Delayed, Nathan Kingsly [read aloud txt] 📗

Mom’s hand is there, gripping my free one and squeezing so hard I’ll be lucky to feel it later, but I grip her back.

“You’re okay...” Emma’s forehead rests against my temple, and her sigh ruffles my hair.

The door opens, Emma straightens, and her hand disappears.

“Glad you’re awake, Mr. Marone.”

Her hands are warm against my wrist, and a beep comes from a machine to my left before it starts to filter the air to the blood pressure cuff that starts to inflate around my arm. “Need to check your vitals, and then we’ll get you more comfortable.”

Everyone seems to hold their breath as the nurse does her job. “This is going to hurt, but I have to do it slowly, or I’ll take an eyebrow.” Her hand is on one of my cheeks, and I come to realize why I couldn’t open my eyes. She nicks my cheek as she digs at the tape with her nail. “Sorry.” She says, but that’s nothing compared to the tape coming away from my eyebrow. Mom’s hand is like a vice as if it’s happening to her and not me. “Try to relax your face, less of the hair will come off.” Easier said than done though, as the tape comes away without too many hairs missing, according to her. “This one will go easier; they did a better job with the gauze.”

“Okay, you can open your eyes.”

I only get them open a slit before I shut them again. So bright!

As I work on getting my eyes to adjust, the nurse starts to talk again. “When you went into surgery, we had to intubate you; I’m sure you’ve noticed it already. Your throat will be sore for the next twelve to twenty-four hours after the doctor says to remove it.” Lines appear around warm brown eyes as the nurse gives me a smile.

“You can’t remove it?” Mom asks.

“Not without the doctor saying so. I’ve already called her, and she will be up soon. But I can take off the cuffs as long as you don’t try to pull it out, okay?”

I try and nod, but my head still won’t move.

The nurse laughs. “Oops, sorry.” Velcro releases next to my ears, and pressure that I hadn't even felt until now, releases from my chin and forehead. “You can move a bit more now, but don’t overdo it; it will hurt your esophagus.”

The ability to move my head even limited is a relief. My mom comes into view; her smile wobbles on her face, tears in danger of falling. Her hand comes up and touches my cheek. Mia shifts on her feet next to where mom is sitting with a lopsided smile, rolling her eyes.

“You’re a dick for worrying everyone,” she says. Mom’s hand drops from my cheek so she can twist to look at Mia. They start to argue, but my eyes are already traveling around the room again.

That’s when I see her, in the corner by the door out of the way, and neither of us blink. Her face is bruised and swollen in some places around the bandages. I can’t breathe. Superficial my ass, one of her eyes is almost closed from the swelling, and yet she gives me a smile that can only be considered as soft. How can she look at me like that? After what I’ve done, she shouldn’t even be here.

The door opens, and I reluctantly look away from Emma to find a woman coming through in scrubs. Her brown hair in a no-nonsense bun high atop her head, “Nurse Becky, you can go ahead and take that out. He’s out of danger.”

Becky does a few things above me, and then she’s in my field of vision. “The trick is to take a deep breath in and cough when you release your breath. Ready?”

My heart speeds up as I nod and take a deep breath. Coughing, I feel every inch of the tube coming up as she pulls it out. I have a deeper appreciation for anyone that can deepthroat.

Even after it’s taken out, I continue to cough for a few seconds. “Thanks.” The word scratches its way up, my throat angry with the escape. "My hands?" I pull against the restraints.

"Mr. Marone, you've sustained some serious injuries. You came in with a brain bleed and two bullet wounds. The one in your shoulder didn't hit any major arteries, but the one in your upper chest caused some serious damage. We had to open your chest cavity.”

Looking down, all I see is massive amounts of blankets hiding the evidence. The movement makes my skin tight, and pain trickles past the drugs that still linger in my system.

“Nurse, please put in an order for another twenty milligrams of fentanyl.” She doesn’t skip a beat as she continues. “The bullet nicked your rib, and fragments of it went into your lung. By the time we got in to take a look, it had managed to make confetti.” She says this with a statue face frozen in indifference. Farthest thing from a party on both counts. "We did what we could, but we had to perform a partial pneumonectomy in the end on your left lung."

“What--?”

Mom pats our hands that are gripping each other before she answers. “They had to remove a portion of your lung.”

I only have half of one of my lungs? Taking a deep breath in, there’s a sharp pain in my chest, but not one I can pin down. My whole upper body is screaming at me as it fills up, and when I let the breath go, it comes out in a coughing fit, which is more pain than I have ever felt in my life. Jesus, is this how it will be from now on?

“Will I …?”

“Live a normal life?” The doctor asks, and when I nod, she continues. “Yes, you’ll be here under observation for another week and a half, but after you’ve been released, most should go back to normal.”

“Most…?” Swallowing, I