One hundred and thirty-three

Talia's POV:

"Oh, good." I stared at her, trying not to let the hatred get in the way. She came up to the bed and handed me the cup with the bent straw. "Here you go," she said in that same cheerful voice. "I'll bring you some food in a bit."

I lifted my arm and took the cup from her, wincing a little as the movement pulled at the stitches. "Thanks," I said, greedily gulping down the water. I drank the water and watched as she walked out of the room, leaving me alone once again.

I groaned mentally. What was wrong with me? 

* * *

I recuperated in the clinic for the next week. Nicholas visited me every day, spending several hours by my side, and so did Louis. I was well taken care of by other staff, although a couple of doctors often had to drop by to view my charts and adjust my painkiller dosage. The only thing the nurse in charge wanted to know was whether I was in pain, thirsty, hungry, or needed to use the bathroom.