3. Say it
3
Say it
Electra
Swoosh. Gasp. Crack. Crunch. Cold.
Falling. The endless feeling of falling. Is there an end?
Yes.
That voice. I know that voice. I’ve heard it before.
But you can’t find it. I won’t let you. Fight, Electra. Fight. You were born to shine, not drown in the sea of despair and death. Fight, my star.
Mom?
Fight, Electra! Push! Swim! Break thought the ice. Shine.
I can’t. It hurts like hell, Mom. It hurts. Why does it hurt? I thought there was no more pain when you died. Are you still in pain? After all this time?
This is your fight, my star. Fight. Live. Shine.
I can’t. I don’t want to.
You can do anything, my Electra . I need you to fight. Please. Fight.
That feeling of cold, of pain, it dissipates. Slowly, the farther I fall, the darkness thickens, but my pain? It eases.
Yes, yes, I don’t want to hurt anymore.
You must keep going.
I stop. It’s a new voice, isn’t it? Who else is here? Who else is falling through the ice?
Are you in pain too?
Yes.
Why don’t you give up?
Because he needs me.
Who?
He needs you too. You can’t give up. Your story doesn’t end here…
Who needs me? No one needs me. But the voice breaks off, not saying anything else and all there’s left is cold silence to wrap me in its embrace.
No, Electra! Fight. Open your eyes, reach for the light, swim. Fight. Push. Shine. Live. Please…
It’s my mom again…I hear it. I hear the pain in her voice as if she’s fighting to get to me. Is this real? I don’t want her to be in pain. That was not the deal we’ve made. I can’t cause her pain. No more.
Swim. Break through the ice. Live…
The two voices mix, pleading, and I feel a tiny drop of her tears on my cheek. Or do I?
Fight!
My fingers twitch, the darkness pulling away slowly.
Yes, that’s good, love. Keep going. Keep swimming. You are almost there.
Am I? I’m swimming?
Just a little longer. You can do it, my Electra.
There, right in front of me is a tiny drop of light. It’s bright and shiny. And so warm. I want to touch it, to let it warm my frozen bones. To bring me back. But…
Mom? Am I going to lose you again?
Never.
Beep, beep, beep.
The sound wakes me up. Did I change the sound of my alarm? Where is my phone? I need to shut it off before it pierces through my pounding head and wakes Erik up—he’s not a morning person.
“Mh-mmm.” A deep pang ricochets through me as I try to move my hand. What the hell happened? Did I drink too much last night?
I open my mouth—or I think I do—to call Erik, so he can throw my phone against the wall and stop the incessant beeping, but no sounds come out.
Drink. That’s the first thing that comes to my mind. Oh, God, why is my throat so dry? I need a drink.
“Will she skate again?” The question pierces the air out of nowhere, that voice sounding a lot like Filip’s, and I fight to open my groggy eyes. God, even this is a whole feat. I’m never drinking again.
“Mr. Masso, at this point you should be asking if she will walk .” This new voice sounds almost irritated, angry.
Who are they talking about? Why are they talking here, in my home, this early?
“And will she?” Is that Erik? Thank God, he’s here. Maybe he can finally turn off this stupid beeping.
“We’ve done all we could at this point. Now, it is up to her.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? How can it be up to her? Who’s the doctor here?” The rage in Erik’s voice has my eyes flying open all the way, but before I can process anything there is a loud thump that follow with more squeaks and yells, but none too comprehensible.
And God, there are so many voices. Why are there so many voices in our house?
Beep, beep, beep , it goes again, but this time my heart picks up its beat because I know that sound. I know it all too well and it is not my alarm tone.
Hospital.
The shaky thought enters my consciousness. I’m in a hospital, and all of a sudden there is an onslaught of scents, sounds, and tactile feelings that I somehow missed before now. That undeniable stench of antiseptic, skin-burning hand sanitizer and agony, but also flowers. Too many flowers. The pinching sting in my left arm and bandages over my right. Then there is that beeping that started picking up in tempo as of my realization.
