Chapter Text
She’s been sitting at her desk, staring at the papers in front of her, pen in hand, for longer than she can remember. Her phone pings, illuminating the screen. The light caught her eye and the digits say her shift ended a couple of hours ago. She hasn’t noticed. Weird. Her brain feels fogged up, her skin clammy and she has a vague sense of nausea every time she breathes in too deeply.
Her left hand is now on the handle of her apartment door. Her head is pounding and her keys are on the floor. Her right hand is midair, they must have slipped. How did she get here? Wasn’t she at the station? Has her shift ended already?
She bends down to grab the keys and the movement prompts a painful dry heave from her.
She breathes through the next bouts of nausea and slowly slips the key inside its slot.
The clank of the opening door jumps around her head; like a fallen heavy tool inside a complicated metal machinery .
‘’Bambina, you’re back.’’ Her wife’s lips turn into a small delicate smile. ‘’How long have you been standing there?’’ Her tone is teasing, but Maya’s eyes zero on the italian’s eyebrows while they turn into a light frown. Her wife really has beautiful features.
Her eyelids feel heavy. The hallway tilts a little. Her head is now way too close to the cabinet near the front door and her arm is the only thing holding her up.
She thinks she feels hands on her back, or is it her upper arm? she can’t really tell.
‘’Maya, what’s wrong?’’
‘’Wrong?’’ Maya asks, confused. Is something wrong? Carina’s eyes are boring right into her soul.
When did she end up sitting on the floor? It feels very uncomfortable. Nausea blinds her, and before she can stop she vomits gastric juice on the side. It’s too bright. She can’t focus on Carina’s words but she can hear her voice, talking.
‘’Carina…lights…bright’’ She scrunches them shut while her hands go up to hold her head as everything spins and the splitting headache worsens.
She must have nodded off ‘cause now the lights are even brighter, and there are more voices. She feels a hand running up and down her arm. Her forehead is resting on something smooth and warm.
‘’mmmh Carina?’’ She tries to focus her eyes, but all she manages to see are wobbly shapes.
‘’Si Bella, I am right here.”
‘’Head hurts.’’ She rasps out, feeling like a stranger in her own body.
‘’Yeah, you have a concussion.’’
‘’Concussion?’’ She asks, confused. She doesn’t remember hitting her head anywhere.
She shifts in her seat, something hurts, but it’s hard to determine what. She shifts on her side to better rest her head on Carina’s legs, facing her stomach.
The rest of the night is spent in the ER waiting room, between bouts of nausea and vivid nightmares that she can’t remember when a gentle hand awakes her.
She can feel her heart beating inside her chest. It is so loud and her throat feels really dry. She feels disgustingly sweaty and damp in weird places.
She wants to violently scrub her skin off herself.
The night feels endless.
A bright light is blinding her. She whimpers and tries to turn away but something is clinging to her waist. An arm. She struggles to get free. Her chest feels tight. She manages to roll toward the edge of the bed.
Her vision is still blurry and swimming in front of her but she thinks she might be able to sit up if she concentrates.
Countless deep breaths later she lifts her upper body up while simultaneously shifting her legs over the edge.
Pain shoots through her, starting from her perineum and coccyx and spreading throughout her body. The agony blinding her when her butt hits the floor.
Her labored breaths, while she tries not to puke, deafen her.
Eventually she manages to crawl to the bathroom and with the help of the sink she pulls herself up. Leaning her weight heavily on the counter.
Her reflection is ghastly. A huge bruise has blown on the right side of her face and on the back of her neck. She has no recollection on how she got them. She tries touching its contour and hisses. It goes well beyond her hairline.
Her thoughts are all over the place and she finds it hard making a plan. She feels the visceral need to take a shower, but how will she get there without falling on her butt or worse, her head, again is beyond her.
She lowers herself back down and tries scooting to the shower, so that a fall would be less tragic. But her lower body hurts and sitting down feels impossible without crying, so she rolls over and shimmies on her side. That hurts slightly less.
Once inside she turns the hot blow of the shower on and while the clothes get progressively wetter and heavier she peels them off, painstakingly slowly, whimpering throughout every movement. Her whole body feels like it’s been through a meat grinder.
There are more bruises. Why can’t she remember? The more she tries to think, the more her head pounds. Her eyes start leaking on their own accord and then everything goes blissfully black.