“Why does it hurt so much?”
“You were hit by a truck,” the doctor reminded me drily. “It might have been crawling along, but you’re not exactly a big person. Add onto that the fact you’ve got to be feeling twenty rounds of shit with the flu and your throat, and I’d say that explained it perfectly.”
Maybe the doctor wasn’t so nice.
Jackson, however, proved he was, even though he’d knocked me over. “Can she have any more painkillers?”
Going through my chart, the doctor nodded. “Yup, I’ll get it brought through to her. Are you going to stay with her?”
“He can’t,” I rasped, reaching blindly for something to cover my eyes up with again and sighing out when Jackson put his hand back over them. “Milkshake needs to be checked on.”
“Milkshake?”
“That’s her ugly as fuck cat,” I heard Jackson explain quietly. “His eyes meet in the middle like they’re trying to see a spot inside its skull right here.”
“That’s…” the doctor trailed off, sounding like he was struggling not to laugh.
“Blue eyes, man. Light blue eyes.”
There was a pause, then the doctor mumbled, “That must look weird?”
“Sasha, what’s your code for your phone?”
“Triple zero seven,” I replied without thinking about it.
Not long after that, I heard, “Holy cheezits, what the hell happened to him?”
“Right? Here’s a better shot.”
That went on for a good five minutes, but so long as Jackson didn’t move his hand, I was happy to allow it. They didn’t find Milkshake the handsome hunk I did, fine. Their loss.
Finally, I heard my phone click as it locked.
“I can’t unsee it,” the doctor snickered. “Every time I close my eyes now, I’m gonna see a cat whose eyes are trying to merge themselves together.”
“Swear to God, I’ve had that since I saw him. Do you think it’s possible someone punched him between them?”
“I’m a doctor, not a veterinarian. Whatever’s happened to that poor little shit’s eyes is a tragedy—one that should stay behind closed doors.”
That reminded me of something important I had to tell Jackson about, so I weakly squeezed his wrist. “He can’t go outside.”
“Give someone nightmares, did he?”
Swapping the fingers around his wrist for my nails, I dug them in and almost started crying at the pain it caused me.
“Hi,” a female voice said as the door opened. “I’ve got what you asked for. Is this the patient?”
“Sasha Adams-DeWitt.”
Jackson’s hand slipped as he turned to see the newcomer, meaning I not only got a stab to the brain as the light hit me, but I also got a roiling stomach that forewarned me of imminent danger.
“Sick,” I gasped, rolling onto my good side and making a god-awful retching noise.
Not knowing what to do, Jackson took a step away from me, just as a bowl that looked like an old-fashioned hat was thrust under my face. I didn’t have a lot in my stomach, but what little there was came up, and my body continued trying to produce more like it didn’t want to accept defeat.
Each clench of the muscles made my brain scream even more, and by the third time it happened, I was seeing dark spots.
That’s when someone decided to add to my misery, and there was a sharp pinch in one of my ass cheeks.
“That’s the pain medication, but we’re going to give her something for the nausea, too. It’ll make her head hurt to vomit, and that’s not what she needs right now.”
The nice side of the doctor was back, but he could at least have injected it into my IV and not my ass. Was I not in enough pain as it was?
And it was that thought and another attempt by my body to evict my stomach that had me crying big, hacking sobs.
A large hand pushed the hair that’d come out of the ponytail away from my face, followed by cool, damp paper towels wiping my forehead.
“It’s okay, Sasha. The meds will kick in quickly, and then I’ll get them to turn the lights off so you can get some sleep.”
Sure enough, the nausea meds did kick in quickly, and I was able to put my head back down on the pillow.
Proving how awesome he was, Jackson kept his big beefy hand over my eyes, too, and continued to help me out the whole time, even going as far as to take my hair out of the ponytail, so I didn’t have anything pressing into my skull.
“I’m sorry I burst your balls,” I whimpered, not quite feeling the full effects of the other medications yet. “If I die, don’t hate me for it forever. ‘Kay?”
Jackson didn’t say anything, but the doctor chuckled, “She burst your balls? You look like a footballer, but they always come in wearing something from their team, like it makes a difference.”
“No, she’s talking about my nuts. I used to play on the basketball team in high school, but I gave it up when I came here because I didn’t want any distractions from my studies.”