Page 39 of Adored By Her Orc Avenger
But the hospital has been built out of nearby stone. There’s a door with hinges—Vhala lectured me for a good hour about their ancient human uses—and separate rooms with beds, and even a window overlooking the chicken coop outside and the forests beyond the base’s walls.
There are medicine stocks and other medical contraptions I’ve never seen before in my life. Bonnie fusses with those, drawing blood from Dana’s arm before she bandages it up. The shaman hums to himself as a blue film covers his open eyes. His hand hovers above Dana, never touching her, and then pauses above her abdomen.
Has her wound gotten worse? I thought it looked healed, but maybe something’s happened to her internally. Maybe the infection has spread inside. I’ve heard of this happening before, where someone looks perfectly fine while their body slowly poisons them from the inside.
I try to speak, but the words get caught in my throat. I have to clear it twice before I can finally ask, “Is she alright?”
The shaman’s eyes snap back to normal and he regards me with a cool, even look.
“We will run more tests.” His lips thin. “I think it’s best if you wait outside.”
Two nurses behind him roll Dana’s bed into an empty room. There’s no window there, but the room looks to be more spacious than some places I’ve lived. There’s more equipment there, ready to be used immediately if need be. Disinfectants and needles and what looks disturbingly like surgical tools.
The nurses shut the door behind Dana and the shaman, and I shuffle back towards the front door. There are several chairs outside, and a nurse stationed out front to direct patients and their loved ones to proper rooms once they’ve been triaged.
The Burning Sun clan has progressed so much. It’s no wonder humans clamor to be here, and that the orcs who care for them follow.
If I had known about them earlier, they might have saved Flora’s life.
I close my eyes and push the thought away. What’s the point? Flora’s dead, and I will carry the guilt of her death with me for the rest of my life. Playing what-ifs won’t help her now.
So I play other what-ifs: what if Dana is dying? What if Dana is dying because of me? What if I didn’t protect her enough, or pushed her too hard, or let her linger in the forest for too long? What if those humans damaged a vital part of her?
The longer I wait, the more likely it all seems. If everything was well, surely they’d have let me know by now. Instead, I sit and I wait. My nails make half-moon patterns along my palms, and my teeth are grinding themselves into dust inside my head, but at least my face in the mirror above the front desk looks calm.
Is this the face Dana always sees? I’m such a turmoil of emotions, a toxic mix of guilt, shame, and fear. It’s strange to see that none of that makes it to the outside. Maybe I’ve gotten too good at holding everything in. It’s the only way I survived losing Flora. If I had let any of that pain escape, I’m not sure I would have been able to get up in the morning.
“Bonnie is very good at what she does.”
I almost jump. Ur smiles wanly from the front door, and then nods towards the hospital rooms.
“Sorry. I tried to get your attention before, but you looked preoccupied.”
Everything seems to be taking place from far away. I nod, but it’s as though I’m a thousand miles above, pulling on a string to move my own head. I know that Bonnie is Ur’s mate, and that she’s a well-regarded doctor. Vhala said something about her medical skill being key in convincing Loki to integrate humans into the Burning Sun.
“I am,” I admit.
Ur gives a pointed look at the pack still strapped to my back. It would probably be more comfortable to take it off and let it rest at my feet, but I’m still too stunned to do much more than sit and wait.
Ur sits with me. He doesn’t talk much, which is good, because I can’t focus on holding a conversation. But having him next to me helps settle my nerves for some reason. Instead of talking, I look out the window and stare mindlessly at the chickens scratching at the ground beyond the base wall.
About an hour later, a pair of voices bring me out of my semi-trance.
“...if you’re sure…”
“...never wrong about…tests suggest…”
It’s Bonnie and the shaman. They’re discussing something in serious tones just outside Dana’s door. When Bonnie’s eyes meet mine, she scoffs and glares.
Ur’s eyebrows slant heavy over his eyes. “Did you say something to Bonnie?”
“No!” Is she mad at me? It certainly looks like it, and now Ur looks ready to pummel me in her honor. “They brought her inside, checked her blood, and said they had to run some tests.”
Is Dana okay? Am I the reason she’s collapsed?
A voice inside me whispers that Bonnie knows I’m to blame for all of this. For Dana and Flora. That I didn’t do enough for either of them, and I might try to weasel my way out of feeling guilty, but even Bonnie knows the truth.
All of this is my fault. I pushed Dana too hard, and I pushed her away, and I’m the reason she’s lying in a hospital bed right now.