Chapter 20
TWENTY
Emma
december
Everything is sore and stiff. The fabric feels rough, grating against my skin. My throat is burning, and I don’t understand why I feel so miserable. Like death warmed over. Twice.
I raise a hand to rub the sleep out of my eyes, but it doesn’t come. It feels held down by the weight of sleep and I groan at the exhaustion.
“Hey, shh. It’s okay.” It’s a woman’s voice, vaguely familiar but still foreign. So, I start the arduous task of opening my heavy eyelids.
“I’m right here, Emma.” Again, the voice. I focus on it, using my curiosity to raise my eyelids.
The room is dim, but I still squint at the light, then stare up at a tiled ceiling with confusion. If I could turn my head, I would, but I can’t. It feels braced, held tight. I can’t tell if the brace is real or just a figment of my imagination.
“You’re okay, Emma. God, he’s going to be so happy,” the voice says, sounding relieved. The voice’s warm hand embraces mine, giving me a firm squeeze that I realize I’m unable to return.
And then her face comes into view. She’s pretty, much like her brother.
“Brit?” I rasp out, feeling a level of dehydration that I didn’t know allowed for life to continue existing.
“Yeah, Em. We’re so happy you’re awake. He’s on his way, I promise. He’ll be so mad he missed this.” Alex isn’t here? Where is here?
“Where are we?” My voice sounds brittle, maybe even muffled, and a slight edge of panic creeps up at my seeming inability to move.
“The community hospital. You’ve been…asleep. I’m going to call the nurse, okay?” No! I muster everything I can and squeeze her hand, not wanting her to leave. Brit’s eyes widen slightly, but eventually she understands.
“Don’t leave me,” I whisper softly.
She nods and begins stroking my hand.
I feel my breath quicken, and then the beeping grows louder and more frequent.
“I-I don’t understand,” I whisper to Brit, confusion and fear radiating off my words. Britain’s eyes fill with tears.
“You don’t have to worry, I promise. Everything will be okay. Let’s just try to relax, okay?” She tightens her grip on my hand, then brings her fingers up to my forehead, stroking gently, nearly lulling me back to sleep.
“Em?” The tears come involuntarily at the sound of his voice. I open my eyes to find Brit gone, replaced by Alex. And a woman wearing scrubs.
“Hi,” I manage to eke out.
His eyes seem sullen and tired. His gaze filled with…guilt? An immense sadness and weight seem to bore down on him. I don’t like it.
I can’t see, but I can hear other people in the room. Another man, maybe older, is talking about “TBI,” and occasionally, another man replies or asks a quiet question. The voice is familiar, but I can’t place it.
Alex doesn’t move away. He hovers over me, a hand in mine, the other wrapped around my upper arm like he’s holding on for dear life.
“I’m sorry,” Alex eventually manages to say in a tight voice that cracks at the end. My eyelids fall closed at the confusing words.
“Sorry for what?” I ask in between what feels like long blinks. Maybe even cat naps.
“Everything,” is eventually whispered back.
“That seems unnecessary.” I almost try to laugh, but the pain in my ribs halts me, and I wince instead.
“She still needs to rest. We need to wait for her to regain full consciousness before proceeding.” The man’s voice sounds a mile away and grows further still with every slow inhale and exhale.
I awake, seated on the bed in an inclined position. My eyelids flutter, feeling less heavy than the last time I’d done this. I’m still tired. Bone tired. But somehow it’s a little better than the time before.
A gentle tug on my hair pulls at my scalp, and I tense as the soreness in my neck makes itself known.
“Ouch,” I whisper.
“Em?” The brush sliding through my hair stops.
“Yes?” I can’t turn my head to look, but this time, when I command my hand up to rub the sleep out of my eyes, my limbs listen, and tingly fingers rub against my eyelids. It feels out of body in a way. Like I’m me, but this hand is not mine.
Looking at the backs of my hands, it’s obvious they belong to me, but they seem lifeless. Slight. My skin has lost its color, but I don’t understand if the fluorescent lights are playing tricks on me or if I’ve somehow changed.
“What’s wrong with me?” My hands flop down beside me in defeat, the weight of gravity greater than the strength I possess.
