Chapter 3
three
. . .
“Harry, can you hear me?” The voice calling me had a strange accent…
and a peculiar echo that made her sound like she was in a tunnel or something.
I tried to concentrate but brain fog and tiredness began to pull me under again.
Someone gave me a rough shove, then shook both sides of my body near my shoulders.
“Can you open your eyes for me, Harry?” a soft female, Scottish accent asked.
The voice sounded gentle and comforting and I felt myself smile until I heard a ringing noise in my ear and an annoying machine alarmed somewhere in the distance.
“Jesus Christ, is he still unconscious?” My heart sped up at the sound of a voice I recognized. No one could have accused Klarissa Stark of having a soothing voice when nails on a chalkboard was more apt. “Do something,” she ordered.
“Do something? The guy’s in here because you pushed him too far. This is on you and your money-grabbing nature. We all knew he was struggling during these past two days. He should have been ordered to rest then. And now look… he’s in the fucking hospital.”
“He made it to the end of the tour, didn’t he?” she muttered, sounding smug.
“No thanks to you. If you were my manager, I’d ditch you,” Davy argued. I’d never heard the guy sound so emotional.
“And I’ll remind you that Harry’s the talent. Any more of your lip and you’ll be replaced.”
“Yeah? And you think getting rid of me is gonna fly with Harry? If I were him, it would be a new manager I’d be chasing.”
“Look! You two need to get a handle on things and take this outside. Bickering isn’t going to bring Harry round.
And the last thing he needs is a stressful or hostile environment once he does wake up,” the once soft Scottish lilt I’d first heard had all but gone, and in its place was an aggressive, don’t fuck with me Scottish tone that would have made anyone sit up and take notice.
“Do you know what’s wrong with him?” Klarissa asked, ignoring the Scottish female.
“We have an idea, but that’ll be discussed with Harry. It’ll be up to him if he chooses to discuss it with you,” the Scottish woman replied. “Now if you’d move back into the waiting area, the doctor should be here any minute, and then he can begin to treat your rock star.”
My eyes blinked rapidly, slowly opened and quickly closed again. I winced at how bright the room was. “Ah, so you’ve decided to join us,” the Scottish voice I’d heard before muttered, sounding a little amused but mostly relieved.
“I had to see who the sassy Scottish woman was, that saw off my tyrannical manager.” I was disappointed when I addressed her back since she wasn’t facing me, busying hanging an intravenous infusion bag and feeding the clear tube through a machine.
Dressed in flower print scrubs she looked shapeless from the back, and apart from a thick blonde ponytail, I couldn’t see much else.
“Who? That witch?” she asked with a note of distain in her tone.
“She’s your manager? Big star like you? Surely you could afford someone better.
It’s none of my business, but if I were you, I’d toss that one to the curb.
Not once in the past ten minutes since you came in, has she shown any real concern about you.
She even threatened the lad that came in with you that he’s replaceable. ”
“I heard,” I muttered, “Davy’s going nowhere.” I tried to sit up, but the room began to swim. “Bowl, quick,” I blurted the second I realized the nausea I felt was about to turn into a spray of vomit.
The nurse’s reflexes were lightening quick as she stuffed a paper maché, kidney-shaped bowl under my chin. Not even a second later, I promptly emptied the contents of my stomach, which consisted mostly of bile.
“Good boy, you didn’t spill a drop. Me and you would have had words if I’d had to change this bed since you’ve hardly been in it.”
I chuckled despite feeling like death. “Are you a dominatrix in your spare time? If not, you should be, with that menacing accent and the commanding stern tone you’ve got, you’d earn a fortune.”
“Funny you should say that,” she muttered, wiping my chin with a tissue.
“I have an Only Fans page. This gig here is more of a hobby these days,” she said, waving the puke-ridden tissue in the general vicinity of the room.
I stole a glance while she swapped bowls out, and when I saw how gorgeous she was, the sight of her stole my breath.
“Good one. I love a chick with a sense of humor,” I mumbled as I eased back against my pillow.
“Oh, you think I’m joking? Twenty-eight grand I made last month on Only Fans alone.
Amazing, where a wee Scottish accent, a wee bossy nature and thousands of poor numpties with mammy issues and more money than sense will get you these days.
TikTok, Instagram, Discord, my subscription rates are through the roof. ”
Apart from the fact she began to speak faster, and slipped into a stronger Scottish brogue when she spoke, I could understand most of what she said.
Did I believe it? Looking at her, she was stunning and could more than hold her own on an Only Fans page with her big hazel eyes framed by thick dark lashes, pretty, pale skin, and a rosebud mouth with luscious plump lips.
I began to wonder what her figure was like under the shapeless scrubs when another wave of nausea took over.
“Fuck,” I ground out, barely raising my head enough to spew another round of bile into the new bowl. The skin on my tonsils felt as if I’d been gouged with a potato peeler.
“Better out than in, but that would depend on the situation, eh?” she queried with a chuckle and a secret smile at her double entendre. She swapped my bowl out and swiped another tissue across my mouth again.
“Am I tripping? I mean, where the fuck am I?” I asked, dropping my gaze to the IV line strapped to my arm.
“Not tripping. But from the symptoms your wee pal gave me, I’d hazard a guess as to what’s wrong with you.”
“You know?”
“Ah, that would be telling. You’ll need to wait until the good doctor turns up. Not the autistic one from the telly, the one that works here in the hospital.”
Despite feeling like shit, I chuckled again and glanced at her name for the first time. Chastity? Seriously?