[ WP ] Two strangers bond in a shared hospital room following a horrible accident that one of them caused , though neither knows this fact until after friendship ( or romance if you like ) blossoms between them .

His hands were covered in his wife ’ s blood. They were in an `` accident'' or at least so said the police officer that helped him cover his wife ’ s wound. Her tattered and blood soaked shirt sleeve was cradled in his hands as he sat in the waiting room. He watched as patient and doctor rushed by the crowed waiting room chairs. The registration girls sat watching each person waiting for someone to stop by and at least as a question. It was a dark afternoon on a dreary Saturday night. One girl in particular seemed extremely interested in the man covered with his wife ’ s plasma and red blood cells that used to flow through her veins giving her life, now they seemed to be all that was left of her. 
 
 Sir, your wife is still in surgery would you like to help yourself to our coffee or some snacks while you wait? 
 
 She was a very sweet girl, young in age with a hint of a southern accent that caused her to be seen as a southern belle. He looked up at her with tears in his eyes barely able to muster the energy and the words to thank her for her generously. He calmly got up; soaked shirt sleeve red as the clothes of an old wine presser trembling with hurt, shame, and a touch of anger. 
 
 Thank you, he said. In all the commotion I've forgotten to take my pills. He pulled a few tablets from his shirt pocket. A small white oval and a yellowish square. `` They're for my heart,'' he said, `` maybe that will help me calm down.'' 
 
 He took the pills chasing behind them the small Dixie cup of cold water from the dispenser. He placed a hand on the top of the blue bottle as to rest from a long journey. 
 
 Mr. Peterson, I'm Dr. Tag, I was your wife's surgeon. 
 
 He came out of nowhere surprising him into almost knocking over the water bottle. Dr. Tag placed his hand softly on Mr. Peterson's shoulder to comfort him. It was a moment shared by the whole waiting room as they felt the sadness and grief come over the room like a foggy morning drive. The registration girl continued to look on as she had a look of this being her first time seeing a doctor give bad news. She'd seen in it on TV lots of times, but never in person. 
 
 I would like to inform you that your wife is in the ICU. Her injuries were severe, but bullet missed vital organs. We had to remove part of her bowel and a few yards of intestines. He continued to speak with him while they walked down the hall. With each passing step the girl at registration tried harder and harder to listen in. Others in the waiting room noticed this but attributed it to the complete shock of hearing she was alive when the doctor had such a grim facial feature. 
 
 Mr. Peterson sat and sat more in his wife ’ s room. Day in and day out. Each day new flowers, cards, bears, and other get well soon objects appeared at the door. The head nurse on duty well aware of regulations and procedure placed all the objects in the waiting area of the ICU to limit exposure from outside containments. Mr. Peterson never acknowledged who they were from, nor did he care. He continued to hold his wife ’ s hand as she lay on the bed being flipped and flopped with every new shift of nurses. The beeping of the machines became to him a tantric noise that seemingly could drive him insane if he was n't able to leave the room. He went out for a smoke across the street and saw that belle of a registration girl out on the smokers ’ bench seemingly sobbing into her own hands. 
 
 `` Mind if I sit?'' he asked. She slid over to the edge of the bench still crying. `` What happened?'' `` Is there anything I can do?'' She wiped away the tears running down her now make up less face and pulled frizzled hair pieces behind her ears. She spoke with a crackled voice. `` Your wife, is she going to make it out of here?'' He was shocked she remembered her or him for that matter. `` Yes I believe she will. She's still in the ICU.'' The two of them talked for seemingly hours upon hours though it was only minutes. He politely got up and left his smoking seat to go back in to sit with his wife watching the beeps and the machines. 
 
 Days passed by and he continued to smoke at that same bench watching the birds sing their songs, listening to the wind whip between the massive buildings. Each day that same registration girl would sit beside him listening to his stories interjecting her own when appropriate. `` My wife is doing better and the doctors are considering on stepping her down to a normal room, and with any hope she will be out of this place very soon.'' He said with a smile that she had n't ever seen on him before. She seemed down. Like hearing that a relative is being deployed to the war or a seemingly automatic promotion was taken from her. `` Why are you sad?'' He questioned. `` I've enjoyed your company here and you have given me someone to talk to during my long shifts at the desk.'' She answered. `` I feel like we've become really good friends and I'm going to miss you.'' As she said this, she got up and walked away. He too was going to miss her. He enjoyed her company and stories. Mr. Peterson trailed after her but lost sight of her. He figured she'd be gone for good. 
 
 He went to spend more time with his wife. She was stepped down to a normal recovery room with a bigger TV, better food, and more of a view. Which he found funny as she was asleep for the time she was in the ICU. Joan the registration girl entered her room with a few small flowers and a hallmark get well soon card. She proceeded to tell his wife that she was the registration girl the night she came in, and what had happened in the following days and weeks. Joan was back in Mr. Peterson's life, and back in his company. 
 
 His wife had multiple surgeries during her stay, and seemingly each day she got stronger and stronger. Joan was with them day and night when she was n't at the desk. It was even rumored that she was having an affair with him, or maybe the two of them. 
 
 His wife, Amanda was days away from being let go from the hospital when things took a turn for the worse. Her vitals were crashing, internal organs failing, mind slipping away into blackness. Mr. Peterson looked for answers anywhere he could find them. Chapel, Doctors, second and third opinions. Nothing could help. No one could help. He was all but accepting his wife ’ s imminent death when after crying for minutes he looked up to see what he thought was an angel. The tears clouded his vision but he knew who it was. Joan. She had a needle in her hand and was pressing the plunger down as he saw her. He tried to scream. Tried to move. He could n't. He was frozen in time and space. 
 
 It was always to be like this dear. I loved you since the day I saw you 6 years ago. You came in for routine tests with your wife because you were leaving out of the country. I started following and stalking you. I knew everything about you. I needed you. You were my favorite game, and I pushed all in. I shot your wife, hoping to kill. It turned out better than I expected in that I saw you at your weakest and you needed me. I could n't let you leave with her. I wo n't. 
 
 The beeps that he heard for months came to a long steady beep. She was gone. Killed by someone he trusted. A friend. His mind seemed to snap. It could not understand anything that had happened. He fell for the trap and was now the prey. He succumbed to Joan and her twisted game. 
 
 Joan dropped the needle, peeled off her blue nitro gloves and whispered in Mr. Peterson's ear. 
 
 Now we can live together forever. 

