Fallen Angel

Chapter 3

“So, where’s this broad?” Dre asked as they walked past the electronically opened doors.

“Shut up, man.  It’s fuckin’ three am at a hospital!  People be sleepin’ and shit.”

“They’re all fucked up on meds, they’ll sleep through anythin’.”

“Whatever,” Marshall replied, shrugging as he walked up to the nurse’s station.

“Hello, may I help you, sir?” the elderly nurse behind the counter asked as she stood up.

“Hi, I’m Marshall Mathers—”

“Oh, you!  The kind gentlemen who brought in our Jane.  The doctor told me to let you pass, but I’m not sure about your friend here—”

“He just wants to see her—I won’t let him inside,” Marshall suggested.

“Well, I suppose that’ll be all right.  Just be quiet and don’t be surprised when you see all the bandages and casts.  She’s in trauma unit, straight back and to your left—room 213.”

“Thanks…”

“Martha,” she supplied.

“Thanks, Martha,” Marshall repeated.  “Let’s go, Dre.”

~*~

Marshall inhaled deeply, mentally and physically preparing himself—he hadn’t seen her since then, when she was covered in blood and barely breathing.  Every time his mind flashed back to that scene on the highway he broke out in a cool sweat, his pulse sped up, and he swore his heart was ready to burst with his thunderous blood flowing in and out as he gasped and choked with disgust and horrification.

“Shit, shit,” he cursed.

“Damn, boy, what’s got you all fucked up and stressin’ like you’re ‘bout to get arrested for some felony shit?” Dre asked, seeing Marshall’s shoulders straighten with tension, the contortion of his facial features…

“I was just—just rememberin’ how I first saw her.  I can’t fuckin’ forget it.”

“That bad?” Dre questioned, truly beginning to worry—about Marshall.

“Yeah,” he replied shortly.  “C’mon, you’re gonna come in with me—fuckin’…”

~*~

“Oh, fuck!” Dre hissed as they entered the room—all he could hear were steady beeps coming from the various medical equipment that lined the walls and surrounded the woman’s hospital bed.  “You sure this is her?”

“Yeah, man,” Marshall whispered morosely.

“Shit!  She looks like—she looks like she’s been to hell and back, and then back again!  And she’s still alive?”

“I know—I almost think I shoulda left her for dead.”

“Nah, man.  Ain’t nobody who can survive this shit want to be dead—somethin’ in her is fightin’ ‘cause look, she’s all broken and shit and still breathin’.”

“With a respirator.”

“Better than nothin’.”

“You think?  Just seein’ her there—she must be in hella pain.  Shit, they have her face all bandaged up—”

“What the docs say ‘bout her?  They think she’s gonna live?”

“They don’t know, man.  I think they’re just surprised that she’s even alive after all of that—I can see it in their eyes, this resigned pity and sadness.  Like, fuck, I think even the docs cringed when they first saw her!”

Dre sighed.  “Don’t get too attached to this chick, Marsh.  It ain’t good for you.”

“I’m not attached!”

“Remember, earlier, you told me you felt responsible…”

“Who else is gonna keep her alive?  Tell me who’s gonna foot the fuckin’ hospital bill?  Who’s gonna take care of her?  The hospital ain’t free, bitch.”

“Calm the fuck down!” Dre warned harshly.  “Don’t take your shit out on me.  I’m tryin’ to help you, protect you from yourself.”

“I don’t need your protection!  How the fuck’s she gonna hurt me?  She can’t even fuckin’ move, if you hadn’t noticed!” Marshall yelled as he took in the white bandages that covered most of her visible body—her face was half-covered in gauze; he couldn’t tell what color her hair was—it was still blood-soaked from earlier.

“Okay, bitch, tell me this:  whatcha’ gonna do when she wakes up?  Do you even have any fuckin’ idea how much rehabilitation she’s gonna need?  That’s if she can move.  You prepared to take on a handicap for the rest of your life?”

“Fuck,” he cursed and ran his hand over his head.  “I haven’t thought about that shit—”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t plan on takin’ care of her forever.  Just ‘til she can get back on her feet—figuratively.”

“What if that’s years?”

“It won’t take years.”

“Marsh, this is like having a kid.  You get it, but you don’t get to decide how long you’re gonna have it around or whatever.  You make a fuckin’ commitment.  Either you do it all the way or you don’t do it at all.”

“God damn.  When the fuck did you figure all this shit out?”

“I’m a genius, man.”

“Yeah, right.  Genius my ass…” he muttered.

“Let’s get goin’.  You need to think about the situation so you can get your shit in order.  And you can’t think if all you do is see her like how she is.  Fuck, even I’m feelin’ charitable.  Like I should be givin’ her some blood or an organ.”

“Give me a sec, I’ll meet you in the car,” Marshall replied.

Dre nodded and left, even though he knew letting Marshall have any more time with her was going to seriously affect his life—in more ways than either of them could imagine.

~*~

“Hey, Miss Jane Doe,” Marshall murmured as he sat on the bedside chair.  “You know, I don’t wanna call you that.  How about just Miss J?  I mean…just until we figure out your real name.  I jus’ want you to know that you’re gonna be fine.  And you’re safe now, ‘kay?  I’m gonna help you and shit.  Fuck…I’m so sorry,” he babbled in a low tone.

He put grasped her hand, squeezing it gently.  “I’ma come see you tomorrow, all right?  Just keep fightin’, don’t let those fuckers who did this to you win!”

Marshall wasn’t sure if he was just imagining things or if he was going crazy, but he could’ve sworn he felt her squeeze his hand back—not strongly, but softly—barely, but enough…to let him know that she was going to listen to him; that she was going to try and fight her way back to life.

Chapter 4

Author: zines@aol.com

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These stories are for entertainment purposes only.  They are completely fictitious, and the authors mean no harm to EMINEM, his family, friends, or anyone else that may have been depicted as a 'real life' character.  No money was made on the fiction here, either directly or indirectly, i.e. paid advertising. In other words - it's just a bunch of shit we wrote for fun. Please don't take it seriously.