0 comments/ 2727 views/ 2 favorites Stockholm Syndrome Ch. 11-13 By: Addicted2Writing CHAPTER ELEVEN Alex stayed in the hallway while the nurse helped me into bed, where I collapsed into the mattress. After she placed an ice pack under my neck and shot me up with the painkiller, she asked if I wanted Alex to come back in. I went back and forth in my head until I heard myself say yes, but only for a few minutes. While I waited, I tried to think of something to say to him, but it was useless. I came up with nothing. Even though the medication had already started to work, I had to put my arm over my eyes because the light from the lamp overhead really hurt my eyes. When I heard him stand next to the bed I asked him to turn them off. He did without a word. I was only then able to look at him, staring into his eyes, seeing his red cheeks, his red eyes. Yes, he was an ass, but I was in a major predicament. I knew no one in Stockholm, and I sure didn't want to go to an empty hotel room for who-knew-how-many days on end alone. "Alex, is there anything I can say to make you believe that I don't blame you?" "Say you forgive me." Again, the tone of his voice shook me to the core. "There's nothing to forgive, but I forgive you anyway." I yawned. Although the painkiller never immediately knocked me out, it seemed it was sending me down fast that time. "I'm still mad at you, though." His whole demeanor seemed to brighten. "Can I come by in the morning?" "I don't care." Oh, I cared. I just didn't want him to know I cared. Then I remembered what I'd said about being with him was a mistake, and I was sorry I'd met him. I sure as shit didn't mean it, especially after all he'd said to explain himself. I wanted to apologize, but the words never left my mouth. "But you'll talk to me?" "Yeah." I could no longer keep my eyes open. "But I'll still be mad at you." --------------- "Hmm, well, it appears to be healing, for the most part," the doctor said early the next morning after looking over my leg. "You eat at lunchtime, and I will let you leave before dinner." I was elated. "The physical therapist will be in in a few hours to show you some exercises for your arm and leg. I understand you are on vacation, but you also have a long journey home ahead of you. We will provide you with a crutch to help you get around. However, I am concerned about infection in a few areas." I then deflated. "I will give you an antibiotic to prevent it from getting worse. Also, I am not sure it would be in your best interests to leave you unguarded in your weakened state. It will be a few days before you are strong enough to get around on your own, even with the crutch." I sighed. "I can talk with Jessica Peachtree at the Embassy to see what she can do." "I am afraid I have already checked with her about this. They have no services for out-patient after care. I also informed her that more than likely you would be released this afternoon, though I advised against you staying at the Hotel Soder alone." "Dr. Lindberg, I'll be fine there. I can always call the front desk, and—" "Carrie, I'm sure you would like to leave this dreary place?" Get out of here? Hell yes. He smiled warmly. "I heard you've met our famous ..." No, no! Don't you dare say it! I screamed to myself. "Do you think if you asked him ..." Damn it. He'd said it. At that moment he was the second Swede I was mad at. "No, absolutely not." I said adamantly. "No. No." "So, that is a no?" He grinned. "Dear, you really do not have any other option, I am afraid." How about you give me a little more, or a lot more morphine – like enough to overdose – than you meant to give me? That'll solve everything. After he left I lay in bed going over one solution after another after another. And every one brought me back to the only solution. "Shit, shit, shit," I said to an empty room. --------------- "Owowowowow, sh-sh-sh, hmmph," I grunted while the PT showed me different ways to bend my elbow. Flex here, lift here, straighten there. Oh, go flex yourself! I thought, forcing myself not to cry. I did really well until she started on my leg. Her hands under my knee, she told me to keep it up for as long as I could when she let go; it turned out to be minus three seconds that I held it up. It just flopped back on the bed, resulting in a blood-curdling scream from me. I gripped the railings and prayed the pain would subside. It felt like forever. But she kept it up until I was crying hysterically, and able to hold it up for half a second, literally. So, the PT was the third Swede I hated. "Good, good. You go for walk." You are fucking kidding me, right?! She lowered the bed railing and put her arm out for me, like I'd willingly get out on my own after that horrid thought. "No crutch, just me. Want to feel how much weight you put on your leg." It was a good thing she was a robust woman. I just knew I'd tilt right over and squash her. At least she'd be in a