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Oct. 11th, 2019 01:57 pmFor two days now, he's been chain-smoking Beverly's cigarettes.
He hadn't meant to go through her stuff, but she hadn't woken up that first morning and after the paramedics had come to check her out, then told Hopper this shit was completely normal, he'd found himself digging through her bag on the hunt for her phone. At the time, he'd wanted to call her friends, he'd wanted them to know, but then he'd found her cigarettes instead and rather than being angry, he'd set to work methodically smoking them one by one.
A nurse had stopped by on the first evening to check Beverly's vitals, to make sure she wasn't dehydrated and she, too, had insisted everything was just fine. She'd given him a short lecture about smoking around Beverly and when he had tersely answered they were his daughter's cigarettes, the nurse had sniffed in annoyance and left abruptly.
The nurse who had come in the next morning had been nicer. Prettier, too. Hopper has plans to see her next weekend.
None of that is important right now, though. If Beverly doesn't wake up by next weekend, he sure as hell won't be going out on any dates. He'll be planted right here, same spot he's been for the past two days, smoking and drinking coffee and forgetting to eat. There's two days worth of stubble on his cheeks and dark circles under his eyes and every time he looks at Beverly lying there with an IV drip in her arm to keep her hydrated, he experiences the same gut clenching fear he had when Sara had finally slipped into unconsciousness.
This can't happen again. It can't happen again.
He hadn't meant to go through her stuff, but she hadn't woken up that first morning and after the paramedics had come to check her out, then told Hopper this shit was completely normal, he'd found himself digging through her bag on the hunt for her phone. At the time, he'd wanted to call her friends, he'd wanted them to know, but then he'd found her cigarettes instead and rather than being angry, he'd set to work methodically smoking them one by one.
A nurse had stopped by on the first evening to check Beverly's vitals, to make sure she wasn't dehydrated and she, too, had insisted everything was just fine. She'd given him a short lecture about smoking around Beverly and when he had tersely answered they were his daughter's cigarettes, the nurse had sniffed in annoyance and left abruptly.
The nurse who had come in the next morning had been nicer. Prettier, too. Hopper has plans to see her next weekend.
None of that is important right now, though. If Beverly doesn't wake up by next weekend, he sure as hell won't be going out on any dates. He'll be planted right here, same spot he's been for the past two days, smoking and drinking coffee and forgetting to eat. There's two days worth of stubble on his cheeks and dark circles under his eyes and every time he looks at Beverly lying there with an IV drip in her arm to keep her hydrated, he experiences the same gut clenching fear he had when Sara had finally slipped into unconsciousness.
This can't happen again. It can't happen again.
