King.
I try to say his name, but I don’t think I do.
I don’t think I can.
My King.
I want him so much.
I want him to hold me.
There’s so much noise.
I struggle to find myself.
I feel lost inside my own body.
Why is there so much pain?
Someone touches my arm, and I finally find my voice. To scream.
“You’re hurting her!” King’s furious voice fills my head. And it’s too loud, but it’s what I need.
King.
I still can’t say it, but I let myself think it over and over.
My eyes feel scratchy as I force them open.
The room I’m in is blessedly dark with just a small amount of light filtering in through the slotted window curtains, so I work to open them further.
My brain feels fuzzy, and my head aches, but I can remember bits and pieces.
I remember getting the X-ray and the tight brace being fitted to my broken wrist.
I remember being examined.
I remember King bellowing when a male nurse tried to undress me.
I can remember waking up in the ambulance, and reaching out for King’s hand. And I remember looking down at his own when he wouldn’t take mine, and seeing his covered in blood.
And… I let the relief of being alive wash through me…I remember King getting there just in time.
I remember seeing him just before my world went black. And I know. I know that if King hadn’t shown up, that man would’ve killed me.
My head is pounding, but I roll it to the side, trying to take in my surroundings.
I must still be in the hospital room, but I don’t know how much time has passed.
The sound of a chair creaking pulls my attention to the far corner, and sitting there, in the dark, is my husband. Leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head hanging down, he looks…defeated.
“King.” My throat is so sore, only the K sound comes out. But it’s enough to have his head snapping up.
The look on his face causes tears to fill my eyes.
Why does he look so sad?
He stares at me, his eyes moving over every inch of me that isn’t covered by this starchy sheet.
I can feel pressure on the side of my head, where it hit the stairs, and I’m sure there’s a lump. And when I opened my mouth to speak, I could feel the bruise on my cheek, from where that man struck me.
I try to swallow and I feel the pain circling my neck, from when that man tried to choke me.
The tears spill over my lids and King staggers to his feet.
He takes one step toward me, but that’s it. He doesn’t close the distance.
He doesn’t come to me.
“I’m so sorry.” King’s voice cracks, and it’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard.
I try to shake my head. He has nothing to be sorry about.
But the movement hurts too much, and I’m forced to close my eyes.
The click of the door handle turning keeps my eyes shut as more light streams in from the hallway.
When the door closes, I crack them back open.
King has moved so his back is to the far wall and standing at my bedside is the woman who I think has been treating me.
“Hi, Savannah.” I watch her take in the tears on my cheeks. “How are you feeling?”
My lip quivers and I fight to get out the words. “I want to go home.”
She nods slowly. “Normally I’d argue to keep you here for a full twenty-four hours, but I understand that you’ll rest better in your own bed.” She turns her attention to King. “She needs to stay inactive, mind and body, for at least a week. Her bumps and bruises will heal fine, but the concussion is serious, so she needs to stay in bed. No tv, no phone. Just rest.”
I watch King as she’s talks to him, watch how his hands clench and unclench. He doesn’t say anything, but he tips his chin down, confirming that he’ll do as she asks.
The doctor turns back to me. “I’ll schedule you to come back in four weeks to check on your wrist. But plan to wear the brace for at least six.”
“Okay,” I whisper, vaguely recalling her telling me about the brace already.
She looks to King. “Did you have comfortable clothes brought in?” He bends and picks up a bag from next to his chair. “Good.” The doctor seems to be used to his overwhelming silence in the room. But I’m not. It’s oppressive. Stifling. “Would you like me to send in a nurse to help––”
“No.” King cuts her off, sounding a little more like himself.
The doctor nods. “Alright. I’ll get the paperwork taken care of and have a wheelchair sent to the room.”
When she leaves, King stays where he is. Standing at the far side of the room. Bag in hand.
After a long moment, he clears his throat. “Are you okay with me helping you dress?”
His question stabs into my chest.
Why wouldn’t I be okay with that?
Feeling like he needs me to say it, I wet my lips. “Yes.”
It comes out scratchy, but it’s audible.
King’s chest expands with an inhale, then he comes around to the side of my bed.
His big hands are so careful. So damn careful when he helps me up, that I can’t stop the tears from starting again. And his palms are so gentle, as they steady my shoulders when I’m sitting up, with my legs over the edge of the bed.
Seeing the tears, King crouches before me. “Am I hurting you?”
My vision swims, being upright taking its toll on me, so I close my eyes as I answer, “No. It’s…”
“Here.” I slide one eye open to see him holding a cup with a straw to my lips.
Grateful, I take a sip. The cool water soothing my aching throat.
I open my mouth to say more, to ask him why he’s acting like I’ve died, but he stops me. “Save your energy, Savannah.”
Just Savannah.
To undo the ties of the hospital gown, King has to let go of my shoulders.
The loss makes me feel unsteady, so I reach out with my good hand and place my palm against his chest.
He freezes at my touch, and I don’t know why. I just know that I hate it.
With my gown off, King pulls a loose t-shirt over my head, one I recognize as his.
Then, he kneels before me, a pair of his sweatpants in hand, and he slides them up my legs, pulling the elastic bottoms up over my feet, so the extra material bunches at my ankles, and I realize these must be the pair I took from him before.
He gets halfway up my thighs, as far as he can get with me still sitting, then he pulls out a pair of his socks and slides them on.
My crying seems to bother him, so I bite down on my lip, trying my hardest to hold the tears back. But watching him dress me in his clothes, when it would’ve been just as easy to bring my own…it’s tying my heart in knots.
As he rises, he pulls another two items out of the bag that I hadn’t expected.
He undoes the fastening at the back of the baseball hat, making it as loose as possible, before gently setting it on my head. The worn material resting lightly on my hair, not bothering my injury, but blocking out light from above.
Then he leans down, so he can slide a pair of expensive looking sunglasses onto my face.
They’re clearly his, since they’re big, and aren’t tight against my temples.
I can’t stop my sniffle, and staring straight ahead of me, I watch his throat work on a swallow.
“Let’s get you up, okay?” His words are soft and I want to know why he’s acting like this.
Together, we get me on my feet, and with a hand around my waist holding me steady, King pulls the sweatpants up the rest of the way.
It’s so close to an embrace, that I close my eyes and pretend it is.
