Chapter 7
Recovery
Five weeks. Five long, slow, boring-as-fuck weeks of being trapped in this bed, buried down in this bunker of a hospital, unable to move barely an inch without disrupting the series of aches that plagued the lower half of my body.
True to his word, Darren had my morphine significantly decreased like the asshole he was, much to Sid’s disapproval. Sid did get him to change his mind after a few days when he couldn’t stand seeing me so damn miserable from the pain.
While it did keep me still like Darren had wanted, it also prevented me from eating or keeping anything down.
So whatever meds Darren had ordered next were just as effective in keeping me still since they made me too damn tired to move.
I went from torture victim one week to complete zombie the next.
Sid wasn’t kidding when he said I had a long road ahead of me, and it felt like I’d barely left the fucking station.
While the first week was the hardest, and the second week barely a memory, the third week gave boredom a whole new meaning.
I tried to sleep, tried to rest as much as I could, preferring to walk in my dream world than lie practically paralyzed in my real one.
But eventually, my body was done resting, and I had to face the boredom of reality and the bullet holes that burned through my pelvis.
I made the mistake of looking the first time the medical staff changed my dressings.
And while the scar wasn’t as big as I thought it would be, it was still ugly.
I didn’t want my body looking as battle worn as Darren’s, not needing the reminders of all the shit I’d lived through.
Between the wolf bite on my forearm, the bullet graze on my other arm, and the fucking initials carved into my ass, I had enough physical manifestations of trauma.
Don’t even get me started on the tattoos on my wrists.
Being stuck in a sterile white room with no windows did wonders for my mental health, and my company wasn’t all that great either.
Like usual, Clive and Owen were shit for conversation, and Carla never had anything interesting to say.
The most I could use them for was to play euchre for a few hours of the day until they refused to play any longer.
Poor Camaro didn’t understand why I couldn’t play with her, why I wouldn’t get out of bed.
She’d often put her paws up on the bed so I could scratch behind her ears and whine until someone finally told her to get down.
I missed running with her at my side through the woods, trying my damnedest to outrun her, but she never gave an inch.
Eventually, I felt strong enough to play fetch with one of her toys, making a point to throw the ball directly at Clive’s head as often as I could. It was only fair I get some entertainment out of it too, especially since I still owed him and Owen payback for the bunny slipper prank.
I watched a lot of movies, most of which were either action, mysteries, or documentaries. Comedies would make me laugh, and horror films would make me jump, so anything that would cause involuntary movement was automatically out.
There was also lots of reading, most of it medical to help me understand my condition and anything else I could learn about the human body.
I was also given a small medical device that used ultrasound waves to help heal my bones faster.
I hoped it was working. I wanted to get the fuck out of this bed.
When I was strong enough to finally sit up on my own, I needed something else to do besides read and watch movies all day.
Carla had offered to set up my art supplies next to my bed, to which I was only too eager to accept.
We needed some damn color to distract me before my depression took the full-time shift.
When I was allowed any sort of pain medication, my physical pain would mostly be numbed away, but my emotional pain could withstand anything.
When I’d been this injured last time, at least I had been surrounded by the beauty of the island and the ocean.
But now I was stuck underground with no windows and no scenery to be had.
Just blank white walls. I needed my art to help liven the place up.
The fear of my recovery didn’t help either.
The temporary loss of my hip function was detrimental to my ability to fight or move in any capacity.
To be able to bear weight, to withstand force and exertion, to enable flexibility, support strength, and speed in motion.
All of that was needed to complete a simple kick.
And most days, I could barely move my knee without strain.
Sid would come in every day and try his best to be encouraging, reminding me to be patient while my bones healed and to enjoy the rest while I could.
Because once they were healed, then the real hard work would begin—learning to walk again.
I dreaded it as much as I looked forward to it.
The frustration would be real, but at least I wouldn’t be trapped in this bed anymore.
I’d rather stumble around like a toddler than waste away under these sheets.
But the most surprising thing I found about being stuck down here was how little Darren visited me. At least while I was awake. After he’d magically appeared from the shadows that day, completely drenched in blood, I hadn’t seen him for a week.
The times he did visit were brief, and he wasn’t exactly the greatest company.
Other people might find it difficult to read him, but I was so well-tuned to his very essence that I knew when something was off.
I could sense it the second he stepped into the room, feel it touching my skin like a cloud of smoke.
And while he may pride himself on keeping his emotions in check, I could see he was always on the verge of losing that carefully constructed self-control.
Darren’s rage was palpable, a thick invisible fog that permeated the room so much so I almost found it difficult to breathe around him.
Sometimes I’d wake up in the middle of the night and catch him watching me from my bedside.
His eyes would pool with hatred when he looked at me, his gaze sweeping over my broken body.
Like if he glared at it enough, it would heal itself out of fear of his wrath.
And while physically this sucked for me, emotionally, I could see it fucked with him hard.
My injury was the manifestation that he was, in fact, not the master of everything. He could not control the universe or all the beings within it. My world was not as impenetrable as he had thought, especially behind the supposed safety of his gates. And he was beside himself.
Because it meant he had failed me. And he did not like to admit defeat.
It didn’t matter that he had eviscerated the people responsible, that he had avenged me for what they did. It would never be enough. What was done was done and he couldn’t do anything more for me than what he already had. For the first time, it seemed he was helpless. And it did not suit him.
It was such a strange fluke that no one could have predicted. Intentional infliction of harm was expected, but accidental? Unheard of. Unimaginable. Impossible. Not under Darren’s watch. Everything was always under his control. Until it suddenly wasn’t.
I supposed that, in the end, there might be some kind of silver lining. Eventually, I would physically recover and move on. But Darren would live with this emotional turmoil for the rest of his life. Living with the fact that he’d been bested by chance.
