If I stayed in my room like I was supposed to, it was even scarier and sadder because grandpa said I had a good imagination and I did, so it was easy to picture all the monsters crawling around outside, just waiting for me to fall asleep, so they could eat me.
Besides, Daddy had mentioned that my guardian monster was in the hospital too so maybe I could find him and tell him to run away.
My arm really hurt when I moved but it wasn’t too big a deal because my body had been hurting for a while, like my blood was on fire and I was a volcano about to erupt. I winced when I pulled the needle out of my hand and saw the really purple bruise there. It didn’t scare me though. I bruised really badly really easily.
It wasn’t busy that night so no one noticed me when I walked down the halls and checked out what everyone was doing. People don’t really notice kids unless they’re in the way.
I searched my floor then the one below me and I was super tired by the time I checked the emergency room, but I made myself keep going because the thought of my hero being hurt made me frightened. I didn’t like to see all the blood and chaos in the huge room but I was determined to find my biker man.
I was just pulling back yet another curtain to peek inside when a voice said, “Whatcha doin’, kid?”
I froze.
“Just ’cause you stopped movin’ doesn’t mean I don’t see you anymore,” the same deep voice told me.
It was the voice of a monster, really dark and rumbly like there was something wrong with his throat. He didn’t sound mean though, it kind of sounded like he wanted to laugh.
“I’m not supposed to be down here,” I told him without turning around.
“Figured as much. What’s a little girl doing in the ER all by herself? Not that I’m not stoked to see you walkin’ around after what happened. How’s the shoulder, kid?”
I turned around to look at him through my hair and took a step away because I’d forgotten how much he looked like a monster. He was humungous like a Titan or a giant but in real life. He was lying in a hospital bed, kinda leaning up against the pillow but I thought that if he stood up his head would hit the ceiling. He had a bunch of really long, crazy hair that was blond and brown and his big arms and sides were covered with drawings. There were pictures on his arms that looked like feathers, like those giant arms were really wings like on an angel.
“Are you an angel?” I asked.
I was closer to him than before, but I didn’t remember moving closer to his bed. I reached out to touch his skin because the feathers looked so real and I wanted to know what they felt like.
He made a weird noise like he was choking. “No, kid, I’m no angel.”
“I thought maybe you were a monster because you’re really big, but you have wings and you saved me from all the bad guys,” I explained.
My fingers touched the feather curling over his arm. They didn’t feel like real feathers except his skin was smooth like when you pet a feather just right.
“Does it hurt?” I asked.
“No but it hurt like a bitch to get ’em.”
“A bitch?”
“Damn, sorry, kid. Don’t say that, it’s a bad word.”
“Then why do you use it?” I frowned. Angels didn’t say bad words. My grandpa was the pastor, so I knew these things.
His lips twitched like maybe he wanted to smile. “That’s a good question.”
I crossed my arms. “So, are you going to answer it or what?”
He laughed this time but I didn’t think it was in a mean way so I let him.
“Don’t have a good answer for ya. My dad cursed, my mum cursed, so I curse. Grew up with that shit.”
“My grandpa says that if you do bad stuff like curse, then bad stuff happens to you.” I pointed to the white bandage that covered half his chest. “Maybe that’s why you got hurt.”
“I got hurt savin’ a little girl who needed savin’,” he reminded me gently.
I bit my lip and scuffed my heel against the floor. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you got hurt because of me. Do you want me to kiss it better?”
He choked again, like he was swallowing laughter. “I’m good, kid, but thanks. I’ve had worse, trust me.”
There was a thick rope of weirdly smooth and mangled skin on the right side of his neck. I pointed at it. “Like that?”
“I did something a lot worse than curse to get that,” he told me and then winked.
I giggled.
He had really big eyes like a wolf, really pale and grey.
“What did you do?” I leaned heavily against the side of his bed because I was really tired.
He looked at me for a long time before he said, “I found a guy that did some bad stuff to a friend of mine and I did some bad stuff to him. Before I got ’im, he got me with a blunt machete.”
He made a chopping motion against the junction of his neck and shoulder where the scar was.
“For real?” I breathed.
He nodded.
“Wow. If you got him because he chopped you, what did you do to the bad guy that shot us?”
“Smart girl.” His lips twitched again and he lifted one of his huge hands to show me his bloody knuckles.
I nodded. “You’re definitely big enough to kill someone with your bare hands.”
He tilted his head. “Don’t seem that disturbed about it, kid. You close to death?”
I mimicked his pose and squinted my eyes at him. “You mean do I know him or something?”
“Yeah, somethin’.” He grinned.
“I guess so. I’m dying, probably,” I told him. It was dramatic but I wanted to see what he would do if he thought I was really dying. He was an angel so I figured he would know if that was true or not. Besides, my mum always said it was a lady’s right to be dramatic and it was the only one of her rules I actually liked.
My feet were cold on the plastic floor so I pushed the bedside chair closer to him and climbed onto it.
“Dyin’?” His body got tight. I watched his face screw up and to the left like a twist cap on soda pop.
“Why are you making a funny face?” I asked.
“Don’t think any person finds out a little girl is gonna die is going to smile at it,” he replied.
“That’s a nice thing to say.”
He shook his head, studying me really hard. “I got a son older than you and a little girl ’bout your age. Hope like fuck that they turn out to be as cool as you, kid.”
“Are you sure you aren’t an angel?” I asked him, because he was being really nice and it made me feel like I was standing in the sun.
I wanted him to be an angel. My grandpa told me that God could save a person from death if they were pious and faithful, and I was a good girl so I was both. He was the town pastor so I think he knew what he was talking about but I never really believed him. What did God care about me?
But if this man was a real angel maybe it meant that I didn’t have to die. Maybe this angel man would wrap me up in his winged arms and make my bones stop hurting.
“Nah, kid, I’m no angel.”
“That’s too bad. I was thinking you could be my guardian angel or something cool like that.”
I stared at him while he laughed at me. One of his big hands pressed to his chest just above his heart where the bandage was wrapped, so I could tell laughing hurt him. But he did it anyway, and he wasn’t quiet about it.