it’s the responsibility and affection she’d preserved, that had prevented abgail from acting in a rash, or ruthless manner. she’d never forgive herself if tactless, thoughtless actions carried consequences for those she held dearly. she held herself accountable enough for what had transpired. if only she’d got there quicker, if only she’d been there when it begun. if only was hounding her, and all she could do was try and try to push it all away; to focus her attention on more pressing matters. despite that, the anger that pulsated through her frame continued to grow. as it would for anyone when watching someone they’d come to know and love, to feel instinctively protective over; lying defenceless in a hospital bed. someone who was so far from deserving of it. a daisy amongst the weeds, a rose amongst thorns. she’d only left the room to grab herself a cup of coffee; to fill up her veins with the caffeine she so greatly required. if anyone asked abigail whether or not she’d had a decent night sleep she’d lie, say of course. however, that was far from true and her features were starting to tattletale on her. the darkness under her eyes, the dryness of her skin, the dishevelled mess of hair pushed back into a messy bun, all tell tale signs. she wasn’t sure she’d be capable of rest, even if she wanted to. she’d tried and failed, tried and failed – and she wasn’t one for third time lucky. “grace,” she starts; somewhat breathless as she walks in haste closer to her hospital bed, though she makes no effort to reach out – not yet. she seemed startled enough, she didn’t want to overwhelm her. “…you’re going to be okay.” her heart hammers against her rib cage, causing her to feel sick to her stomach. hospitals were far from her favourite place to go, which considering her profession, could be an issue on occasion. now though, any fear or anxiety she has about hospital rooms disintegrates, is numbed by her need to be by grace’s side. so many loved her, so many needed her in their lives. abigail often wondered if she was aware of that fact. the pollyanna of valdez, the angel of valdez, this beacon of hope and light that so many others were lacking or deprived of. “do-do you need me to get someone for you? something?” she adds on, her own eyes wider now than they’d been before.
every nerve present in her body scorched every centimeter of her skin with an immense blaze of pain, begging her with all of it’s unhinged energy to stay put. it made her eyes well up with tears, it made her bones ache and skin bleed. her mind, however, prodded her mercilessly ( almost as mercilessly as the savages murdered the cobras ) to leave. she wanted to get out, she needed to go. go where was beyond her. perhaps it was the pain medication causing her thinking process to grow unsteady, or perhaps it was the fact that the longer she remained stuck in that bed, the more out of control she felt. the more of a rattled bird she resembled, frightened and in desperate longing of freedom. being in that hospital bed well and alive was no punishment, the doctors promised, but to grace, it certainly was. once the door clicked shut, grace’s grasp tightened on the needle, prodding enough to rupture a vein. seeing abigail was a relief, it really truly was. she like the first breath of air after being drowned in a sea of grief, there was a weight that was undeniably shifted from her shoulders. it was almost as if abigail, with just her voice and eyes, was able to extinguish the fire and pull her out with the most tender of touches. still, despite the pathetic beacon of light flickering inside the hollow of her chest, the broken songbird remained numb. she felt something akin to mirth, but it felt wrong. “abi.” her voice was like a tiny ghost passing by, a lost whisper stolen by the wind. “abigail, i—” without even meaning to, the walls finally came crashing down, brick by brick, stone by stone. “don’t— no, no.. no.. i-i.. i shouldn’t be here. —i don’t want this.” tears of guilt quickly cascaded down the marred plains of her face, dripping down onto her tiny fists as she began to weep, not at all caring of the immense pang in her bruised throat or in her broken heart. abigail prescott understood her more than anyone else could ever, she was one of grace’s most trusted friends, a platonic soulmate of sorts. in that moment, grace selfishly hoped the older woman could rid of her woes. “i don’t deserve it.. i don’t.. no, no.. i should have..”
dailybridgerton
theartofmadeline
titsay
annaxmalina
2087
