POV Cole
The night went to shit when my thigh started throbbing in pain. I couldn't get any sleep because of it and that bitch Chloe wouldn't give me any good meds, just handed me two measly pills of acetaminophen. Fuck her, the Tylenol didn't do shit for me. The sun has now risen and it's yet another day of misery to come. I'm alone, bored, and in pain day in and day out I want out of this fucking jail cell they call a hospital. My depression is deepening and I'm afraid there's no way out. I spent most of the night stalking Jess's Facebook account. I didn't know her last name, so I went all FBI and eventually found it. I know, I sound like a high school girl. Besides that whole point, I looked at all her pictures all the way down to 2013, conscientious not to accidentally like something from twelve years ago. Just from this page I learned a lot about Jessica Elizabeth Miller. She went to WSU, apparently she's friends with that red head ICU lady, she posts way too many pictures of extravagant restaurant meals and not enough of herself, she reshares countless medical breakthroughs that no one seems to care about and she's right, she's got a boring life, no sense of adventure anywhere on the page and yeah I'm a fucking creep for diving so deep into it, boredom makes you do some whacky shit.
I open Facebook again and sure enough, the first thing that pops up on my feed is a picture of Lex and Rylie in fucking Europe. I should be in Europe right now, France to be exact. I should be doing practice runs on my Kawasaki KX450, my baby must miss me. I perfected my jumps, speeds, all of it. I worked my fucking ass off to qualify and I did qualify, only for it to go straight to Rylie. I miss the way the vibrations feel under my hands, the sound of the engine, the feel of the bike flying in the air after hitting a mound of compacted dirt and the crowd cheering. The love I have for racing is so embedded and deep but it's also killing my spirits, for the time being I can only strive to regain my strength and change my perspective, and accept reality for what it is.
My nerves are heightened when Jess walks into the room. I hate to admit to myself but she looks beautiful today, I'd never say that aloud though.
I put on my hard armored mask, "Blondie."
"Cole.." she says unamused. Well, this is awkward.
"Your physical therapy appointment got switched to 7:30 so we have a half hour until we head down." She states flatly.
She puts the buds of the stethoscope in her ears and saunters over to the side of the bed. She places the circular stainless steel on my chest listening intently.
"Your heart is racing Cole, are you feeling okay?" She asks, and I stop staring at her cleavage that is visible from her bent-over position. My fucking organ outing me like a snitch.
"I'm fine," I say clipped because I need her to back away ASAP.
"Okay..jeez," she scoffs.
She removes the buds from her ears and hooks them back around her neck. She turns away from me with a laptop in hand typing something vigorously.
I really fucking hate to ask her but it's a necessity. Usually Nancy is here in the morning and helps me to the shower and changes my clothes. There's no way in hell I'm asking for a shower but I desperately need a change of clothes.
"Hey, blondie? Can you please help me with something?" I hate feeling this helpless with something so basic that a three-year-old can do.
She turns back around to face me, "What is it?"
"Can you help me change my clothes?" Ohhh the rosy color that is etched across her cheeks does not go unnoticed I bite back the smile I so desperately want to reveal.
"Um, yeah, sure," she's so cute when she's nervous.
Setting her laptop down on the side table she makes her way back to me, "Where are your clothes?"
I point at a chair that lies behind the mess of cords hooked up to the monitors, "Anything in particular?"
I shake my head, "You pick."
She stares at me in surprise, "Okay," she whispers. In hand, she has a pair of black basketball shorts and a white Fox Racing T-shirt.
"Is this okay?" It's funny how her whole spicy demeanor switched to a timid little mouse in such a short time.
I nod my head and she sits on the bed.
"Arms up," she says softly.
I lift my arms, allowing her to do her task. Capturing the hem of my shirt I feel the warmth of her fingers against my stomach, sending goosebumps across my skin. Gradually and carefully not to disturb the gashes, she lifts the shirt from my lower stomach, to my chest, and above my head. My torso completely bare now, I study her face as she studies my upper half. She must be oblivious to my stares, she's so deep in her own. She scans the various tattoos appearing, she's intrigued and mesmerized.
I wonder what her heart rate would be right now if she were attached to these monitors, probably higher than mine.
"Jeremiah 29:11?" Her eyebrows are scrunched in confusion as she stares at the black ink on the side of my torso.
"For I know the plans I have for you," I state confidently. Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise, not sure why but her asking me about that verse is a sign that has been forever engraved in my flesh that I have been too distracted to notice within myself.
For I know the plans I have for you.
I have been fighting it since I woke up from the coma. I have been naive to open my eyes. I have been shown the truth about the people I invited into my life, and I have been angry and unforgiving for my own actions. There is a plan for me, I don't know what the plan is but it's not for me to know right now anyway. I need to stay positive and focused that there is a higher being that has my life already figured out and it's up to me to trust in that.