn off the said alarm. My eyes shot open as I whipped my arm back at the stabbing pain in my stomach. It took me a second to notice that I wasn't in my room. The strong smell of Clorox made my head ache along with the fluorescent white lights. The feeling in my arms became apparent, the small tug on my left forearm from the IV, the sticky feeling of the bandages keeping the multiple tubes coming from various sore spots on my arms. A hospital. I didn't have to rack my brain to remember what had happened.

That stupid fucking bitch stabbed me. 

I felt too many emotions at once to describe, one of the ones that stuck out like a sore thumb was confusion. I had never even seen that girl at the arena before, she was a newcomer who must have known the rules. No way did she look dumb enough to do it to try and win, yet she did anyways and quite obviously. No one tries to get away with stabbing someone by making sure the blood could be seen.

I felt disoriented as I tried to play detective and surgeon at the same time poking around the wound in my stomach to see how deep it was. Of course that ended quickly as I thought that maybe shoving my fingers near a wound covered in carefully wrapped bandages might be a bad idea.

I hadn't looked around the room until I pulled the disgusting nightgown back over my stomach.  It was painted white, small chips in the paint near the baseboards revealed that at some point it had been painted a horrid color of pistachio green, there was a couple large machines, one that kept beeping steadily and loudly, I thought it might drive me insane, and two others which I had no idea for what they were monitoring. That's when I looked to my right, there were three seats and a small table which had a folded piece of paper neatly placed alongside a petite vase of flowers. It wasn't too far out of reach, in fact if I had extended my arm completely and leaned a little bit it would have been an easy grab however the pain in my side was proving to be problematic.

I took a deep breath after several futile attempts that ended with me gasping in my rock hard hospital bed with sweat glistening on my forehead, I was desperate to get the note. But no way in hell was I going to ask some nurse for help, "I don't need the help, I'm not some sick child in need of saving, I'm not Lilah." my pep talk suddenly stopped and I felt guilty for what I had said. Was it rude yes, was it a lie no. She did need help. And I was nothing like her.

That gave me a temporary high to reach far enough over and snatch the letter. As the folded piece of paper was in my hand my side cramped up and began to ache. I tried to ignore it and push back the tears as I worked methodically to unfold the paper.

It was small, like a page out of one of the complimentary hotel notepads you would get, it had bright blue familiar scrawl across the page, along with red and black.

At the top was the blue:

Hey! I dropped you off Jesus you scared me. You better wake up or I might just kill you again. I was really worried about you. My boyfriend who you met a little while ago is taking over for me, so I can be here. :)

I couldn't help but smile Jim deserved so much more than I ever gave him credit for.

The middle was red, also the largest section with teeny tiny hand writing I had to squint to make out letter.

V, What the hell is going on???? Some guy named Jim called me through your phone and said you'd been stabbed and that he couldn't give me exact details. I'm terrified, you've been in and out of consciousness since I arrived. I hope you know I'll give you room to recover but I want a full explanation. Also I stopped by your house an hour before I got the call you know to check on your house? It made sense at the time I swear. I met Lilah and holy shit she's was so confused and lowkey kind of rude to me. Whatever. See you soon I'm still here.

The black was one of the smallest and I knew who it was by my process of elimination skills, Lilah.

Veronica, we really need to talk. I hope you're doing ok now. I am still here as well with Jim and some other girl, Ana? I don't know. Hopefully you're ok again soon. 

Love, Lilah 

The last part caught me by surprise to say the least. Love was such a conflicting word. Was it love as in I want to get back together, we're just friends but I love you, or just how she signed her letter. It ran through my head driving me in and out of space, and depressive moods.

That's when the door opened and in walked Jim.