By the time Combeferre came in for his shift on Friday evening, he had already heard about the strange attack that had happened on the beach the day before. He had known to expect injured, and he had known that some of them were children. But until he had seen her there, he had not realized that one of them was Patricia. When he saw her there, bruised and bloodied and restlessly asleep, so like she had been when she first arrived, anger had shot through him, and he had found himself grateful that the man responsible had been killed.
The information on the patients told an abrupt and gruesome story. It was to Trisha's bedside that he went first, not wanting her to sleep any more than entirely necessary, not with the concussion she had. Sitting beside her, he shook her shoulder and murmured, "Patricia. Wake up, petite. You've had quite enough sleep for now, I'm afraid."
"I want to go back to sleep though," she protested, looking at him without any real hope that he would allow her to do so. It had been a restless night, both from dreams and constant interruptions of her sleep. "Henri?" she asked.
"It's me," Combeferre confirmed with a smile that he hoped was encouraging. He carefully smoothed back her hair from her forehead. "As I am sure you have been told, you've had quite the bump on the head. Now, is there anything I can get you? A glass of water, perhaps?"
"They told me," she confirmed, though she hadn't needed anyone to tell her about the throbbing bruise on the side of her head, half hidden beneath her hair. She couldn't recall everything, things had happened so fast, but she remembered the feel of that robotic hand lashing out at her far too well. "Water, please,' she said. She wasn't overly thirsty, but Trisha couldn't think of anything to ask for.
Trying to sit up, she stilled herself momentarily as the blood rushed from her head and she felt a little dizzy, but after a minute she scooted back a little to prop herself up against the pillows.
Comments 94
The information on the patients told an abrupt and gruesome story. It was to Trisha's bedside that he went first, not wanting her to sleep any more than entirely necessary, not with the concussion she had. Sitting beside her, he shook her shoulder and murmured, "Patricia. Wake up, petite. You've had quite enough sleep for now, I'm afraid."
Reply
Reply
Reply
Trying to sit up, she stilled herself momentarily as the blood rushed from her head and she felt a little dizzy, but after a minute she scooted back a little to prop herself up against the pillows.
Reply
Leave a comment