“Nothing, nothing at all. You’re going to be fine.” He brings his face into view, and I smile, but he doesn’t return it.
Going to be fine?
“Why am I not fine now?” I try to run back in time, to replay the last thing I remember, but it’s like trying to hold water in my hands. The strands of time and grainy images slip through my fingers before I even have a chance to make sense of them. “It’s like there’s nothing there.”
“Y-you don’t remember?” Alex takes a seat on the bed in front of me, holding my hand, rubbing absently like he’s trying to warm it. Or maybe even will some life into it.
“Remember what?” Again, the images slip through the gaping holes newly formed in my mind. I remember…walking in a parking lot.
“Walking in the parking lot?” I ask, thinking back.
“You remember then?” Remember what?! I start to feel frustrated. The beeps grow in frequency around me.
“I remember walking to my car on campus. What am I missing, Alex?” It takes extreme focus and energy just to push the words into existence.
“You don’t remember…” he whispers as I start crying.
“I don’t remember,” I sob.
“It’s okay,” he rubs my leg affectionately. “You will, and until then, I won’t go anywhere. I promise.”
I don’t understand. I can’t. I can barely keep my eyes open a moment longer…
A damp nose nuzzles into the palm of my hand, and for the first time in a week, I’m able to turn my head to look at the intruder. Delta.
“I missed you,” I whisper to the pup, who whines in return. I catch sight of Alex, sitting hunched over in a chair, staring down at the hospital floor. His head hung, his elbows perched on his knees.
“What happened?”
“We were in a car accident.” He looks up at me, revealing deep, plum-colored crevices below his eyes.
When I nod, I no longer have to wince through the pain. The progress has been slow, and I still have a hard time staying awake. Sometimes Alex is here, but not the last two days. I hadn’t seen him for two whole days.
It makes me worried, and I can’t fully understand why. I don’t need him here, but I still want him here. When I wake up at four in the morning, I want to feel his presence. When I sat up on my own for the first time, I wanted his hands holding me. But he hadn’t been there.
“Okay,” I say, feeling far away from wherever he is because it certainly isn’t in this room with me. “You can leave, Alex.” I fight the pain in my throat that no longer has anything to do with my injuries and everything to do with whatever’s happening between us.
“I won’t leave again. I’m sorry.” Again, there’s meaning I can’t decipher in his words and it bothers me. The uneasiness invades; the fear is here, too. I want to yell at him: What am I missing?! Tell me! But the strength to lash out doesn’t come.
“I just don’t understand,” I say, crying.
Alex stands, scooting his chair closer to the hospital bed, and Delta circles to make room for him. Taking my hand in his, he leans forward and rests his head on my lap.
“I wish this was me and not you, Em. I’m so sorry.” I don’t know what to make of the words or his demeanor, but it doesn’t matter because the exhaustion is back.
january
“What are you doing here?” His voice is lowered but hard.
“Is she okay?” The second voice is barely audible.
“No,” Alex says back.
The second voice sucks in a hard breath, then the door clicks closed. My eyes ease open, but the lights are off.
I’m beginning to hate this place. The smell.
The food. The constant noise and lack of fresh air.
I begged a nurse to take me outside yesterday, but I only lasted five minutes before my head hung forward and sleep defeated me.
My days feel strangely never-ending, even though I spend large swaths of hours asleep.
It’s unfair that I’m stuck here. That Alex has to come visit. I’ve moved past the point of wanting him here. I don’t want anyone here. I don’t want to be here.
Testing myself, I push up, rolling onto my side. Then, I move my legs out towards the floor. Chances of this ending in disaster feel high, but the more I keep to this bed and this room, the more I believe I’ll never leave it.
I don’t have my phone or laptop. No one has even turned on the TV in my room. It’s a prison, and I’m done.
When my feet touch the ground, I question my ability to do this, but mustering all my strength, and with a bracing hand holding on to the bed, I inch towards the hospital door.
One foot in front of the other.
With more clarity than I’ve had in the last…
god, I don’t even know how long I’ve been here, I stare down at the pj’s Brit brought me and wonder what day it is.
The pattern seems almost festive, and a turning in my gut has me wondering: Is it almost Christmas?
Have I lost nearly a month of my life in this-this in-between?