“It means, Mr. Shishkov,” the doctor bites out, “that the surgery went as well as we could have hoped, considering the circumstances. Her heart stopped on that table, and we barely got her internal bleeding under control. But we won’t know if there’s any nerve damage until Miss Monroe wakes up. Her body needs to heal on its own. And I’m not even going to start the discussion regarding her mental state when she comes to it.”
Miss Monroe…they said, Miss Monroe. That’s me, right? They are talking about me. Mr. Masso, at this point you should be asking if she will walk.
Gasp.
And just like that it all comes back to me. The program. The switch in the routine. The new, complicated twist lift. The fall. “Oh, God…” My body starts shaking. “The fall.” I feel my arm going limp as the heart monitor jumps into wild beeping, and I want to scream, to call for someone, because suddenly, I can’t draw another breath.
I can’t…I can’t…my chest…it hurts so much. The lights go off, only I know they didn’t. I must be losing consciousness. Again, it seems. No, I can’t. I need to know what’s going on.
“Breathe, Miss Monroe.” Out of nowhere there are hands on my chest along with a flurry of people around us. “My name is Dr. Miles; you are at Boston Medical Center. You are okay, everything is okay. Please try to take a deep breath.”
I try to focus on his words said with a calm I don’t feel but will gladly feed off.
“That’s right,” he says with approval when I manage to suck in a tiny wisp of air. “Good job, take another one.” I do as he directs, managing a deeper one this time. “Good, good.”
The black spots dissipate from my vision, and I see Dr. Miles’s weathered face smiling kindly at me as the nurse behind him fusses with my IV.
“Drink,” I manage to whisper hoarsely, and a second later a straw is pressed to my lips.
“Take small sips for now, okay?” I nod as the cool liquid trickles down my sore, burning throat. “There, better now?” I nod again and let my eyes take in my surroundings fully.
The room is quite large and filled with a lot of machines and flowers. God, no wonder it smells like a flower shop in here. At the far wall is a big window, showcasing the white flurries floating around in the morning sky.
Morning. The last thing I remember it was Friday evening and my boyfriend laid unmoving on the ice.
My eyes immediately seek out Erik and find him just as fast, leaning against the wall, his posture tired, but otherwise unharmed. His face in a grave, pained mask. His dark hair looks like he ran his fingers through it, and possibly tugged on it, at least a million times.
And his eyes? They aren’t seeking me out like mine are his, instead they are unnaturally cold, dead, full of anguish and staring far away. A few feet away from him is our trainer, Filip, looking about the same.
“I heard,” I start to say but my voice is still too hoarse, and I clear it before continuing. “I heard some of your conversation just now,” I admit, and Erik’s head falls against the wall as his body slides to the floor, those dead eyes not meeting mine. I plead with my own for him to look at me, to explain, but he doesn’t.
“Miss Monroe.” Dr. Miles turns my attention to him. “What do you remember last?”
“I remember our routine and the fall,” I say quietly just as Erik’s shoulders start to shake. I swallow the thick lump that is suddenly right in the middle of my sore throat. “I remember seeing Erik lying unconscious on the ice and trying to get to him and then…”
“And then?”
“Nothing. That’s all.”
“Good. That’s really good. Well, in terms of your memory,” he adds hastily and walks over to the x-rays I now notice behind him.
“You suffered a great fall that, along with extensive internal damages like broken ribs, bruising and more, put a hairline fracture on your sacral bone.” He points to a large somewhat shield-like shape at the bottom of my spine and before my pelvis.
“Do you know what it does?” I shake my head. “Its function is to support the weight of your spinal cord, stabilize the pelvis, and protect internal organs like the bladder, colon and reproductive organs. And damage to it can be quite serious.” He gives me a long look that can only mean one thing… “I assume the only reason you were able to get up after that fall was due to the high levels of adrenaline coursing through your body still, only when you did, that hairline fracture snapped completely.”
Snap . A shudder runs through me as I remember that crunching sound. The memory of it hitting me like a sharp stab.
