ng on the gurney, her brown locks whipping in front of her face. I grabbed her hand, trying to coax her to calm down but she ripped it out of mine tried to get up, screaming when she moved her right leg. That’s when the burly EMT worker finally gave her a shot to calm her down.
And that’s when I begged for them to give it to me, too. I felt myself breaking from the inside out. I sat, unmoving, trying to calm my erratic breathing down, and the only time it slowed was a couple hours later, when I caught wind that she’d be fine.
I called her parents right when we got to the hospital, my voice shaking with fear for Sadie. It took them a little while to get here because Sadie drove all the way to UNC. I figured her dad would kill me on sight, for once again being in a hospital with his daughter who was hurt and I was fine. But, surprisingly he didn’t. Once they realized that Sadie was okay, her mom hugged me tight, allowing my eyes to drip with tears. Then her dad grabbed my shoulder and squeezed it, hard. He tipped his head down and I knew, even without saying the words, that he wasn’t angry with me. Maybe he could see the pain on my face. Maybe he could see that I was a complete fucking mess.
I had told him, almost three months ago, that I loved Sadie and that I would never, ever stop loving her. That I would take care of her. I would make her happy, and this is me keeping my promise. I’m here. I’m here now, and I’m ready to take care of her. I’m done waiting. I don’t care if she wakes up after her surgery and never wants to see me again.
I’m not leaving.
And I’m not letting her run.
I would rather cut my own heart out than let her run from me again.
So, I’ll sit here in this pale blue waiting area outside her hospital room until the second she wakes up and tell her just that.
Twenty-Eight
SADIE
Peeling my eyes open from underneath my eyelids was a terrible idea. The bight, fluorescent lights goaded the throbbing in my left temple to a pain so extreme that I couldn’t even put it into words. I squeeze my eyes shut again, trying to recall where I was and why my head hurt so bad. The lights above took me to different time, and a different place. The hospital, five years ago after I was beaten half to death on the floor of that damn chicken place.
No.
No.
No. I am not at the hospital again. I am not reliving a nightmare. NO. Life can’t simply be that cruel to me, right? The first time I landed in the hospital years ago was a disastrous, fluke, a once-in-a-lifetime thing. I couldn’t possibly have two FREAK incidents happen in my life to land me in the hospital like this again.
Oh my God! My face! I instantaneously reach up and touch all around my face, keeping my eyes shut. My fingers touch the barely-there ridges of my old scar, stopping for a brief second, and then resuming to touch the rest of my face. I slowly rub my shaking fingers over the ridge of my tiny nose, up to my forehead—feeling the minuscule hair of my eyebrows, back down to my jaw. Nothing new. There aren’t any other scarring ridges anywhere. My face is fine. I’m fine. I think.
I slowly creep my eyes open, eyelashes fluttering against each other before allowing my eyes to welcome the light. I try to recall what happened to land me in the hospital, but the only thing I can hear inside my head is Rowen’s name. Then comes the rest. Rowen. Redhead. Kyle. Chasing. Driving… . crash. I got in a crash. The flashes of images come back to me one after another. Pounding in my skull, heartbeat picking up with each recollection.
This is happening again. I’m in the hospital, with who knows how many injuries (at least my face is okay, right?) and the only thing I can think to want is Rowen. And he’s not going to be here. He’s not going to be here again because I messed everything up. He’s not going to be here to comfort me like I need. It’s like I’m having déjà vu, except the pain isn’t on my face, it’s near my lower extremities.
When my eyes open fully, breath still coming out in huge huffs, panic about to swallow me up whole—I see my mom’s big brown eyes peering down at me. Her soft palm slides down my face the second I feel her warm breath on my cheek.
“Hi, sweetie,” she whispers and I instantly want to crawl in her lap like I’m three years old again.
“Mom.” My voice comes out raspy like I’ve been in the desert for years. I let out a little cough and I didn’t even have to ask her for a drink. Before I know it, the straw is in between my lips and the cool water splashes around my mouth, coating the back of my throat.
“Thanks,” I say, sitting up a little in my bed.
“The doctor said you’d be up soon, and I didn’t believe him,” my dad says, from the bottom of my bed. My eyes widen at the stark white cast my leg is in. My mouth gapes, and I suck in a breath.
“My leg… ”
“Oh, honey, it’s fine. You broke it and they had to re-set it, that’s why you’ve been out so long.” I look over at my mom once more, noticing the bags under her eyes. “That’s the only injury you sustained, besides a mild concussion.” I don’t say anything for so long that it becomes awkward.
“Do you remember what happened?” she asks, and I want to say no. I want to say no and pretend I didn’t drive to UNC to profess my love to Rowen and then drive like a maniac to get away from him and end up wrecking. I didn’t want to admit it, but I did anyway.
“Yes.” It comes out as a whisper, my ashamed feelings pouring out of me in the form of one single word.
See, the thing is… Rowen and I… it always ends in one of us wrecking the other. No pun intended. We always go around this never-ending circle of hurting one another—no, not a circle, more like an infinity symbol like we’re chasing one another around the loops that never seem to disappear. I can even hear the annoying Buzz Lightyear toy in my head yelling, “To infinity and beyond,” repetitively as if he’s a broken record. Is this how it’s always going to be? Having such an unbearable amount of pain just for a little bit of love and happiness with him? Is it even worth it?
The answer is, yes. Yes, it is.
“What exactly happened, babe?” my dad says, keeping his face nice and steady. Calm.
I bite the inside of my mouth, trying to come up with a better excuse. Trying to come up with anything that doesn’t make me sound pathetic and as lovesick as I really am, but nothing measures up. So, I spill. I put it all out in the open.