Rule #29: Don't Go to Hospitals
Hospitals are for the weak.
- () -
The first thing I see when I open my eyes is a teddy bear tucked under my arms. Underneath all the pain in my head, I feel a faint sense of relief. At least, I got Charlotte back. I take my bear and press her against my face, nuzzling my nose in her warm and welcoming scent.
Then, I realize I'm in a hospital bed.
My eyes shift around the room, trying to figure out what's going on. A faint, monotonous beeping comes from besides me. The room is filled with the color white, from the buzzing lights to the blank walls. It makes my head hurt all over again. Besides my bed is a computer on a desk and a brown leather couch. Melody sits on it, flipping through a magazine with a bored expression.
I close my eyes, suddenly dizzy.
The memories from last night are a blur. I remember vague flashes of a beach, of yelling, of being in a white tub, of somebody brushing my hair back and whispering soothing words. But even with all those scattered pieces, I still can't remember what happened.
I open my eyes again and wait for the world to steady itself before turning to Melody. "What happened?"
Her head snaps up. Without a single answer, Melody launches herself around my neck, which is a difficult feat, considering I'm still lying down. Pain racks my skull again, making me groan.
"Sorry, sorry," Melody backs down. "I was just so worried."
I press my hands to my head, squinting in the light. "Why am I in a hospital?"
"You don't remember anything?"
"Obviously."
"Oh, well, I guess I have to explain everything then," Melody inhales deeply, making her cheeks puff up. Then, in one quick rush, "Long story short, last night, you were wandering around the beach when some bastard slammed a volleyball into your skull, causing you to fall into the ocean and pass out. Since the tides were so high, you nearly drowned! Nobody knew what to do. But then Archer came in, ripped off his shirt and saved your life, with his swim-team experience."
"He did what?"
"Archer saved your life," Melody repeats. She places the back of her hand on my forehead. "Are you okay? Can you understand me properly?"
I slap her hand away, although it barely touches her skin. "Why wouldn't I?"
"Because you have a severe concussion."
"I do?"
"Yeah," She nods and then, suddenly stops. "Oh, shit! I was supposed to tell the doctor when you woke up again! I'll be right back."
"Wait-"
But she's already out the door
I sit up and lean back on my pillows, trying to think about the situation. A severe concussion? Was that what was causing all my headaches? No, it couldn't have been. I was just hit by the volleyball yesterday.
Just then, the door swings open to reveal a woman with red hair and a white lab coat enters the room, with mom following straight behind her.
Instead, mom sits down on the couch that Melody was just on. She sits with her back erect and bites her lip so hard that some of red lipstick smears. I try to catch her eyes, but mom stares straight at the doctor, refusing to meet my eye.
I wait for somebody to say something, but silence fills the room.
"What happened?" I demand.
Mom throws an anxious glance at the doctor, who clicks something on her computer.
"You have a concussion," The doctor explains. "From the MRI scans, we discerned that it was a faint concussion, from over a few months ago. However, since you didn't get treatment, it wasn't properly healed and because of yesterday's incident, it became much worse."
"Are you telling me I had a concussion before this?" I ask, with a pointed look towards my mother, who still stubbornly refuses to glance my way.
The doctor nods. "For at least a few months. Is there anything you can think of that might have caused it? A few symptoms you might have experienced would be headaches, mood swings, a loss of balance, sleep or appetite."
Automatically, my mind flashes back to the day I first came here, when I nearly got run over by Archer's Audi. I don't have a concussion, I remember myself insisting afterwards.
I guess I was wrong.
Still, I don't want to bring attention to the incident or make Archer feel like this is his fault, so I just murmur. "No idea."
"Alright, that's fine," The doctor turns back to her computer. "Unfortunately, a concussion cannot be treated right away. With one such as yours, you'll have to take medication and have monthly check-ups. There are also some school activities that will have to change because of this, but we'll talk about that later."
"We've also signed you up for therapy." Mom adds.
Of course she did. No wonder she seemed so guilty before.
"That's strange. I didn't know you need therapy for a concussion." My voice is cold. I keep my eyes on the doctor, who looks distinctly uncomfortable.
"I thought it was for the best," Mom murmurs.
"I beg to differ." To my horror, the last two words of the sentence come out slurred. It's the concussion, I tell myself. Not me.
"It doesn't matter now," Mom sniffs, crossing her legs. If she didn't have the annoyed expression on her face, she would have looked like a model, with that business outfit and blank backdrop. "I've already signed you up. You'll be starting in January."
I can't believe you, I want to say, but the pounding in my head just becomes worse. So instead, I turn over on my side and lie down, fuming.
-()-
I have to stay overnight for examination, which means I miss one whole day of school. And although I love not having to go to classes, I would gladly go back if it meant not having to deal with the headaches and nausea all day.
And, since the doctor says I can't do anything that uses too much 'brain effort' on my part, I'm reduced to watching national geographic on TV and flipping through fashion magazines. Sometimes, I get dizzy and have to stop whatever I'm doing to lie down for a few minutes.