“You were rushed into surgery, and we were able to repair the fracture.” He points to the picture next to it, where there is a long screw going through that same bone, holding it in place. “I’m not going to lie to you. It takes a lot to break the sacrum like this. It wasn’t an easy procedure. As you might’ve overheard, your heart did stop once but overall, the surgery went well.” He gives me a small comforting smile and comes back to my side, leaving a whole bunch of words unsaid.
Words I am terrified of hearing, even though I feel them deep inside me.
“I need to perform a few tests right now. Would that be okay?” Dr. Miles asks, and I give him a nod, still incapable of actually talking right now.
A fall. During my whole career in figure skating, I never fell before. Scrapes and twisted ankles, yes, but nothing like this.
My last twist. Eyes searching for Erik’s hands. Bare ice before me. Crash. Snap. Cold.
The memory is so swift, so powerful, so real it’s a gut punch. I blink, trying to wash away the picture from my eyes when I realize nothing’s happening.
I’m not sure how much time passes as I stared out the window, lost in that fall, in the memory of it, but no one has been doing anything to me. No tests.
“Are you going to start?” I ask, somewhat detached and still not letting my eyes wander away from that window.
Dr. Miles clears his throat at the same time as one lone tear slides down my cheek and my eyes flutter closed, the shaky breath I just managed to get under control, stuttering out of me.
“You have, haven’t you,” I ask, but it’s not really a question because I know…
“Miss Monroe, can you feel my hand on your right foot?” Dr. Miles asks quietly as another tear joins the first one. And that is answer enough for him. “And the left?” Another tear.
“Electra.” The use of my given name gets my attention, and I slowly turn away from the beautiful snowflakes, sliding my now empty gaze his way. “You’ve just woken up from the surgery after a complex fracture. Your body needs time to heal, to make those connections again, but I need you to know that we expect you to make full recovery. This type of spinal injury is not irreversible, but it will require a lot of hard work on your part.”
Why isn’t he saying it. I need him to say it. Say it. Say it!
“How long?” Erik’s voice finally makes an appearance but his eyes are as far away as they can be. “How long will it take for her to get back on the ice?”
Ice…did I ever get off it? Because I feel as cold as ever.
“It’s hard to say.”
“We have the Olympics next year!” Erik jumps up from the floor, his anger flaring out as he gets into Dr. Miles’s face, his nostrils flaring. “She needs to be on that fucking ice yesterday! So don’t give me your ‘it’s hard to say’ bullshit. WHEN?” he roars, that rage of his filling up the entire room while all I can do is just stare at everyone and feel the salty tears running down my face.
“Mr. Shishkov, you need to calm down. This won’t help anyone right now, least of all Electra. We will put together an extensive physical therapy for her, will run more scans and tests to see how severe the nerve damage is, but I think it’s safe to say the Olympics are off the table.” He casts his eyes my way. “In fact, I think the ice is off the table.”
“No!” Erik roars again. “No! You need to do more. She needs to be back! She’s my partner, what am I supposed to do without her? It’s the Olympics, do you fucking understand?”
Finally, Filip comes up, placing his hand on Erik’s shoulder. “Now’s not the time, Erik.” His shoulders immediately sag, and he falls to the floor next to my bed, his head next to my unmoving legs.
“Why don’t you rest for now? We’ll get those tests underway, and we can go from there, okay?” Dr. Miles says, and I think I nod because he nods back and leaves the room.
“I’ll give you two some privacy.” Filip squeezes my shoulder and follows the doctor.
“I don’t know how it happened, Elle.” Erik’s voice is muffled by the sheets he still has his face in. “One second I was throwing you into the air and the next I was down.”
How…how… I’m not really asking. Not when I know the answer.
“Are you okay? I saw you lying there, not moving or saying anything.”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Light concussion, that’s all.”
“Good, good.” I nod, the tears still making their run down. Suddenly, he grabs my hand in his, pressing it to his mouth.
“It will be okay! You will walk—and soon. I don’t care what that incompetent doctor says.” It feels an awful a lot like he is trying to convince himself along with me. “You will walk and skate and we’ll make it to the Olympics! I know we can.”
