I stumble down the hall a bit and collapse into a row of blue plastic chairs. The leopard print ballet flats on my feet look garish against the white glimmer of the linoleum floor. I close my eyes and let my fingers curl around the seat of the chair while I struggle against the rush of emotions that I know I can't keep pushing back forever.
Blair's just another innocent bystander in a war that had nothing to do with me, with her, with Ronnie. I shouldn't ever have gotten involved. Just being around Dax for an instant, feeling his pain, thinking about Hayden and Katie and all the other people who lost their lives because of it, makes me feel like I deserved to lose Poppet. Maybe that was my punishment for all the things I was involved in, all of the crap I let slide.
I feel tears threatening to push out from under my eyelids, and I fight them back with everything I've got. I won't sit here and do this, not right now. I open my eyes again and stare at a pair of stainless steel water fountains across the hall from me. Nurses and doctors stream past and nobody pays me any attention until Dina, the bitch nurse from hell walks by. As soon as she catches sight of me, she pauses.
“Miss Saints.” Her voice scrapes across my raw nerves like a cheese grater over cheddar. I wrinkle my mouth and raise my gaze up to meet hers. “How are you feeling?” She pauses in front of me, red hair slicked back on her head like a ballet dancer. There's a bun sitting on top of her skull, dead center, a red lump that gives the woman a strong resemblance to one of those creepy cartoon characters in How the Grinch Stole Christmas!.
I shrug and Dina's already frowning mouth seems to sink deeper into her face.
“Don't forget your follow up visits,” she reminds me, but I'm sure I probably will anyway. I lean back and rest my arms on the backs of the chairs on either side of me. We continue to stare at one another until I get so miffed at having my personal space invaded that I decide to see if I can piss her off, just to get her to go away.
“Nick off, you rat bag,” I mumble as she digs her feet in and seems determined to bother me. Her green gaze seems familiar somehow, or maybe I'm just imagining that, comparing the mossy color of her eyes to my memory of Brayden Ryker's. Weird ass motherfucker. I still don't get how he plays into all of this. Since he seems to suck some serious dick when it comes to actually providing security for the people he's supposed to be protecting, there must be some other angle he's playing, something I'm not getting. The fact that I'm just as far away from the truth now as I was on the night of the concert bugs me.
“Pushing me away won't do you any good. I'm only trying to help.” I roll my eyes, but nothing can make me forget the way she jabbed needles into my arm, with that extra special little bit of unnecessary force. “Just because you're hurting on the inside doesn't mean you need to project that pain onto others. It's not fair, and it's not acceptable. Rudeness should never be tolerated from anyone.” She pauses here. “Not even from a 'rock star'.” The little quotes she makes with her fingers give me a raging headache.
“Pull ya head in. You don't know what you're talking about. Piss off, mate.” I let my eyes drift down the hall, towards Blair's door. There's no sign of Sydney or Dax yet, so I turn my attention back to Dina. If she thinks she can bully me out of here, she's dead wrong. I can be a real stubborn bitch when needed.
“Well, I just thought you should know that your boyfriend's downstairs and on his way up.” I raise my right eyebrow.
“Ronnie?”
“No,” Dina says with an annoying half-smile. “Cohen Rose. As soon as you checked in as a visitor, I let him know you were here. I'm sure he'll be thrilled to see you.” My blood chills as Nurse Dina moves away with a squeak of white sneakers against the polished linoleum. My nostrils flare and the scent of iodine becomes so overwhelming that I almost puke, right there on the perfectly perfect hospital floor. My head spins and I lean over, struggling to take in a deep breath.
“Hey there, Lola.” I hear Cohen's voice before I see him, keeping my gaze focused on my feet until I feel like I can look up without getting sick. Several pairs of footsteps approach, and I raise my chin to look over at Cohen, standing shakily next to me with a pale face and disheveled hair. Looking at him now, I find it hard to believe I ever let him get the best of me. As soon as he started beating me, I should've knocked his ass out. Only I didn't. Just like with my bitch of a mum, I let him hit me and I didn't do a damn thing about it, not for a long, long time. I guess even before I was a murderer and a traitor, I felt like I deserved to be punished.
I spare a quick glance for the men on either side of Cohen. Brown hair, plain faces, muscular chests. Brayden Ryker's men. Again. Hmm.