hospital when I did. She then made it to the number one spot on my personal 'Swedes I Hate the Most' list. I made it eight steps out of the room before I was holding onto her for dear life, crying even harder than I was before. "I'm ... I'm done. No more, please," I pleaded. The PT would have nothing of it. "You keep going. Take your time, but you have—" "May I?" I heard someone ask. I didn't have to look up to know it was Alex. She said something in Swedish to him, which only seemed to piss him off because his voice wasn't as soft-spoken as it usually was. They exchanged a few words before she let go of me, and Alex gently wrapped his long, strong arms around my waist, his hand just under my right armpit. "Carrie, I've got you. Come on." "Thanks. Can't take anymore," I sobbed. "Oh, no, sweetie. I'm not taking you back to your room. We have a hallway to see." I leaned back up slightly, groaning the whole way. I swayed a little bit, putting some of my weight on me to hold me up. "Damn it! It hurts!" "You want to get out of here, don't you?" "You've spoken to Dr. Lindberg, haven't you?" I tried to snicker but couldn't. "Yes, I have." "I hate you." "I hate you, too," he replied. I wasn't expecting to hear that. "Now get." He pushed me forward, making me take a shuffled step. "Good job. Keep it up." "Oh, shut up!" I spat, though it didn't come out angrily. His body shuddered with a small chuckle. Groaning, moaning, crying and whimpering, I made it to the fourth room past mine before I really couldn't take it anymore. Somehow, Alex must have known he'd pushed me as far as I could go and turned me around. The PT was standing there with a wheelchair to take me back. Her good graces bumped her from the number three spot on my list. "Let me know when she's in bed, and I'll—" "Alex, no. Can you ... I want you to ..." Lord knows why I couldn't say it. "Carrie, she can—" "I don't care." "Envis kvinna," the PT said. "Ja, hon ar," Alex replied as he took the wheelchair handles. "That's really rude, Alex," I snipped. "What'd she say? Did she cuss me out?" "She said you were stubborn, and I agreed." I couldn't really argue with that. I was on a real losing streak so far. Alex kissed the top of my head before he wheeled me into the room. Ah, to hell with the 'Hate' list. Again groaning and grunting and crying, I made it onto the bed, feeling like I'd run a marathon. I would have curled up into a ball if my body would have let me, so I had to settle with crying with my arm over my eyes. "Sweetheart, here," Alex said as he put his hand on my wrist and pulled away. "Leave me alone, please. I'm tired, and I hurt like hell. Just let me cry 'til I pass out." I had stopped crying, though, but was in no less pain. "I don't care," he said, echoing my own words back at me. Squeezing my wrist tighter and using a little more force, I lost all of my willpower and put my arm down. Then he placed a damp, cool washcloth over my forever then my cheeks, wiping gently. I sighed happily. "Hmm. Can you just lay it over my eyes?" After he did, I felt the mattress sink a little on the side, and he started brushing my hair back. "You still mad at me?" he whispered. "Yep. Hey, can you get the—" I didn't have to finish my sentence because the nurse had just walked in. Alex quickly stopped and leaned back. "I have something for the pain, but not strong," she said as she wiped my forearm then inserted the needle. "You have to be wide-awake when you are discharged. Just relax. You'll be in good hands with Alex ..." "Whoah, wait! What?" I asked, throwing the washcloth off my eyes and looked around for the nurse, but she was gone. "What the hell was she talking about?" I thought I'd yelled at him, but apparently the painkiller started to work, so there wasn't much anger behind it. "Oh, um," he stuttered. "I was hoping to be able to talk with you about that." "Yeah, you'd better start explaining, buddy," I said then yawned. "Carrie, I'm going to be here for at least another month, and I want you to stay with me at my flat." "No. I already told Dr. Lindberg no. Period. End of discussion." The pain was all but gone, and I had trouble keeping my eyes open. He shook his head. "To be honest, I want you with me." "To be honest, I don't." His face contorted as if I slapped him in the face. "Oh, Alex. I didn' mean that. It's jus' I don't wanna be an imp'tion." "A what?" "Impo'tion. I thawwwt you knew En'lish. God! A burden." I slowly closed my eyes. He chuckled. "I am taking you home." "No, you're naw't." "Yes, I am. Say okay." "No." "Aw, come on now. I know you can say it. It's just two little letters, O and K." "O and K," I muttered in a distant, sleep-induced, stupored voice. "Smart ass. Careeee, say okay." "Ooookaaay." "That's my girl." "Bu' I'm not stay'in with you." CHAPTER TWELVE Sometimes a girl says things that she doesn't mean, didn't mean to say, or didn't know what she was saying to begin with. I was in