With more assuredness, and likely adrenaline, coursing through me, I grab hold of the hospital door and pull it open to Alex and Blanks staring at me, shock written all over their faces.
“What are you doing here?” I ask Blanks, confusion likely written all over mine. I don’t want him here. To see me like this. Again, I don’t want anyone here. My anger simmers, just barely restrained.
“You shouldn’t be up,” Alex scolds me, taking my hand to keep me steady.
“I don’t want to be here anymore.” I try to say it calmly, but I don’t think it sounds like it. Blanks just keeps staring at me, in shock, I think.
I try to get Alex to drop my hand, but he won’t.
“I just want to go home.” I look away from them both when the tears begin welling in my eyes.
When I do finally look up, I hate the expressions on their faces.
I hate it more than anything I’ve ever seen before.
There’s no lust and wonder. There’s only pity and obligation.
There’s disgust and anger, or maybe that’s me projecting.
“If you won’t take me home, then leave.” My voice is hard and urgent.
But neither of them so much as twitch. “I said LEAVE!” I cry out, mad and hurting.
Why am I hurting? Why am I so mad? The rage seems to find me out of nowhere.
Desperately, I want to throw something and watch it break.
I don’t want to be the broken thing anymore. I don’t want to be this anymore.
In the hallway, I crumple to the ground.
A warm hand comes down around my arm, lifting me, and I want to push it away and scream, but all my energy has been expended.
I don’t even bother opening my eyes. The warm hand becomes an arm around my back, then another arm under my legs, and all I can do is lean into their hold as they carry me back to the bed while I sob against their chest.
When soft lips press against my forehead, I open my eyes, and all my crying stops when I realize it’s Blanks and not Alex. He holds my attention, looking at me like he’s broken, too.
I want to tell him I’m the only thing broken here, but he doesn’t get the memo. A single tear runs down his cheek and I push him away to no effect. He doesn’t budge. He stays in my face, bent over, staring at me.
“What are you doing?” I lean back into the pillow, trying to put as much space between us. “Alex!” I call out, but there’s no answer.
“He said you can’t remember. Is that true?” A burning in my chest ignites at the question that feels more like an accusation.
“Remember what?!” I yell in exasperation. “Why won’t anyone just tell me what I forgot?” The sobs overtake me, turning into desperate attempts to inhale, then a choking fit.
Blanks stays, though, still invading my personal space.
“Do you want me to leave?” he whispers, then takes one of my hands, sliding it against his. The problem is, I don’t want him to leave, but he would stay out of pity, and I never wanted that.
“Yes! God, just leave, please!” I scream at him, and he stands up instantly, drawing away from me. I hiccup, then cough over the angry cries I can’t keep down any longer.
Blanks finally backs away from me when Alex and a nurse, whose name I can’t remember, enter. I should be able to remember her name, right? It’s been at least two weeks, and she’s been with me every day. But I can’t recall it. Why can’t I remember her name?
“A-Alex,” I stutter on a cry, “what happened to me?” The nurse looks at him, then back at me.
“Just like last time,” she reminds him. Like last time? Oh god. How long has this been going on?
“We were in a car accident, Emma.” I know! What the fuck? They’re treating me like I’m insane or an imbecile.
“I know!” I yell at him, but he comes closer, grabbing both my hands in his own.
“You do?” he asks.
“Yes! You told me that, but I can’t remember when or how long ago it was. And every time I try to think backward, my mind feels like mush.” I sniffle, “And every time I think about now, or the future, I-I get so angry, and I don’t know why.”
“We should take her home,” Blanks says, standing back behind the nurse now. My crying quiets at his voice.
He stares at me intently, seeing something that Alex can’t. I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Please,” I whisper to Blanks.
He nods, leaving us.
“She can’t just leave,” the nurse looks at Alex.
Alex stands still, staring at me like he doesn’t recognize me. I don’t blame him. I don’t recognize myself either. I don’t even want to go back to his house. I want to go somewhere and be alone, though I doubt they would let me.
“If she doesn’t want to be here, she doesn’t have to be,” he eventually says solemnly to the nurse, relief flooding me.
I mouth to him “thank you,” and he gives me a barely sympathetic smile in return. I don’t like it.