Freefall

Fourth Chapter

I remembered waking up in the middle of the night, screaming without any breath, and my hand hurt. A lot. I did not remember falling asleep. After that, I was too scared to sleep again until I saw light coming in through the window. Then I went back to sleep in exhaustion, hoping that I could enjoy a few hours of peace.

When I woke again it was like déjà vu. Only this time the nurse had his back to me, and he was fumbling with something by the window.

"Do you need something this time?"

Malcolm jumped, spun, and tripped over the chair, knocking it over with a loud thud. One of his hands was pressed over his chest as he looked at me with widened eyes. "Sheesh! Could you give a guy a warning?"

"Perhaps you should have thought of that yesterday." I raised my eyebrows meaningfully.

He paused, shrugged, and sauntered over. "How are you doing today?" he asked.

"Alright." When he asked the question, it reminded me of my dream, so I glanced down at my hand and exclaimed in surprise.

It was the same arm with the broken wrist. Yesterday, it had looked pretty good, and the doctor said that it was healing well. Today, the skin that showed on both sides of the wrapped wrist was swollen and black and blue in places.

As soon as Malcolm saw it, he hurried over. "It happened again, didn't it?" he asked.

The question caught me off guard, and I scooted a few inches away from him, staring. "Excuse me?" I asked warily.

He had been gingerly reaching for my arm, but he pulled back. "It—I—you don't remember anything, do you?"

Before I could respond, my door was pushed open, and a large man entered, bellowing, "Mornin', Punkin!"

"Hey, Dad!" I exclaimed back, trying to muster up excitement.

I was happy to see my dad, but I wanted to ask Malcolm what he meant. As soon as my parents entered, the nurse pulled back with a tight smile, eyes jumping back and forth between us.

"Hello, sir," my dad said, squinting at Malcolm. "How's my daughter doing today?"

"She looks good, sir," he answered with a nod.

"Even in a hospital gown." He turned to grin at my blushing face.

"Dad," I drawled.

"No one holds it against you, Punkin," he said assuredly, patting my head.

Mom smiled at us from the other side of the bed, and Malcolm looked awkward.

"I'll leave you all alone now," he said right before he rushed out of the room.

"Dad!" I fell back against the pillows and rolled my eyes. "I'm not twelve anymore, you can't do that to me!"

"Sure I can, I'm your father." He gave me an innocent smile and patted my shoulder. He pulled away a moment later. "That didn't hurt, did it?"

"I'm fine, Dad."

He hadn't been as intense as Mom had been, but I could tell that he still worried. He didn't pressure me, though, and I was thankful for that.

"How's work?" I asked, nonchalantly pulling the blankets up to cover the new bruises on my hand. The doctors would notice eventually, I'm sure, but I would hide it from my parents for as long as possible. How had I been so careless as to have let myself fall asleep again?

"Work's just fine, Punkin," he told me as he took a seat on the edge of my nightstand. "How's this hospital treating you? Do you like the psychiatrist that they assigned you?"