When A Playboy Loves

|| 52.

Utianle

White, bright lights. White ceiling, free of yellows stains and dried cobwebs I had come to associate with my house. I blinked. Once. Twice. Scenes from the accident came crashing down on me. Images I had hoped were from a nightmarish dream danced in front of me as I took a better look around my surrounding. How did I get here?

Cries filled my head, I shuddered. My baby.

I made to stand when a sharp pain pierced through my skull, leaving me breathless with my eyelids squeezed shut. My mouth parted open, my chest rose and fell as tears leaked from the corners of my eyes with me trying to gather a little strength to get to my baby. I had to find him. Now. I couldn't let him down again, I was not a bad mummy.

The needle attached to my hand stopped me from trying to rip off the bandage secured firmly around my head and a wave of tiredness washed over me. My head moved from side to side as moans of helplessness escaped me, I couldn't stay here. I had to know he was okay, safe and sound as I was.

A cry slipped past my lips when I pulled out the needle without care, droplets of blood dotted the back of my pale hand and I shut my eyes to allow the spell of dizziness pass. Taking deep breaths to steady myself, I tried to shift into a sitting position but my body had a mind of its own and I soon found myself staring at the ceiling again.

Panic and fear settled in my soul when I couldn't feel the lower part of my body, I moaned. Through bleary eyes, I managed to catch a glimpse of the contour of my legs on the covers and my shoulders sagged in relief. The drugs must be messing with me.

Rolling dangerously close to the edge of the bed, blood leaked from the dot on the back of my hand and my teeth sunk into my lip as a wave of blinding pain assaulted me. The banging in my head, I needed it to stop.

Blood trickled out of my hand, I winced at the red patch it created on the bedsheet, maybe I shouldn't have removed the needle.

Through my pain, only one thought echoed in my head and my eyes searched the room for something, anything. I needed to get to him. I had to leave here. Willing my legs to move proved abortive, I eyed the distance between the bed and the tiled floor. I had to. Memories of the intensive training at the strip club rushed back to me, my eyes stung with tears as I contemplated my next move. If I landed on my butt, it would hurt less.

With that in mind, I let myself fall.

I didn't land on my butt nor hands. It took a few painful seconds of trying to part my eyelids open to realise my fingers were wet with blood from the bandage on my head and my cheek was pressed flushed to the cold tiles. I whimpered, the door seemed to double and tears clouded my vision, trailing paths down my cheeks. My hand stretched to the door, falling limply to the ground, a sigh escaped me, it was too far. Too far.

Mummy.

My eyes flew open. "Mummy is coming for you," I whispered. But I couldn't move. My body vibrated with the need to move but I remained stiff. The door, it was too far and no matter how much I prayed, no help came for me, no divine strength. "Emma."

The floor moved underneath me as I began the snail-paced crawl to the door, one painful glide at a time. My heavy breathing punctured the silence, my elbows screamed in protest as I dragged myself on the floor, barely covering any distance. If I weighed less, I would be halfway across the room.

Sweat dripped to my lips, dotting the tiles, the door burst open and my hands bucked. Black shoes appeared in my line of vision which soon blurred, I am helped to a sitting position with the person kneeling behind to support my weight. My body swayed, I wheezed as blood rolled down the side of my head, I refused to believe the crimson splatters staining the tiles came from me.