the second and third categories. "Now, Carrie," the discharge nurse began. It was just after seven, and I was in the wheelchair in my hospital room waiting to get the heck out of there. I was permitted to shower, which was the best shower I'd ever had, being that it was the first in five days. The lukewarm water stung my leg wound and the cuts here and there as well. But it was washing my hair that really made me feel better. "There is an appointment already set for you at ... half past two Monday." She looked over at Alex, who was sitting on the bed. "Du kommer att föra henne?" He smiled, staring at me. "Yes, I'll get her here on time." "Great. Dr. Lindberg will take the stitches out then, but ..." She spouted something off to Alex, who only nodded. I was too physically drained to even care what she said. "In the bag are an antibiotic, your refill of Lisinpril and a tabular painkiller, but take that after food only. Do you have any questions?" "No. I can' think of anything." "Okay. Remember, the doctor wants you off that leg entirely, except to go the bathroom, and use your crutch. No more than five minutes, okay? At any time if you get severe headaches that acetaminophen will not get rid of, or any nausea, and/or vomiting, you call us immediately. Understand?" I nodded. "Good. You are ready to go." Damn, finally! I thought, having a visual of me doing the victory dance. "I will get the orderly so he can escort you out." "That won't be necessary," Alex commented as he stood. The tone in his voice was very much Eric Northman's: deep but soft, husky, yet authoritatively. "I am sorry. It is hospital policy. You may push her, of course, but the orderly must be present. Be well, Carrie." "I will. Thanks." She had just reached the door. "Oh! Can you tell the physical therapist I am truly sorry for being ... such a bitch?" She smiled. "Of course I will, but you were an angel compared to some of her patients." When she left, Alex knelt in front of me. "My little angel," he cooed then grinned. "I like that." "Alex, I can pretty much guarantee I won't be an angel for a couple of days." "I'm up for that challenge. I've got a driver who'll drop us off at my place. There's lots of leg room, and hopefully you won't be up for too long." "Why not take my rental ... oh, shit! I totally forgot. What happened with—" "I forgot to tell you. I returned it Monday morning. I hope you don't mind." I relaxed. "Oh. Thanks. We'll need to swing by the hotel to get my luggage." "Already in my flat." I thought I was the queen of planning, but apparently Alex was one step ahead of me, damn him. "Are you still mad at me?" I narrowed my eyes at him, trying not to grin. "It depends. Are you gonna feed me?" He smiled. "Anything you want." I couldn't hold the grin back anymore. "Can I get ice cweam?" "Every flavor, if you want it." "Gelato? Dark chocolate and sea salt or cherry broccoli." "Ew. You're pushing it." "Can't blame a girl for trying." I grinned. "I'll think about it." About half an hour later we were sitting in the back seat of Gustaf's car, who was our driver for the day. As awkward as it was meeting someone in his family, Gustaf seemed like a good guy. It wasn't my intent to snuggle up beside Alex, but my body just gravitated toward him. He put his arm around me, and I put my head in the crook of his arm. "Alex, why did you bother your brother to drive us?" I whispered so Gustaf couldn't hear. "Because I didn't want to ... It was just easier." I didn't like the tone of his voice, for some reason. "Easier than what?" He sighed. "I didn't want to drive." "But you drove my rental to the airport," I pointed out. "No, I didn't. Gustaf and Eija helped me out." His chest rose, his body tensed. "Huh?" Then it hit me. I remembered my car accident twenty years earlier, the one that caused my ten-year later neck surgery; arthritis had set in because of that. I leaned my head back and looked over his face, waiting for an explanation. "I drove with Bill in his car while Gustaf drove yours." "Yep, that's me! I am now a chauffeur. Chauffeur Charlie, at your service," Gustaf chimed in. I glanced briefly at the rear view mirror; he winked. "Gustaf, knock it off," Alex said sternly and very brotherly. "Hey! Would you like a tour of the city from the back seat?" Gustaf asked. "I can drive you by Alex's grade school or the corner where Evelina Mellgren gave you that black eye. Heard she got married and—" "Håll käft!" Alex barked. "Aren't chauffeurs supposed to shut the hell up?" "Normal ones, yes. But brother chaueffeurs ..." I couldn't help but laugh. He squeezed my shoulder, bringing me back to him. "But why couldn't you—" Then I got it. It takes some people a while to get behind the wheel after an accident. If there is a passenger that's really hurt, it takes even longer. I couldn't think of anything to say to comfort him, so I took his hand and held it tight for the remainder of the thirty