Erik looks up to me for the first time, but instead of hope, faith, love, and determination, all I see in his dark eyes is fear, loss, devastation, contempt. Yet I somehow manage to twist my lips into a weak smile, comforting him.
“I’ll be here with you the whole time, no matter what. You hear me?” He slides the palm of his hand over my face, caressing the bruise on my cheek.
“I hear you,” I say quietly.
Erik gets up from the floor, his posture now with some sense of purpose as he kisses me on my forehead. “I’ll go call Jasper. He needs to find you another doctor, a better one!” He starts rushing out the door when I stop him.
“Can you find me my phone, please?”
“Yeah, it’s right here.” He pulls it out of his pocket, handing it to me and I see twelve missed calls from Stella on it, but before I can ask if anyone has spoken to her yet, he’s gone, and I’m dialing my old trainer myself.
“You little weasel! How dare you not pick up the phone when I’ve been calling all this time! You just wait till I get there, I’m gonna rip your limp dick off your body.” I can only assume those threats are meant for Erik and confirmation that no one did, in fact, call her yet.
“Stella.” The line goes dead silent for a few moments before a heavy but shaky exhale sounds through the phone and that might be the most emotion I’ve ever seen—or heard—from her.
“Electra,” she says softly. Well, as softly as Stella Gray can, which to all other ears would sound a smidge pissed off but for me, it means the world. “I saw it all.” Of course, she did. “How are you? What’s going on? How bad is it? I’m about to leave. I’ll be there in a few hours. That weasel hasn’t told me where you are this whole time, and I’ve had to call around to find out.” She’s going to come. That thought alone warms my cold blood. Especially when I know how difficult it is for her to get away from her club and students and I can’t ask that of her. She’s already done too much for me in my life.
“No, no, please, don’t worry. I’m okay here. Erik and Filip are here. You don’t need to come.”
“Nonsense! That weasel and weasel number two won’t do jack shit for you.” Yeah, so she’s not a fan of any men in my life…
“And it’s…” I continue without commenting on her statement and look to my legs, swallowing a thick lump. “It’s unknown still. I just woke up not too long ago.” Another swallow and my voice grows quieter. “They said I broke my sacral bone, and they had to put a long screw in there to hold it together.”
I hear her suck in a sharp breath on the other end. She knows. She knows what this means. I turn my head back to the snowfall, bracing for her next question.
“Anything?” Stella asks and a fresh wave of tears flows down as I shake my head, as if she can see me, choking down the sounds, but she understands what my sudden silence means.
“I’ll kill him.”
“It’s not his fault.”
“The hell it’s not!”
“Please,” I beg her. “Please, let’s not do this now.”
“Fine, I’ll be there by tomorrow morning at the latest,” she grits out.
“Please, Stella, I know how busy you are. And there is nothing happening here. They are just going to run more tests for now.”
“Do you really think there is anyone more important to me than you?”
“Mr. Thomas?” I attempt to joke, because Mr. Thomas is Stella’s cat who’s as old as time and has her whole heart.
“What makes you think I’d be coming without him?” Somehow, despite it all, I manage to laugh, and I even hear a slight amusement note pass through her tone too.
“I could use some extra hair all over my bed.”
“Well, all is not lost if you can manage to throw in stupid jokes.” Her no-nonsense answer draws another smile out of me. “Fine, I’ll let the weasels take care of you for now, but you better call me with any updates. You hear me?”
I must’ve drifted off after the extra tests Dr. Miles performed because when I’m woken up by a hushed, yet somewhat heated, conversation. I blink a few times, noting the dark skies outside the window.
“She won’t walk.” Erik’s cold voice filters though my sleepy haze, waking me up right away.
“The last test results already came through?” our manager Jasper asks.
“Yeah.” The word slips out of his mouth with such distaste I feel it in my own mouth. As well as feel my heart sink.
It’s been a week since the surgery, and I’ve been poked and probed and x-rayed through and through in that time. Each test needing extra tests. And with each one, my hope flaring up.
Interesting how fast it can sink…with just one word.
Jab of searing pain stabs through my chest and my heart squeezes painfully as I fist the sheets around me, trying as hard as I can to keep the tears at bay.
