Owned By The Possessive Alpha, Bounded To My Mate novel Chapter 91

Chapter 91

DENISE

The ceiling was white.

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This was the first thing. White ceiling, it was that particular kind that had been painted for function and not comfort. The light was also low, like someone had considered my eyes and kept it at a low voice so as to not expose it to the harshness as soon as I woke up.

My whole body was aching me and I could barely move a muscle so I lay still and did an inventory.

Throat: rough, and sore from smoke.

Chest: there was a tight pain there but it was manageable, the breathing working even if it was working harder than usual.

Head: present and functional, which was the main thing.

Arms: one had a line in it, the back of the hand, the particular small discomfort of something attached, I could see the iv connecting to the stand beside my bed, as I realized that I was on a drip.

I turned my head slowly as my neck was a bit cramped and I wanted to ease on the pain. Kieran was in the chair beside the bed. He was not fast asleep as I expected. He was awake in the way he was awake when he was thinking rather than doing anything, he sat still, contained, his eyes fixated on me so he knew exactly when I had woken up.

I looked at him.

He looked at me.

Neither of us said anything for a moment, which was fine. The moment didn’t require anything said in it. It was okay to exist in the silence without filling it with words.

He had a bag on the floor beside the chair- and from my vision, I could see that it was not a hospital bag, but rather something that was gotten from outside, a paper bag with a logo I couldn’t read at this angle. He reached for it without looking away from me and set it on the small table by the bed.

Congee.

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Chapter 91

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Two containers, plastic spoons still in the packaging, the warm smell of it reaching me despite the minor blockage of my nostrils.

I stared at it

“Hospital congee,” I said. My voice came out rougher than I expected

“Adjacent,” he said. “There’s a place two streets over that opens at five. James went.”

I looked at the window. Dark outside, or the dark-before-light dark, the sky that hadn’t decided yet what kind of colour it wanted to take on.

“What time is it?”

“Just past six.”

I did the arithmetic. I had come into the building around three-thirty. The paramedics, the assessment, the hospital-somewhere in that sequence I had lost the thread of time and apparently hadn’t picked it up again until now.

“You’ve been here all night,” I said.

He didn’t answer this, which was its own answer.

I sat up slowly, the line in my hand moving with me, and Kieran reached to adjust the drip stand without being asked so it wasn’t pulling at an angle. The movement was practiced in the way of someone who had been making the same adjustment throughout a night of me moving in my sleep without knowing it.

I took the congee.

It was good-plain and warm and exactly right for a throat that had been through something, which was either coincidence or James had been given specific instructions, and James did not operate on coincidence.

We ate in the quiet of the ward.

I was almost done with eating when the door opened.

Not the careful, considerate opening of a nurse checking in. The kind of opening that came from someone moving at a speed that doors were an inconvenience to.

Mrs. Adeyemi came in first.

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