Trapped (Caged #2)(55)

Tria’s other hand skimmed the side of my face. I managed to focus on her just enough to see the tears in her eyes. I wanted to reach up and wipe them away, but I couldn’t move my arm. There was something holding me down.

Another face flashed in my head—the guy at the edge of the cage.

“There was another dude,” I tried to say, but words weren't coming out again. I could taste blood in my mouth.

I was never one to pass out, but suddenly everything went dark.





Chapter 15—Heal the Body


I was roused from a bizarre dream about placing fruit in geometric patterns all over Tria's naked body. Though I was awake, I couldn’t open my eyes. I could hear voices around me, but the sounds were muted. The only thing that made me feel at all connected to what was happening around me were the small, soft fingers running continuously up and down my forearm.

“Are you sure?”

“It can take time.”

“But how long?”

“Everyone is different.”

My hand was itchy. There was also an itchy spot just above where the soft fingers ended their continuous journey on my skin. Just under my nose definitely had an itch. I wanted to scratch at them all, but my limbs weren’t responding any more than my eyelids.

More murmured voices filled my head, but they were too mixed up to make any sense to me. I tried to tune them out along with the rest of the world, but they kept coming back. My throat was dry, and the tickling on my hand, arm, and nose was driving me nuts. At least the voices I was hearing cleared up.

“…so, if you wanted to just maybe open your eyes or squeeze my hand or something, I’d kind of appreciate it.”

Tria.

I tried to swallow, but nothing happened.

“No change?” It was Yolanda’s voice.

“Well, they stopped arguing with me about being in the room, at least,” Tria replied. “That’s a change.”

“Oh yeah, how did you manage that?”

“I, um…” Tria’s voice trailed off. “I called someone who had a little more authority.”

“Ah shit,” Yolanda said. “That isn’t going to go over well.”

“It was necessary,” Tria replied. “I don’t want him to wake up alone.”

I felt fingers trailing slowly back and forth over my knuckles before wrapping around my hand and squeezing gently. I wanted to turn my hand and grab hold of the fingers, but my body wouldn’t comply.

“Are they going to show up?” Yolanda asked.

I tightened my fingers a little on Tria’s hand.

“Liam? Can you hear me?” Tria said quickly.

I felt my arm rise as she wrapped both her hands around it. My throat clenched, but I still couldn’t swallow, so I tried blinking instead. Everything was blurry and really, really bright. The pounding in the back of my head increased.

“Squeeze my hand again?”

I ran my thumb over the edge of her hand and tried to focus on her eyes.

“He’s still doped up,” Yolanda said. “That could work in your favor if one of them shows up.”

“Hush!” Tria hissed. “Liam? Can you talk to me?”

“Who…?” I breathed but couldn’t make much more of a sound. Yolanda was suddenly in my view, sticking a little paper straw in my mouth and ordering me to drink. The water helped, and I managed to get out the entire question. “Who’s showing up?”

The two of them glanced at each other, but neither seemed inclined to speak. That’s when a guy in a white coat walked in, smiled at both of the girls, and then took my wrist from Tria and counted heartbeats or something.

“Who the f*ck are you?” I mumbled. It hurt my throat to talk so much, but Yolanda was right there with the water again.

“I the f*ck am Doctor Baynor,” he replied without hesitation. “You the f*ck are my patient. Now hang on a second while I take your vitals and check out my sewing.”

“Sewing?”

“You were stabbed, hotshot,” Yolanda said, reminding me. “It’s gonna scar.”

“Ah, f*ck!” I tried to turn to see it, but the pain that ran up my side when I moved just about knocked me out again. I groaned. “How bad a scar?”

“You might want to be still,” Dr. Baynor stated. “I’ll get you set up with a morphine drip to help you sleep.”

“No morphine,” Yolanda said. “Ex-junkie.”

“Ah, well—something a little more tame then, hmm?”

“Fuck you,” I growled at Yolanda.

Tria giggled a little.

“What’s funny?” I asked.

“Nothing at all,” she replied as she took my hand back from the doctor. “It’s just good to hear the f-bombs flowing. It tells me you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” I said as I forced myself to swallow a couple of times. I reached up to scratch my nose and found one of those oxygen things taped to me. No wonder I was itching. The IV drip and some little needle thing were also shoved in my arm and hand. “Just get me checked out so we can go home.”

“Not just yet,” Dr. Baynor said. “Major surgery is not outpatient. I’m going to want to keep an eye on you for a day or so.”