Post by Emily Brown? on May 19, 2022 2:39:06 GMT
Emily had been right, of course, about how upset her fiance would be. He ran to her, clutched her to his chest, went on and on about how terrified he had been, how she could have died, how grateful he was she was safe. And then it spiralled into how dangerous going out alone was, how he'd tried to warn her, how he was never letting her out of his sight again.
Despite her chagrin, Emily was relieved to have his arms around her, and she happily agreed to be more careful, to let him know any time she needed to go out, whatever he needed to feel safer. She was just relieved to be safe, and alive, and hearing her own name again.
The next morning, after sleeping in the chair next to her bed, Dylan convinced Emily to check herself out of the hospital. He reasoned that he'd cared for her the last time she was suffering, too, that he knew what to do. After all, the nurse had already said that what she really needed was just more rest. And wouldn't she rest better in her own bed, in her own home, away from the noises and interruptions of the hospital?
So, it was barely eight-o-clock when Emily found herself safely at home, tucked under her lavender quilt and wearing her cotton pajama set, laughing softly as Dylan fussed over her.
"I'm fine! I promise. If I don't feel well, you'll be the first to know…except maybe the toilet," she teased.
Dylan didn't think that was as funny as she did--he lectured her again about being careful, and about letting him know if she felt even the slightest twinge of an after effect.
She acquiesced, as always, and soon he was kissing her forehead and telling her to rest.
The day passed in a haze of sleep, interrupted only by Dylan's gentle kisses and his voice urging her to take her medicine.
Day two was much the same, although she thought she heard the doorbell, at one point, and male voices. She couldn't stay awake long enough to figure out why she thought that was important.
Day three, though, Dylan needed to go back to work. He made her promise to keep her phone next to her all the time, and to call him if she felt even the slightest bit ill. Again, she agreed, practically shooing him out the door so that he would quit fussing. She was feeling much better; her head hardly ached, and the worst part of her broken wrist was the itch of the dry skin under the cast. She could handle a work day by herself.
Finally she managed to reassure him, with the promise that he could call on his lunch break to check in, and that she wouldn't do anything unnecessarily stressful. That seemed to satisfy him, and he kissed her thrice before heading for the car with one last reminder that he loved her. She smiled to herself and blew him a kiss as he drove away.
She sat on the couch with a book, trying to read, but her mind kept wandering. Not to anywhere in particular, just a kind of blank fuzz, like TV static. By 10 am, she'd read the first three pages of the book several times without actually processing a single word. She scoffed in disgust and set it aside. Perhaps she ought to just go back to bed…
Just as she was rising to do exactly that, the doorbell rang.
Emily frowned and headed for the door. Who on earth would be calling? She hadn't ordered anything recently, and Dylan usually told her when to keep an eye out for his packages. She leaned close to look through the peephole, and scowled briefly when she saw who it was.
She couldn't exactly turn away the police, could she?
She sighed and pulled the sash on her silk robe a little tighter before unlocking the deadbolt and pulling open the door.
"Detective," she greeted him dryly. "What can I do for you?"
Despite her chagrin, Emily was relieved to have his arms around her, and she happily agreed to be more careful, to let him know any time she needed to go out, whatever he needed to feel safer. She was just relieved to be safe, and alive, and hearing her own name again.
The next morning, after sleeping in the chair next to her bed, Dylan convinced Emily to check herself out of the hospital. He reasoned that he'd cared for her the last time she was suffering, too, that he knew what to do. After all, the nurse had already said that what she really needed was just more rest. And wouldn't she rest better in her own bed, in her own home, away from the noises and interruptions of the hospital?
So, it was barely eight-o-clock when Emily found herself safely at home, tucked under her lavender quilt and wearing her cotton pajama set, laughing softly as Dylan fussed over her.
"I'm fine! I promise. If I don't feel well, you'll be the first to know…except maybe the toilet," she teased.
Dylan didn't think that was as funny as she did--he lectured her again about being careful, and about letting him know if she felt even the slightest twinge of an after effect.
She acquiesced, as always, and soon he was kissing her forehead and telling her to rest.
The day passed in a haze of sleep, interrupted only by Dylan's gentle kisses and his voice urging her to take her medicine.
Day two was much the same, although she thought she heard the doorbell, at one point, and male voices. She couldn't stay awake long enough to figure out why she thought that was important.
Day three, though, Dylan needed to go back to work. He made her promise to keep her phone next to her all the time, and to call him if she felt even the slightest bit ill. Again, she agreed, practically shooing him out the door so that he would quit fussing. She was feeling much better; her head hardly ached, and the worst part of her broken wrist was the itch of the dry skin under the cast. She could handle a work day by herself.
Finally she managed to reassure him, with the promise that he could call on his lunch break to check in, and that she wouldn't do anything unnecessarily stressful. That seemed to satisfy him, and he kissed her thrice before heading for the car with one last reminder that he loved her. She smiled to herself and blew him a kiss as he drove away.
She sat on the couch with a book, trying to read, but her mind kept wandering. Not to anywhere in particular, just a kind of blank fuzz, like TV static. By 10 am, she'd read the first three pages of the book several times without actually processing a single word. She scoffed in disgust and set it aside. Perhaps she ought to just go back to bed…
Just as she was rising to do exactly that, the doorbell rang.
Emily frowned and headed for the door. Who on earth would be calling? She hadn't ordered anything recently, and Dylan usually told her when to keep an eye out for his packages. She leaned close to look through the peephole, and scowled briefly when she saw who it was.
She couldn't exactly turn away the police, could she?
She sighed and pulled the sash on her silk robe a little tighter before unlocking the deadbolt and pulling open the door.
"Detective," she greeted him dryly. "What can I do for you?"