minute drive, which felt like thirty hours. By the time we drove up to his building, I had zero strength. Alex got out of the car and walked around to the other side to help me out. Gustaf got out and stood by him. "Anything I can do?" he asked Alex. "Yeah, can you get her crutch out of the trunk, please?" "Why, yes, of course, certainly, Master Skarsgard," Gustaf replied in a British accent, winked at me then went to the back of the car. Alex grunted under his breath. I scooted over, took Alex's hand and carefully, very slowly, pushed myself out of the car, all the while moaning and groaning. "Hmmph, I'm gonna need you to—" I straightened my legs, not putting any weight on my right leg. I groaned as he took me, and I leaned into him. "I've got you. I've got you." "Gustaf keeps winking at me," I whispered, but I wasn't angry or anything. "I'll kick his ass later for you." The trunk closed and Gustaf came to us. I gathered up my courage and tried to take a step with my right leg. "Ow, ow ... ow, shit." "Whose ass are you—" He stopped when he saw me struggling. "Can I help?" His voice was genuinely concerned. I said no, but Alex said yes. Maybe I needed a little more help than I thought. "Please, Gustaf. Um, my right arm's pretty sore, so if you could—" Alex grabbed a hold of my waist. "Put your arm around me, Carrie." I did without a second thought. "Gustaf, you do the same." "Geez, Alex. I don't need—" "Yes, you do," he said firmly. "And if you even attempt to argue with me, I'll put you right back in the car where you'll sit until you decide not to be so damned stubborn." His tone was playful, but I took the hint. I growled at him but smiled. So, I had a Skarsgard on each side of me holding me up, slowly progressing up the sidewalk, and it was going well. I was hopping on my good leg, the guys both bent over because I was much, much shorter than them. "This must be a sight," Gustaf said. "Three people and seven legs." I was about to tease the guys that I was the cream filling in a Skarsgard cookie when I made the mistake of instinctively stepping on my right foot. I cursed loudly and had to stop. My head was beginning to spin terribly and was feeling a little nauseas. "Hang in there. We're right at the door," Alex said reassuring. The door opened seemingly on its own until I saw a woman holding the door for us. "Tack." Thank you was one of about five Swedish translations I knew. "Hey, hey," he said as he hit the button to the elevator. "Carrie, lean into me. Gustaf, let go." When he let go, Alex cradled me stronger in his arms. My ears ringing loudly, I wrapped both arms around him, put my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. The elevator opened and he guided me in. "Alex, she's looking really pale," Gustaf commented. I felt his body shift. Wiping the side of my face, he said, "Yeah, she is. We're almost there, sweetheart. We'll get you straight into bed and you can sleep for three days if you need to." "Hmm," I muttered. "I can barely handle one Skar—" "Hey, Gustaf," Alex interrupted, his voice much louder than it needed to be, which startled me a little. "Tell Granma I'm sorry I won't be able to make it ..." I then lost my hearing. The next thing I knew I was laying on a bed, my legs over the edge. I screamed bloody murder, crying, as it felt like my right leg was splitting in two again. With no doing of my own, my legs were lifted and my body naturally turned all the way on the bed, my head resting on a pillow. "Carrie, you stay right here. I'm going to say goodbye to Gustaf then be right back. You okay?" "No," I answered honestly. "Th'nk 'em for meee," I slurred. "Will do." Second obstacle in the bag, I thought to myself as I lay there. My head stopped spinning, the nausea was gone, but I had a wicked headache. The bed suddenly sunk down on one side. "I'm back. How ya doin'?" I turned toward him and forced my eyes open. "Asp'rin." "Okay. You have a while to go before another painkiller, I'm afraid. And I've got the aspirin right here, bendy straw, even." "What's a benty straw?" I asked as he grabbed the glass from the nightstand, scooped something up and brought them toward my mouth. When I saw the straw I smiled stupidly. "Oh, it bends. I thought it was Swedish for something." He chuckled. "No. Here." He handing me the pills, which I put in my mouth. "Bend your head a little more so water doesn't spill. I don't want my comforter ruined." I didn't think twice about his comment. He guided the straw to my mouth, and I swallowed the pills. "Thanks. I won't need the painkiller yet cuz I'm ready to sleep now." "Good," he said as he stood, grabbed a blanket that was hanging over the back of a chair and covered me before sitting down beside me again. He snuck Lucky onto the bed, goofing around like the stuffed teddy bear was climbing up itself, jumping on my stomach and doing a little dance. I laughed, smiled and stuffed it under my left