If fucking with Darren’s mental state required taking another bullet, would I do it again? I just fucking might. Because witnessing his internal struggle was too damn delicious. For once, he suffered alongside me, which made everything all the more bearable.
So when he came to me this morning with a surprise visit to tell me I was being moved out of the infirmary and back into our bedroom, I thought my favorite movie would be over. But we were just moving on to the sequel.
I couldn’t help but notice how gentle Darren had been as he lifted me from my hospital bed and carefully placed me into the heavily padded seat of the wheelchair.
His eyes scanned every twitch of my face as I absorbed the discomfort of sitting upright in a chair for the first time in over a month.
I realized I was still holding up my weight from the arm of the chair, fearful of increasing the pressure I was already beginning to feel.
“How’s the pain level, Mrs. Davis?” Sid asked, his voice laced with skepticism.
“Um,” I murmured as I slowly lowered myself even farther into the seat, wincing with each inch.
“Fuck it, I’ll just carry you,” Darren insisted, his arms reaching out.
“No, no,” I argued, a groan in the back of my throat. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
When I finally allowed my entire body to relax into the chair, the pressure increased, causing me to suck in a huge breath as my hips adjusted to the added weight. The pain was dull, but it was still noticeable nonetheless.
Looking up at Darren and Sid, with the rest of the nursing staff surrounding us, I didn’t want to give them a reason to keep me buried down here any longer. I wanted the fuck out.
“Really, I’m good,” I assured, hoping my fake-ass smile was convincing enough. I knew Darren could see right through it with the look he gave me, but he wouldn’t argue. He wanted me out of there just as much as I did.
Sid nodded. “Alright then, let’s go,” he said, signaling to one of the nurses to wheel my wheelchair to the door.
We all moved through the hallway like some kind of single unit, Darren to my right, Clive and Owen ahead and to my left with Camaro, while Sid, two nurses, and Carla made up the back, carrying my books and tablet.
No one said anything as we piled into the giant elevator and returned to the world above.
When the elevator doors opened, I was reminded how much brighter the sun made everything look. I nearly winced as I was wheeled out of the elevator and down the hall toward the staircase. Pausing at the bottom, Darren reached down to lift me out of the chair.
“Put your arms around my neck.”
Reaching up, I gripped the hard, curved muscle of his wide shoulders and slid my arms around his neck.
It was hard not to tense up as he placed his hands under my knees and carefully pulled my body to his chest. He took each step slowly, working hard not to jostle me until we reached the top.
Clive carried up my wheelchair, but Darren refused to put me back in it, preferring to carry me the rest of the way to our bedroom.
The bed had been made up with far more pillows than I remembered, and a medical station had been set up next to my side.
With the covers pulled back, Darren carefully eased me down onto the bed, gently tucking my legs under the sheets.
I held my breath as the pressure over my pelvis shifted.
Closing my eyes, I leaned back against the pillows and waited for the discomfort to pass.
When I opened my eyes again, everyone in the room was staring at me expectantly.
“What?” I said, cocking a brow. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” Darren asked me, his big body leaning down to tuck my loose hair behind my ear. “You don’t need anything else to make yourself more comfortable?”
I couldn’t help but eye him suspiciously. He was being uncharacteristically delicate with me, and it was making me nervous.
I shook my head. “No, I’m okay for now.”
He nodded, a satisfied look on his face as he straightened back to his full height. “Good.”
“Yes, that is very good,” Sid commented, taking a step forward. “My staff will stop by every few hours to check on you, administer your medications, and bring you anything you might need. Do you have any questions? Concerns?”
That seemed a little excessive, but I shook my head either way, ready to lose my awkward audience.
“Okay then, rest easy.” Sid ushered his staff out of the room, leaving Darren, Carla, and my bodyguards behind.
Carla then walked around and placed my books and tablet on the table next to my bedside. “I’ll just leave these here for you. I’m going to go back and get the rest of your art supplies. Do you want them to be set up here for you as well?”
My eyes shifted to Darren to see if he would object, but he said nothing as he stared back at me, waiting for my answer. I was surprised he was being so lenient.
“No, they can go back in my studio for now. I’ll let you know if I want them.”
She nodded with a smile. “Okay then, I will take care of it.”
When she left the room, Clive and Owen took up their space on two sofa chairs set up for them near the door. That left me and my now brooding husband staring intently at each other.
“Something wrong?” I asked him.
He sighed heavily before shaking his head. “No. I’m just glad to see you back in our bed where you belong.”
I lifted my chin and nodded in acknowledgment. “It is definitely preferable to the infirmary. But I still hate being bedridden.”
“I know,” he said, his voice surprisingly solemn. “Give it two more weeks and we can start getting you out on the wheelchair more often.”
I smirked at him. “That’s a long way away. You can’t always be around to carry me up and down the stairs.”
Darren’s gaze darkened as he dipped his chin. “The hell I can’t.”
I shrugged, shaking my head at his intense determination. “If you say so.”
He then stepped closer to me, leaning down to cup my jaw in his big hand. “I have a few things I need to take care of, but I’ll see you at dinner.” Pressing his lips to mine, he kissed me in a way that left me aching for something more, and I hated him for it.
“Be a good girl,” he warned and headed for the door, pausing for a single glance back at me, his eyes flashing with something I didn’t initially recognize. Relief maybe? But then he left the room entirely before I could assess further.
After I watched him go, a deep longing echoed in my chest as I leaned back into the pillows.
This past month had left me empty inside, an unbearable weight pressing against my heart as I internally urged my body to heal itself.
As much as I hated the man, I felt neglected because Darren could barely stand to be around me in the infirmary.
And now that I was back in our bed, I wondered how his treatment of me would differ. If at all.
Time would tell tonight.