By noon, I'm in so much pain that I beg one of the nurses to give me another painkiller. She refuses and says that reducing my pain with artificial medicine isn't going to help me get better and that I should focus on praying instead.
So, instead, I steal some aspirins from her cart.
I think I take a higher dose than I'm supposed to because I'm so pleased with the way that my life is going recently that I happen to draw Archer a thank-you card, you know, since he saved my life and all.
It's a simple hamburger-folded piece of red (since that's his favorite color) paper. On the front, in my most formal writing, I've written Thank You except I suddenly got dizzy while crossing the T, so now there's a streak of blue marker across the paper.
On the inside, I drew a couple of animals with smiles on their faces. Unrealistic on the outside, sure, but I'm sure it represents their internal feelings of happiness. Especially the dog.
"This is so sweet," Melody coos, to my annoyance. "But what's the thing in the middle? A giraffe?"
"It's a horse."
"Then, why does it have spots?"
"It's an American Paint Horse. They have spots."
"Oh," Melody stares at the card for a second. Then, she tilts her head to side. "Wait, I think I hear somebody coming."
"What? Who is it?" What is she, a cat now?
"Probably Archer. He said he was going to come and visit you today," All of a sudden, Melody's phone rings. Her face visibly brightens when she sees who it is. "Oh, hang on - hey, Raquel! - make sure to give him the card, Peyton."
"Whatever," I say, as Melody walks outside to talk to her friend.
When she swings open the door, I vaguely hear Archer's voice in the corridor. Shit, I think, looking around for a place to hide my card. He can't see me like this - I haven't even put on my eyeliner yet (my nurse doesn't believe in make-up) and my hair's all messed up.
I stuff the card behind my pillow just as he enters the room.
Archer glances over the hospital room, his eyes pausing on the vase of flowers (that James got me), before finally landing on me. Then, he brings a chair next to my bed and sets his brown shoulder bag on the mattress.
"So," He says, putting his chin in his hand. "How's your head?"
"Fine," I feel my face heat up. "Why are you here? I thought you had swim practice today."
"I've brought you your homework."
"We don't have any classes together."
"We have gym."
"You brought me gym homework?"
Archer flashes a grin. "Well, I had to make some excuse to see you."
"You just wanted to get out of swim practice." I say, although my heart skips a beat. This can't be good for my health.
"That too," He starts rolling up his sleeves. "Besides, I wanted to get a head start on homework. Mom's been keeping busy since most of our family..."
I'm not listening. My eyes focus on his arms, which are covered in ink. Colorful pen drawings of scenery, faces and other objects line his arm, making it look like he's covered in tattoos. Some of them are messages from his friends - I spot Sebastian was here in black ink right below his elbow - and family.
"So, I guess you took my advice after all," I say, nodding towards his arms.
"Yeah, I did," Archer takes his pen out of his ear. "Which reminds me, I need to borrow your skin."
"What? You've run out of room on your arms already?"
"Yeah. There's only so much skin a guy can have. So are you going to let me draw on yours or not?"
I shake my head.
"Come on," Archer coaxes, inching closer. "I'll draw something you really like. Tell me, what's your favorite animal? I'll draw it on your arm."
"I love all animals equally." I inform him. "Making favorites causes discrimination."
He doesn't seem surprised by this. "Then just pick an animal you want."
"Hmm," I take some serious thought into this. It's not everyday that somebody puts a temporary tattoo on your arm, you know. "Well, there's a lot to choose from you know. I could go with something elegant and majestic, like a peacock, or maybe something dark and deadly, like me -"
Archer snorts.
"- like a leopard, or something that has really deep meaning, like the Swallowtail butterfly which represents transformation and-"
"How about a panda bear?" He suggests.
"Oh. Okay."
"Great," Before I can protest, he climbs on the tiny hospital bed and right next to me, placing his headphones in his ears.
I watch him, wide-eyed.
Archer pays no attention. Instead, he clicks his black pen and adjusts it so it's right below my left wrist. A smooth path of black ink follows his pen as he draws an outline of a panda bear. It glides over my skin, creating a strange sensation. All of a sudden, I want to yank my hand away. It tickles.
I press my lips together to keep from giggling out loud.
Even with all fidgeting, Archer's oblivious. Whenever I move, he just places his hand on my arm to keep me still. I count the ceiling tiles in order to distract myself. But I can't ignore the ticklish sensations running up my arm. I try to think of a way I can make him stop without hurting his feelings or revealing my weakness.
Then, I realize that this is the perfect time for me to present him with my gift.
I pull my hand from his grasp and take out my crumpled-up card from underneath my pillow. My colorful animals grin mockingly at me. Without giving myself a moment to hesitate, I slam into Archer's chest with a "Here you go." and bury myself under my covers.
Archer is too busy taking his headphones off to catch my card, so it timidly floats to the ground.
