Salem laid in a hospital bed of the Intensive Care Unit, his blankets a bland shade of light blue with flannel print. Though the nearby windowsill and the hospital equivalent of a couch that sat before it were both full of flowers and cards, balloons and get well gifts of all colors, they were a stark contrast to the sanitized and stale decorum of his room otherwise. IVs fed saline and medicine into Salem, while monitors beeped a flat, monotone rhythm as they displayed his vitals.
Perched in the corner with a crossword was Henry, Salem's portly middle-aged driver. He was rounded and had a piggish face, but concern was in his honest eyes as he looked up upon the arrival of a nurse, politely approaching the bed to check Salem's vitals.
"Any change?" the young slender brunette asked, looking over at Henry, who simply shook his head and glanced at the floor, trying to look like he was stuck on a word in his puzzle.
"Well, we finally got him breathing on his own, at least. His throat swelling has diminished enough that he can breathe without the intubation tube, so that's a start, right?" she added, patting Salem on the hand as he laid unconscious in the bed, an oxygen hose fixed to his nostrils which were underscored by stubble that'd grown since his arrival.
It'd been a couple weeks and as many surgeries to help mend Salem's couple of broken ribs, his gashed scalp, and the bleeding and inflammation brought on by taking a bat to the throat and chairs to the rest of him, but despite his physical recovery the young Native lad still hadn't maintained full consciousness since the attack. Only struggled grunts and restless fits every so often, more commonly at night.
He'd become something of an attraction to the on-call staff, who made effort to come by and check on Henry and his boss when possible, if only to deliver another card or bouquet. But regardless of their encouragement, progress hadn't been made yet. That was, until the seemingly sleeping Salem grabbed the woman's wrist as she patted the back of his palm.
"Oh - what's this?!" she said with an energy and surprise that made Henry look up, some degree of shock on his face at the sight of Salem looking to be conscious.
It was like a dark fog, slowly lifting away from him. A clarity, an awakening of his body that started with tingles then resolved itself into varying degrees of sharp pains and dull aches, the tapping of his hand somehow kick-starting his awareness. Where was he? He was laying down, he was injured. He wanted to speak but a faint rasp of a breath was all he managed, his body sluggish to respond to Salem fuzzy brain trying to make sense of his surroundings, eyes still closed.
He was in a bed. He could smell cleaner and hear a beeping as though across a large room. He heard a woman's voice, then suddenly had an image of a certain Englishman, smirking like the devil as he swung a bat for his throat and everything went black.
It was Cartwright. He'd attacked him. No - some randos attacked him. But then Cartwright joined in. Salem had tried to fight, he remembered them putting cuffs on him and taking chairs to him over and over, remembered how much he hurt up against the ropes as they prepared to let Cartwright finish him off, but unwilling to be their victim. He fought hard, he resisted them as defiantly as he could, but in the end he'd been betrayed by one of his oldest friends in the business. His body, his bones, his very spirit had been broken and the one who'd sanctioned it was someone he considered his best friend.
The nurse leaned over hearing Salem's rattled gasp, struggling to hear what the young man was trying to say. But as he opened his mouth, a piercing, agonizing scream burst from his lungs with such ferocity that the nurse jumped back in shock, wide-eyed and nearly tripping on her heels as she glanced towards the hallway for help.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Salem screamed, his whole body seizing and convulsing, muscles flexing as he defied the pain, defied the ache in his throat as his healing windpipe was strained to the point of reinjury, causing blood to spittle out as he shouted to the heavens in pain and frustration, his jerking and twitching threatening to pull out his IV as his body became more responsive, woken by the anger inside him.
By now, orderlies and other assistance had entered, not giving Henry a chance to approach the bed as they scrambled to restrain Salem and sedate him, one turning from the bed to urgently but politely usher the driver from the room, closing the door to help muffle the screams from frightening the entire ward.
Perched in the corner with a crossword was Henry, Salem's portly middle-aged driver. He was rounded and had a piggish face, but concern was in his honest eyes as he looked up upon the arrival of a nurse, politely approaching the bed to check Salem's vitals.
"Any change?" the young slender brunette asked, looking over at Henry, who simply shook his head and glanced at the floor, trying to look like he was stuck on a word in his puzzle.
"Well, we finally got him breathing on his own, at least. His throat swelling has diminished enough that he can breathe without the intubation tube, so that's a start, right?" she added, patting Salem on the hand as he laid unconscious in the bed, an oxygen hose fixed to his nostrils which were underscored by stubble that'd grown since his arrival.
It'd been a couple weeks and as many surgeries to help mend Salem's couple of broken ribs, his gashed scalp, and the bleeding and inflammation brought on by taking a bat to the throat and chairs to the rest of him, but despite his physical recovery the young Native lad still hadn't maintained full consciousness since the attack. Only struggled grunts and restless fits every so often, more commonly at night.
He'd become something of an attraction to the on-call staff, who made effort to come by and check on Henry and his boss when possible, if only to deliver another card or bouquet. But regardless of their encouragement, progress hadn't been made yet. That was, until the seemingly sleeping Salem grabbed the woman's wrist as she patted the back of his palm.
"Oh - what's this?!" she said with an energy and surprise that made Henry look up, some degree of shock on his face at the sight of Salem looking to be conscious.
It was like a dark fog, slowly lifting away from him. A clarity, an awakening of his body that started with tingles then resolved itself into varying degrees of sharp pains and dull aches, the tapping of his hand somehow kick-starting his awareness. Where was he? He was laying down, he was injured. He wanted to speak but a faint rasp of a breath was all he managed, his body sluggish to respond to Salem fuzzy brain trying to make sense of his surroundings, eyes still closed.
He was in a bed. He could smell cleaner and hear a beeping as though across a large room. He heard a woman's voice, then suddenly had an image of a certain Englishman, smirking like the devil as he swung a bat for his throat and everything went black.
It was Cartwright. He'd attacked him. No - some randos attacked him. But then Cartwright joined in. Salem had tried to fight, he remembered them putting cuffs on him and taking chairs to him over and over, remembered how much he hurt up against the ropes as they prepared to let Cartwright finish him off, but unwilling to be their victim. He fought hard, he resisted them as defiantly as he could, but in the end he'd been betrayed by one of his oldest friends in the business. His body, his bones, his very spirit had been broken and the one who'd sanctioned it was someone he considered his best friend.
The nurse leaned over hearing Salem's rattled gasp, struggling to hear what the young man was trying to say. But as he opened his mouth, a piercing, agonizing scream burst from his lungs with such ferocity that the nurse jumped back in shock, wide-eyed and nearly tripping on her heels as she glanced towards the hallway for help.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Salem screamed, his whole body seizing and convulsing, muscles flexing as he defied the pain, defied the ache in his throat as his healing windpipe was strained to the point of reinjury, causing blood to spittle out as he shouted to the heavens in pain and frustration, his jerking and twitching threatening to pull out his IV as his body became more responsive, woken by the anger inside him.
By now, orderlies and other assistance had entered, not giving Henry a chance to approach the bed as they scrambled to restrain Salem and sedate him, one turning from the bed to urgently but politely usher the driver from the room, closing the door to help muffle the screams from frightening the entire ward.