"Lois?" Clark leant closer to the bathroom door. "Lois? Are you all right?"
Silence was his only answer.
"Lois?"
She had been in there for twenty minutes. Initially, Clark had left her alone, stripping the bed and hauling the bloodied sheets into the washing machine to soak. He'd stopped at the bathroom door once and asked if she wanted her pyjamas washed, but Lois hadn't replied. He'd gathered a handful of assorted bandages from the first aid box his mom kept in the little cabinet at the bottom of the stairs and taken the tube of Neosporin from his metal box.
Back at the bathroom door, Clark closed his eyes and concentrated his hearing.
He heard the whispered zephyr of her breaths and a choppy noise that he couldn't identify.
Had she fallen asleep? She had sustained a blow to her head. Could she be unconscious?
"Lois?" Anxiety spiked his question. What should he do? He *couldn't* go in there. But ... "Lois? Lois, honey, could you please just let me know you're all right?"
Thanks,
Corrina.