"What is this?" Archer picks it up.
"It's only a thank-you card for saving my life," I glare at my toes. "Nothing important. I only spent two minutes on it, I swear."
"This is adorable, Peyton," Archer says, flipping open the card. I blush even more. "But, what do you mean by saving your life? I don't think carrying you to the car counts as saving your life."
"You didn't save me from drowning?"
"Nope."
"Or rip off your shirt?"
His only response is a baffled expression. "What?"
"I'll just take that as a no, then," I consider this for a moment. "Okay, good to know. Now give it back."
"Give what back?"
"My thank-you card. You didn't save my life, so it's pointless now," I try to take the card but he snatches it away from my reach, giving me a raised eyebrow. "Archer, come on, it's useless. What are you going to do with it?"
"I'm going to put on my art wall."
"You can't put my art on your wall," I protest.
Archer's art wall is where he displays his most beloved drawings and paintings that he made. He even sold one of the paintings he had put up there, just because a guest had come along one day and seen it. He says it's the only thing his parents haven't taken away from him.
"Why not?"
"Because it's not art. It doesn't deserve to be with your sketches."
Archer grins and brings his card further out of my reach when I try to lunge for it. "I'd love to have it with my sketches. And what do you mean it's not art? You little drawings of animals are adorable. I love the little zebra and giraffe-"
"It's a horse," I snap. "Just because it has spots doesn't mean it's a giraffe."
"Whatever it is, I'm keeping it."
I quit and lean back on my pillow. "Fine."
"Fine."
I can't muster up the force to glare at him properly.
"Glad that's settled," Archer says, tucking into his pocket. "Now give me your hand. I want to finish your drawing."
"I'll give you my hand if you give me your card."
"Don't be-"
Just then, Melody saves the day. She barges into my room with a wide grin and crazed eyes. I sink even lower into my pink pillows, preparing for the worst. Archer, luckily, seems to forgotten all about drawing on my arm.
"I have some news!" Melody chirps, jumping on my bed.
"Get away from me, you little liar," I snarl, kicking her off my feet. "You said that Archer saved my life. Do you know how many hours I spent making that card? All to get myself humiliated, all because of you."
Melody ignores the mean part of my speech. "You gave him the card? Did you see the giraffe?"
"It's a horse," Archer corrects. "And yes, it was adorable."
"Hey! My animals are ferocious and menacing, not adorable," I say, poking a finger in his chest. "And don't try to change the subject, Melody. If I weren't in a hospital bed, I would kick you in the face so hard that your eyeballs would come out from the other side."
"You won't want to kick me after I tell you the good news," Melody says. "I got rid of Cousin Poppy and Cousin Bettie. They were coming to visit you in the hospital, but I tricked them away."
Oh, that is good news. I had completely forgotten about Aunt Sue, who came yesterday.
"How?" I ask curiously, then jerk a little bit, because Archer starts drawing on my arm again.
"I said that you were with Archer Raine, who was this really gross and annoying guy who was delivering off calculus homework for you," Melody announces. "Now, they're going to stay away from you and Archer."
"Nice," I say and high-five her.
"I'm gross and annoying?" Asks Archer.
"No," Both of us say at the same time. Then, Melody takes over. "Trust me, you want to stay away from Cousin Poppy and Bettie. They're boy-obsessed, loud and annoying. They barge into my room and take everything I own. Peyton, tell him."
"I don't really have a problem with them," I mutter. "But Cousin Bettie is loud and gives me headaches."
"She gives everybody headaches. I hate them."
"They killed her second plant," I inform Archer. "Carl Junior."
"Ah," Archer grins again, not looking up from his drawing of a panda bear. He begins on the big, black eyes. "I see your problem, Melody. I have a few cousins like that. My parents call them the rotten apples of the family.
"My grandmother calls Peyton the rotten apple of the family," Melody muses.
"Because I am." I say, shrugging.
Ever since I've decided to become a vegetarian in the seventh grade and refused to eat the meatloaf my grandmother for Thanksgiving, things have gone downhill with my family. Not only am I the one that 'ruins family traditions', I also argue with every single comment my racist and sexist grandparents seem to make.
So, now I'm the slutty, blonde bitch that shows up to every family reunion to steal everybody's boyfriends (even though I haven't stolen one).
"Finished," Archer says and leans back to examine his work. Melody praises it. A large panda bear, with a bamboo stick in its mouth, lies on my arm. Even though it's only done in plain black ink, it still looks extremely realistic.
"Thanks," I tell him. "I'll treasure it forever."
"I'll hold you to that," Says Archer and even though he seems exhausted, he's smiling.
-()-
So yeah. Peyton has a concussion. Many of you guys had pretty good guesses on what had happened, but I still can't believe you've managed to catch on in the first place. I thought I was being pretty sneaky! :p
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This chapter's dedicated to mauigoa and do-you-even-username for voting so much.
QotC: Have you ever had any injuries before?