arm, squeezing it tight. Stockholm Syndrome Ch. 11-13 "I'll leave the bedroom door open, so if you need me just holler. I'll hear you." "Okay. And thanks for everything." He smiled affectionately. "You're very welcome." He stood up again, walked to the other side of the bed and grabbed a pillow. At first I was thinking he was going to sleep beside me, but he grabbed a second blanket, put it and the pillow on the end of the bed and rummaged through a dresser drawer. When he pulled out bed sheets, I teased, "Doing the Swedish single man's Changing-of-the-Bed-Sheets thing?" He frowned, grabbed the items and stood by me. "What the hell is that?" "You know." I put out a long, hard yawn. "Like the British changing of the guards." He laughed. "No, silly. Looks like I'll be sleeping on the couch while you're here." "Huh? Wha'? Alex!" I exclaimed, trying to sit up but failed. "Carrie, I've spent many a night on that couch. It's no big deal." "But I just assumed you had two beds." At that moment I really wished I had taken a painkiller. I knew I'd never sleep with the thought of being on Alex's bed, his real bed, the one he sleeps on bed. "Shh. Just get some rest, now." As if on cue, I melted into the mattress, got comfortable and closed my eyes. "I am not even going to argue with you." "Good. You're learning. Am I permitted to give you a good night kiss, or are you still too mad at me?" "I'd be mad at you if you didn't," I answered sleepily. Only a second passed until I felt his warm, soft lips on mine. I moaned then moaned again when he broke the kiss. "Sleep well, my angel." CHAPTER THIRTEEN I woke up to the smell of bacon, noise in the kitchen and a soft whistling. I tried to open my eyes but only managed to pop my right one open; the left one stayed stapled. I moaned softly, just for the sake of moaning my predicament then rubbed the left eye open. At first I thought I was in the hotel room after we'd just made love – okay, so I prefer that word as well – and Alex was making breakfast, although the room didn't have a kitchen. Then I looked around the room and remembered exactly where I was: Alexander Skarsgard's bedroom. There was a bookshelf with two shelves of books, photos and little trinkets, and on the top were some awards, but I didn't recognize any of them. There were a lot of framed nature scenes on the walls, mainly of mountain ranges and gorgeous rivers. After being in so much pain the night before, I dreaded getting out of bed. So I just lay there biding my time until my bladder squawked and threatened to explode. Sitting up slowly, I gingerly threw my legs over the bed. Again, my thigh hurt, but it wasn't as bad, not yet, anyway. Looking around for the crutch, I saw it propped up against the wall by the door. How in the world did he expect me to get the crutch from over there? But then I remembered what I'd told him the night he came after he'd disappeared. I didn't mean what I said at all. I made a mental note to apologize to him. "Alex," I rasped, but it was only a croak. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Carrie?" he called out. "Is that you?" "No. It's the other woman you have in your bedroom." I snickered. I hadn't lost my sense of humor. He rushed into the room, alarmed. "Are you okay? What's wrong?" I shook my head, grinning at his reaction. "Nothing, but I have to use the bathroom." His shoulders sunk in relief. "Damn. You had me worried." Without looking, he reached for the crutch and handed it to me. "You got it? Need any help?" "Yes, I think. Well, no," I said, putting the arm rest under my left arm, tested it out and tried to remember how I was supposed to use it properly. I put my right foot down without any weight and leaned onto the crutch. It was more difficult than I thought it would be. "Now yes. Can you stand real close behind me, or beside me, just in case?" I made it to the bathroom in the hallway all right, groaning with every step I took. I looked at the toilet seat, which was jammed tight between two narrow walls with no hand rests – of course he wouldn't need any there. Alex was still behind me as I tried to figure out how exactly I was going to drop my lounge pants and sit without exposing myself to him. That wasn't the real issue, though. Hell, he'd already seen me naked. I wanted to drop my pants with minimal effort so as not to scrape the wound and cause more pain, but it was beginning to throb anyway. After several seconds, he said, "The trick is to grab the waist of the pant and while you squat to sit pull it all the way down on your way down." I shot my head around and snapped, "How would you know?!" Oh, it's going to be a long day already. Alex narrowed only one eye. "Because when Valter broke his leg he had to improvise. It worked for him." "Yeah? Well, my leg isn't bro—Okay." I'd felt a little trickle escape and knew I'd have to at least try it. Mark that snippet on my list of apologies. And that's what