A/N: And ⌠another one. Really couldnât get this idea out of my head. [SPOILERS if youâve not finished the show!]
Summary: Alyssa sneaks into the hospital where James is being held following his capture. [T for language ] [Word Count: 2,621] [Alyssaâs POV]
I look the police officer over carefully from where I sit, watching his heavy eyelids droop over his evil eyes. He shouldnât be too hard to fool. He looks like quite an idiot.
Nurses and doctors pass by on a continual loop, each of them shooting nervous glances at the doorway behind the drowsy PC. I want to tell them all to fuck off. I want to shout it really, really loudly. Scream it until I canât speak anymore. Until thereâs blood coming out of my mouth. But I stop myself. Making a scene wonât do me any good. No one can know I am here. Mum thinks Iâm tucked underneath my duvet like some fucking caterpillar waiting to become a butterfly.
Theyâre scared of him. Theyâre all terrified heâs going to escape his restraints and slaughter them as if he is a psychotic serial killer.
Pussies. Each and every one of them.
None of them know who he is. They donât know what really happened that night. They think they do because of the shitty news coverage, but the media is full of liars and money-loving fakes. And a story about an unhinged boy on a crime spree sneaking into a rapistâs house intending to murder said rapist sells better than the truth. That James only killed him to protect me.
Heâs a hero. He deserves a medal, not shackles. Not a bullet hole in his left arm.
I heard on the BBC they had to give him blood transfusions because of how much of his own supply he lost on the beach. Because the bullet that hit him snagged an artery on its way out.
Itâs been nearly a week, and Iâve unintentionally blocked that day from my memories, but I remember that bit. I hear that final gunshot as I sit staring at the sleeping officer and I see James go down as if itâs happening all over again. He sprawls on the ground, arms and legs at strange angles. Iâm still screeching his name, but he isnât moving. And thereâs red. Itâs everywhere, spilling over the wet sand âŚ
I close my eyes before I lose my shit in the middle of the hospital. I breathe in a shaky breath, clutching the seat of the uncomfortable chair I am occupying near Jamesâ room. The scratchy vinyl feels gross, but the cracks in the material scrape my palms and the pain is somehow soothing.
I think Iâve always needed a little bit of pain to get me through the day. Itâs why I put up with Tony for so long. Why I let my mum talk down to me like I was the most massive disappointment. Of course, Iâm suffering a lot more than Iâm used to at the moment. General teenage angst seems to have not prepared me for a situation like this. A situation that involves the boy you love being shot and then shackled to a hospital bed.
But I know if I could see him, just for a second, that everything would fall back into place. I wonât be so lost when I get past that snoozing guard.
