With The Bad Comes The Good

Chapter Seven: Your Blood is in Me

Chapter 7.

Your point of view.

I feel pressure on my hand as I come back into consciousness. I open my eyes slowly open to see Louis holding my hand. I am hooked up to a bunch of medical equipment in a hospital room, again! I squeeze Louis' hand back and I see him lift his tear streaked face. He looks so relieved that I am awake.

"Wuzzup with the blonde?" I slur.

"Oh, God. You're awake. I'm so sorry about her. It's all my fault. I am so sorry! I didn't think she would do anything to you when I left. I thought she was stable since she was-" I cut off his babbling.

"What did she do to you?" I ask, suspiciously.

"I told her that you were my girlfriend then she got mad and kissed me. I went and got security but when I came back she was on top of you and you-"

"It's okay. Calm 'er down there. I'm fine," I soothe him by moving my thumb across his hand while I hold it. He takes a deep breath.

"Okay. I'm really sorry. Do you actually feel fine?" he looks at me with guilt and concern filling his eyes.

"I feel fine," I smile at him weakly.

"I'm really sorry. The doctor says you are going to have to stay here for the night, at least," Louis tells me.

"Okay. I can handle it if you stop apologizing," I laugh. Or at least try to laugh. I end up in a freaking coughing fit. He sits me up on the bed and rubs my back.

I reach for a tissue and cough into it. I pull it away from my mouth for a second between coughs and notice something red on it. I had coughed up blood and realize I continue to do so. Louis presses the help button and a nurse comes in after a minute more of blood from my mouth. I hated the metallic taste of it as it left my mouth.

She grabs me a bucket and I continue to cough up blood into it. It seemed like a never ending coughing fit. I look up to see Louis had been shooed out as doctors and nurses surround me. There were five people in hospital outfits. I was just the patient coughing up a pool of blood into a bucket. I was wheeled to another room as I continued to spew blood into the ironically red bucket.

I looked down into it as I coughed and was alarmed to see how much was there. It was a quarter of the way full of my blood. I didn't like it that I wasn't done yet, either. The people parked me in a room and somehow managed to get scans of my throat and chest with me heaving with every violent cough. They were taking forever to help me.

Was I going to die of blood loss? I see I had heaved up almost half of the bucket of blood. I close my eyes before I make myself sick. I am sweating and my throat hurts from the scratchy coughs. The doctors come back in and I look at them briefly between my coughs.

"It seems when you were strangled they were wringing their hands on your throat," one male states.

"Yeah, she did," was my scratchy, blood muffled, gurgle.

 "She had worn down a part of your esophagus and when you coughed it broke through, so now you are bleeding," he seemed grave.

"And then?" I ask with my face in the bucket.

"We think you are going to need surgery to fix it and you will have to tube feed until it heals," he states.

"You know, that doesn't even make sense," I blurt between heaves.

"It doesn't have to. This is the human body we are talking about," one nurse mutters. I look up, scared that they don't even know. I'm screwed. I feel tears burn my eyes as I think I might actually die.