I did, without even caring he hadn't budged; the top I was wearing was down past my hips, so I wouldn't be showing anything. Getting down was one thing, but getting up and pulling up the pants at the same time was another. I took a deep breath, plastered my hands against the wall, leaned on my left leg and pushed myself up, instantly regretting it as my right arm protested, cramped up and kissed the wall. "Hey, hey," I heard Alex say as he grabbed my left arm, putting it around his waist. "Hold onto me. I got your pants." "For godssake, Alex! I can—" "Apparently you can't, can you?" he asked, his voice angry and his expression stern. "Do you want me to help or not? I can leave you here—" "Alex," I whined. He was throwing it right back at me as much as I was dishing it, which I deserved. "I just ..." "Carrie, that's why I'm here. I want to help you." The sincerity in his voice touched me. "I'm just—" Then I broke down in tears. "Oh, sweetheart," he whispered. Without any sarcastic or mean remarks, he pulled up my pants then handed me the crutch. "Let's get you back in bed. I only have the eggs to do then you can take a painkiller. You'll feel better once you eat." I nodded. He brushed the hair from my forehead before he stepped back, leaned against the vanity and watched me, keeping a hand out. Stopping in the hallway, I asked, sniffing, "Think I can sit on the couch for a bit?" "Girl! You're taking all my beds!" he teased, but I didn't take it that way. "Hey! You were the one—" Again, I turned into the patient from hell and broke down. The crutch disappeared, and my body glided against an even bigger crutch, its long, strong arms holding me up as he led me to the living room. I grabbed the arm rest, Alex holding me up until I sat down, not being able to control my crying. I wasn't hurting, I just felt so damned helpless. Alex put his arms over my shoulders and pulled me into him. "Carrie, it's okay. Shh." My body started rocking while he ran his hand over my back, and I buried my face against his chest. He kept whispering softly, but through my sobs I couldn't hear him. Several minutes later I took a long, deep breath, wiped my face and forced myself to calm down. "Is my little angel back?" He asked. I laughed, though it was one of those laugh-cries. He pushed me back gently. "What's so funny?" I pulled away and sat back, but took his arm and wrapped it around mine. "I'm acting like a two-year old and you call me an angel? Why, anyway?" "You're acting like a two-year old because—" "No, Alex. Why angel?" He shrugged his shoulders. "The nurse. You hungry yet?" I nodded. "Good. How do you like your eggs?" "Scrambled, no salt, but just one. I don't know how much I can keep down. I'm hurting much more now than in the hospital. Oh, and no bacon. I don't think I should have anything too greasy. No butter on the toast, either. Just dry. Orange juice, too, if you have it." He looked over my face, slowly grinning. "I don't do special orders." "Ha, ha." I grew serious. "Alex, I'm truly sorry for being such an ungrateful bitch. I thought I could handle it." "Don't worry about that, Carrie. I understand. I've got thick skin." "Doesn't matter. You've gone out of your way to help me out. I really don't know what I would have done without you." "Honestly, it was for purely selfish reasons." I must have looked at him oddly, not really sure how to take that, because he seemed to tense up. "When I'm home it's the only time I really get any peace. That's why I went to Iceland; I had a lot of thinking to do, and it helped. But then I met you." He hesitated a moment. I was afraid to ask, but I just had to. "How do you mean?" His words made me feel like I ruined his quiet time. He turned his head away, looking down. "Because I didn't realize how lonely I was, am, until I'd spent time with you. I like doting on a woman, helping her, if she'll let me. It's nice." He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. I put my hand on his back. "Can I say something, might be a little too personal, though." He sat back again, but that time I didn't take his arm. He didn't reply so I went for it. "Alex, I understand where you're coming from, really. Hell, I'd love to be married and dote on my man, have someone to come home to, make dinner for. But you can't let our situation make you crazy just because you haven't found the woman you need." He sighed. "There's a reason why I've had so many girlfriends. They've all been strong, independent women. It seemed like they shunned me from ... doting on them." "And because you're helping me out you think, what?" My voice was angry; it was soft and calm. I was trying to get a feel for where he was coming from so I could figure out where I was coming from. "Oh!" he exclaimed, finally looking at me with his eyes wide. "I didn't mean you aren't." I smiled reassuringly, though I couldn't help but hear, 'I didn't mean you aren't my strong, independent