REST
“I tried callingthe emergency contact we have on the school record, but no one answered,” a lady says.
“She told me her dad works during the day,” Conner responds. “We should take her to the hospital.”
A spike of fear works its way out, and through the haze in my clouded mind, I murmur, “No hospital, please.”
Everything is so dark. I’m tired—no, exhausted. My body is too weak even to move an inch without this sluggish feeling. And the voices I heard a moment ago sound like I’m underwater.
With it, this heavy feeling outweighs the need to stay awake…
A throbbing headachepulses to life, and I groan in utter pain as I touch my forehead and feel the coolness. It’s refreshing.
I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. It’s…different—a blue ceiling. The school didn’t paint the sick bay ceiling, did they?
My focus moves away from the ceiling and to the air-conditioner dispensing cool air from the opposite side of the room. Underneath, there’s a painted canvas of a poodle.
What?
I sit upright, and the floral sheet over me rests against my legs.
I’m in a bed. An actual bed.
As I rub my forehead, I struggle to figure out what happened and why I’m not at school anymore. Instead, I’m in a sky-blue room. There is a picture of a poodle on the wall, and I’m lying beneath floral sheets.
There’s also a heavy, musky perfume scent that lingers, too.
“So, Noya doesn’t live here?” Conner’s distinct voice comes through the open door leading out of the room.
My stomach drops, and I flip the sheets away, shuffle to the edge of the bed and rise, only for a sudden hit of dizziness to overcome me. I stumble forward before regaining my composure.
Crap.
I reach the door and peek out, holding the frame for support. The room I’m in overlooks the living room. There’s a two-seater lounge against the wall, and it faces the television across from it. My focus moves away from that and to the fireplace. Above it is a shotgun.
Away from the living room and into the kitchen, Conner sits at the dining table on the right side of the room, talking to Mrs Crawford.
“No, my…granddaughter lives a few doors down.”
Conner’s form goes rigid, and his fingers twitch against the cup he holds.
“Her—my daughter and her husband are fairly strict, so she comes here most nights.”
“Ah…” Conner takes a sip of his drink. “Well, I’m grateful Noya has a wonderful nan.”
Mrs Crawford chortles as she goes into her top cabinet, grabs a container, and places it on the table. “You’re too kind. And I seeyou bring Noya home almost every night for the past two weeks. Are you dating?”
“Yes,” he says as he takes a cookie. “I’m sorry for not coming in sooner to meet you or her parents. Noya is very…” He breathes a laugh. “I’d like to say she’s cautious about the outcome.”
“And so you should,” Mrs Crawford mutters.
Conner tilts his head to the side.
Mrs Crawford waves her hand towards him and says, “There are a lot of rules at her home. If he saw you with her, I’m not sure what her father would do. He’s not a?—”
I step out of the room, move through the living area, and enter the kitchen. As I fold my arms across my chest, I mumble, “Hey.”
Conner rises and reaches out to me when I step back, my focus on Mrs Crawford. Understanding, Conner slides the chair out and sits back down in his seat. “How are you feeling?”