“Erik, we need to figure out what to do.” I guess Filip is here as well, discussing me like I’m not lying right-freaking-here . Like it isn’t my future that was crushed against the cold, unforgiving ice.
“You think I don’t know that?” Erik grits out, and I can almost see—feel—the sneer I’ve been noticing on his face this whole week. The one that’s gotten deeper and colder with each passing day.
“Calm down, we can get you paired up with Lisa. She’s good.”
“She’s not Elle,” Jasper adds.
“No, she’s not. But what are we supposed to do? This is your last chance to go to the Olympics. You want to fuck it up?”
“No.” A pause. “That Elle is gone. She won’t skate anymore, and I can’t be stuck at the bottom with her. Call Lisa. We need to start practicing as soon as possible,” Erik demands.
I’m aware of the tears soaking my pillow, but it’s just like that first day after I woke up. I’m here, but I’m not. My mind is zoning out of this horrible reality.
“But what about Elle? What about the proposal?” Jasper asks.
“What proposal?” Erik asks as if it’s the first time he’s heard of it.
“What do you mean ‘what proposal?’ The one where you planned to ask her to marry you!”
“There’s no proposal.” The statement slashes through the space like a sharp blade, making the silence on their end as loud as the one inside my heart. “Don’t look at me like that,” he spits out. “You want me to be stuck with a cripple for the rest of my life?” The venom, the cruelty in his voice is enough to poison my whole body.
A killer dose.
“Okay…but shouldn’t you stay with her? You love her, don’t you? She needs someone to be with her right now,” Jasper asks, and if I thought the person I loved more than anything in my life was cruel before…he proves me wrong.
“I can’t love something so ugly. My Elle died a week ago. I want nothing to do with this mess.”
My mouth opens with a silent gasp and choked cry as I slam my good hand over my mouth to muffle it.
Cripple. Mess. Ugly.
That’s who I am now. Not the woman he loves. A cripple. That’s all I’ll ever be now, isn’t it?
Faintly, I’m aware that my heart monitor is picking up the speed again and my chest is moving a bit too fast. I need to see. I need to know.
Shakily, but frantically, I look for the remote, jabbing over the buttons without looking until I feel the bed lifting me up into a sitting position. My chest is heaving as I stare at my unmoving legs through a blur of frozen tears.
Slowly, I drag the flimsy hospital covers off and there they are.
This whole week I’ve refused to look at them, refused to see the changes, as if that somehow would make any difference. But they look just as they did that day on the ice. More bruised and battered but the same old legs. Skin, muscle, and bone. Only, they don’t feel like they did. They don’t feel like my legs. They don’t feel like anything.
My shaky hand, extends, the pads of my fingers skimming over my skin yet…nothing. I stab my finger into it…nothing. I pinch, twist the flesh…nothing. I bring my other hand in a cast over them, beating it against them but…nothing.
NOTHING.
And I break. That loud, painful cry I was holding behind some shred of hope breaks free, and I let it all out.
Gone. It’s all gone. It’s all gone! Every dream. Every wish. Every little feeling I thought I knew, it’s all gone and all that’s left is emptiness. Hollow, dark hole. My cries take on a hysterical edge as I scream and thrash against the bed. Slamming my fists into those useless legs with whatever power I have left remaining. Maybe if I move enough, the rest of me will break too? Who needs a cripple? Who needs this broken version of me?
Not my fans. Not Erik. Not me…I don’t need her. I want her gone! Erased!
My insides curled into a tight ball while on the outside I’m in a cage. A prison.
I’m too lost in my own agony to notice that flurry of nurses back in the room as they give me or someone else, commands. Too lost to pay attention to Erik who is fisting his hair, tearing it away from his scalp or Filip who is standing next to him.
“Hold her!” I hear someone yelling as sets of hands wrap around my thrashing shoulders, pinning me to the bed. “It will be okay, honey, I’m just going to give you a sedative and you can rest.”
That’s the last thing I hear before my world shuts down again and the next time I wake up, I wish I wouldn’t.