girlfriend.' I said, "I know that." I sighed, frustrated. He hadn't said anything about continuing our relationship when I went home, nor had he said anything about getting married. It was not the right time to have such a deep conversation, as my leg was starting to scream at me. "How are those eggs doing?" I piped in quickly. "I get what you're saying." "Good. Could you explain it to me?" He finally smiled, which was a great relief. "I need to stop looking for a woman I think I want and find a woman I need." Again, I heard, 'I need to stop looking for a woman I think I want because I found the woman I need.' Coma. I need to be in a coma. "Yeah, that's sounds about right." "But how in the hell do I know what I need if I don't know what I need?" I leaned forward, ignoring my thigh and put my chin on his forearm. "You'll know when you meet her, at least that's what I've told myself for years. I'd rather wait for the one I need than the one I want. Out there is some girl who will absolutely adore you for your thoughtfulness, sense of adventure, tenderness. You'll know, Alex. You'll know. You can't always get what you want," I concluded. He looked at me in amazement, his eyes filled with moisture but not quite tears. "You're quoting Mick Jagger?" "Ah," I said, shrugging my shoulders. "You quote Abba, so why can't I quote Mick?" He smiled and kissed my forehead. "Thank you, Carrie." "Anytime. Now feed me, please." "Right." He stood and walked toward the kitchen, hiding his hand wiping his eye. --------------- We had finished eating, and I was surprised I was hungrier than I thought. Alex teased me that since it was almost noon it was actually brunch. I was also surprised that I'd slept fourteen hours straight, considering I never slept more than two in the hospital. I made it back to the bed, and even though I'd taken a painkiller I was really, really hurting, though I held my tears back. I finally got settled on my side, a pillow under my right knee so not to stretch the wound. Alex was sitting on the other side, peering down at me. "Are you comfortable?" He yawned, curiously. "I am. It feels great to sleep on my side for a change. Are you sleepy?" "Yes, sort of. I didn't sleep well. I kept thinking I heard you call for me. I read over a script, but I couldn't remember the name of my character." "Oh. Well, I think I'll be sleeping a lot the next day or so, so you won't have to worry about me." Then it was my turn to yawn. "Alex, I wanted to apologize for all I've said to you. It was mean and so not me. You sure don't deserve being treated so shitty after all you've done for me." "What have you said? I don't remember anything mean you've said." I knew he was playing with me, but I was dead serious. "What I feel worse about is what I said to you Wednesday night." "You don't owe me an apology. I totally deserved that." "Yes, yes, I do, and you didn't deserve it. I had no right to get all pissed at you. I still can't justify why I was in the first place. Alex, it wasn't a mistake that we were together. I'll never believe that. That night was the best I think I've ever had ... I mean the whole evening, the date, not, um, you and me ... even though that was ... great." I sighed, growing drowsier by the minute. "And I am not sorry I met you. I really do appreciate everything you've done for me. I don't think I can ever say that enough." I ended my speech with another yawn, finding it hard to keep my eyes open. "Carrie, I don't know what to say to that." He seemed incredibly bashful. "But I have to live with being the one that put you in the hospital." I stretched my arm out and put my hand on his knee. "Alex, honey, don't. I'm not sorry it happened. It just gave us more time together. Besides, I got to steal some of your kisses." What the hell? I berated myself. "God, that was corny. I'm delirious with pain." I smiled. "You didn't steal them. I gave them to you." "Good point. Well, now that we've had our heart-to-heart, and since you didn't get much sleep, think you'd wanna nap with me?" He smiled so warmly it was touching. Lying down beside me, he took my hand and held it tight. "You, my dear Carrie, are one special woman." "I know. What can I say?" For some reason, I noticed something about his facial features that I hadn't really noticed before. "Hey, you have a pointy chin, too." "Wow," he said, smiling. "I give you an awesome compliment and you insult me? Damn!" We both laughed. "So, you didn't mean I was a good actor?" "Huh? Oh, that. You are. You are! I just meant your tears. You have to remember I know more of the 'outside world' Alex than the 'real' Alex. But now I know you were genuine." "Get some rest. I want to check your wound later." "Why?" I asked, closing my eyes. "Remember? The doctor is worried about infection; the nurse, too, wanted me to keep an eye on it." "Yes, Dr. Skarsgard." I went to sleep with his arm protectively over my shoulder.