DaySleeper

I wake up in the hospital.

“How much do you remember?” Maggie asks me. I jump a bit.

“Just the part where he was choking me.”

“You missed a lot. I don’t think he realized you had blacked out.”

“Where is he?”

“Home. I guess.”

“It was good for awhile,” I admit.

“The ebb and flow of his fury,” she states. I shrug.

“Am I okay?” I ask her, trying to sit up a bit.

“Well, your arm is still on track to heal fully by next week, luckily. He has the biggest bruise-scratch thing on his face.” I turn red. “You’re… okay. I mean, nothing else broke, but… Have you been eating?”

“No.”

“Ah,” she says, “Well, you’re just very weak… and underweight. You’ve lost 13 pounds since last time.”

I stare at her.

“Will I be okay?” I ask.

“Not if you go back.”

“I hate him.”

“Good. Me too.”

~~
Kane doesn’t leave my side for two days, until I tell him to go to work. He says he will not, but he goes home to sleep. His face looks terrible. I guess that’s why he will not go.
Maggie seems torn to take me today. Apparently she’s worried.

“You said I was just weak. I feel much better,” I inform her.

“Now or never?” she asks. I consider it.

“Probably,” I answer. She nods swiftly and tells me she’ll have me discharged within the hour. I wish I had a bag. I worry what Kane will do with my things.

~~
It’s night by the time we actually leave. Technically it’s early morning.
Maggie takes me inside and has me checked in. My palms sweat the whole time. I look around at the women, only women, with their children.

“Is it okay for me to be here?” I whisper to Maggie as the receptionist is off looking for papers.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” she asks.

“I am a guy,” I murmur.

She looks at me.

“There are fewer men here,” she admits, “But the reason this place exists is for people to get out of abusive relationships. Not just women.”

I nod, feeling very tired.

“You okay?” she asks me, without looking at me. I guess her nurse senses are tingling.

“Dizzy,” I admit. She turns to me and takes my arm.

“I should have kept you in the hospital,” she says.

“No,” I say, “Now or never.”

She laughs dryly, and gently pushes me to the ground.

“Sit.” She orders. I do and I bury my face in my knees, my head spinning. The cold night air rushes in.

“What’s the date?” I ask.

“What?” she asks. I lift my head.

“What is the date?” I repeat.

“It’s January 15th,” she replies.

“Three months,” I mumble, putting my head down.

“More than I’d be able to handle,” she says, understanding me instantly.

“I feel like I'm being dramatic,” I admit quietly, biting the inside of my cheek gently.

I feel the air move around me. I glance up and she’s kneeling in front of me.

“You are not being dramatic,” she says harshly, “You don’t have anywhere to go. And I know. I checked your records.”

I stare at her.

“Still,” I murmur, placing my face back into my knees.

“Maggie?” the receptionist calls. She stands back up and they talk. She returns to the floor to have me fill out some papers. I hand them back to her. She stands again and talks to the receptionist again.

“He’s feeling very weak,” Maggie informs. The receptionist makes a disapproving noise.

“Get the boy to bed,” she orders, “There’s an empty bed in the C wing.”

“Gotcha,” Maggie says, and helps me stand. I blink rapidly. “Don’t black out,” she warns, “Or else I’ll have to take you back to the hospital.”

I nod. We walk through the main double doors and into the dining hall. Five rows of tables fill the place up, along with a buffet counter that you can see through, into the kitchen. We pass by another set of doors to the one in the corner straight across from the entrance. Maggie pushes the door open and a few people complain of the light. We slip in and Maggie expertly spots an empty bed.

“Here we are, champ,” she says, pulling the blankets down and patting the empty spot. I sit down. She ruffles my hair. “Get some sleep.”

“Will you come back?” I ask her.

“I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon with some supplies for you,” she promises, “Now, sleep.”

I nod, and lay down.

I expect to feel Kane sink in next to me. He never does.