17. Peyton
peyton
. . .
M y room is a revolving door of visitors. Many times over the past few days the nurses have had to tell my family to keep their voices down. One went as far as to threaten to remove them and reinstate the one person at a time visiting rule. I’m tempted to ask her. It’s not that I don’t appreciate them being here, but they’re always here, and I’m in pain. A crap ton of pain to be exact. Sometimes I just wish I could just be left alone to suffer in silence, without them worrying about me.
They don’t get it. By they, I mean my mom and sister. Every grimace and grunt has them rushing to my side. They’re either petting my hair or running their hands over my blankets as if they need to be straightened. For whatever reason, they can’t comprehend that my meds are on a timer and when they start to wear off, I start to hurt more.
I’m tired of the question, “how are you doing?” I mean seriously, look at me. I have no control over my body. My right arm is now taped to my side so I don’t move it suddenly, and my leg… considering I can’t feel anything, even when someone accidentally touches my toes, pretty much tells me I’ll never walk again. Let’s not forget the hole I have on the side of my head or my missing hair. And while I can breathe on my own, I have to wear a mask to sleep. So how do they think I’m doing? I’m not sure I can say the word “fine” anymore than I already have. I get that I almost died, but I’m awake now and it would be nice if people started treating me like Peyton, and not some fragile doll. I’ve always hated dolls.
No one is talking about what happened either, despite me asking. My uncle Liam came to visit, I asked him. He had this far off look about him and changed the subject. The same with my uncle Jimmy, he acted like he had no idea. My dad, mom and my good for nothing siblings haven’t been any better. Quinn and Elle should at least be on my side, slipping me pudding and milkshakes, all while telling me how it is that I almost died. But they’re all tight-lipped and pretending everything is sunshine and rainbows.
The last clear thing I remember Sunday is walking to Kyle Zimmerman’s car. I wish they understood that my memory’s fuzzy and it would be nice to have some recollection of what I was doing before the accident happened. If I had access to my phone, I’d be able to look up the media reports, but my parents are doing a stand-up job keeping me out of the loop. I don’t even remember why I was at the Bears game even though everyone says I was there for an assignment.
My aunt Yvie walks in and stands at the end of my bed. It’s like we’re having a staring game, except she’s winning because I’m still doped up on morphine. I have a feeling that once I’m out of this hospital, I’ll be sent to another one to deal with the drug addiction I’m developing.
“Are you just going to stand there?” I ask. My voice is groggy and hoarse. Side effects of the tube they stuffed down my windpipe to help me breathe.
“I’m afraid to touch you.”
“No one said you had to, but you can come closer. I won’t bite.” I offer her a smile, but it doesn’t feel like my lips are even moving.
Yvie floats over. I say float because she’s as dainty as a butterfly. It comes from teaching dance and yoga. She and Xander own a state of the art facility in Los Angeles where they cater to the rich and famous. My uncle specializes in physical rehabilitation and is one of the most sought-after injury specialists in the country. Many sports teams hire him after their star athlete has been injured. Yvie expanded their mini-empire when she started posting videos on YouTube of her teaching yoga. Now she has a full line of DVDs out, plus there’s a waiting list to take one of her classes.
“Promise not to bite?”
“I promise not to move,” I tell her, straight-faced. I wish I were joking. I’d give anything to lunge out of this bed and tackle her, but any such movement would kill me or leave me wishing I had died.
She kisses my forehead and when she pulls away, she tries to hide the fact she’s crying. “I’m so happy that you’re okay.”
“Thanks. Is Xander here?”
Yvie nods. “He’s out in the hall with your parents and grandma.”
“She’s here too?”
“Of course. We wanted to be here earlier, but your dad…”
“It’s okay. I know I wasn’t supposed to make it.”
“We should’ve come earlier,” she says. Maybe they should’ve or not. Honestly, if she hadn’t said anything I probably wouldn’t know the difference. According to one of the nurses, because of the people I’ve had here and who they are, they’ve had to change their policy about letting multiple visitors in a room because they didn’t want my dad, uncles and Noah harassed by the families of other patients.
“How’s Los Angeles?” I ask, needing to change the subject. I don’t want her to feel bad. Her and Xander have a busy life, and while they never had children, the gym and their clientele keep them occupied.
“L.A.’s great. Your dad says you’ll be spending a lot of time there.”
“What?”
“Peyton?”
My eyes glance toward the door where my dad has walked in. He looks like his normal self with his cargo shorts, thermal long-sleeved shirt with some random band on it from another group and a beanie.
“What’s she talking about, Dad?”
“Hey, kiddo!” Xander bursts in behind my dad and rushes over to me. I brace myself for impact, but he stops in time and kisses my forehead just as Yvie did.
“Hey… someone want to tell me what’s going on?”
Xander looks from Yvie to my dad and now to my mom who is standing in the doorway before he settles his gaze back to me. “So, long story short, your body is messed up and I’m going to fix it.”
“Wh-what?” I swallow down the lump that’s forming in my throat. I know I’m damaged, but I thought… well, I’m not sure exactly what I thought. That maybe I’d wake up and everything would be a dream.
“You gotta do some extensive rehab. Lucky for you, your uncle is the best in the country.”
“My uncle is booked solid.”
He waves me off as if he’s not. “I’m always free for you, Peyton.”
“Right, back to this rehab.”
“Hi, Peyton, I’m Dr. Colby.” A woman walks in carrying a clipboard. Behind her are two nurses who are flanking my bed. “I want to say you’ve surprised everyone in the hospital with your survival and I want to apologize for my colleague’s behavior during surgery. He should’ve treated you better. With that said, because of the extent of your injuries we need to take you to surgery.”
The lump I had earlier when Xander mentioned Los Angeles, is back only now it’s ten times larger. I look at my parents for confirmation. My dad looks pissed off and my mom looks sad. “I don’t understand.”
“We need to reset your bones in your arm and leg. Flush the wounds on the right side of your body. Make sure your sutures are healing along your torso and head.”
“And I have to have surgery to do this?”
“Yes, it’s the safest way.”
“But… but...” I don’t get a chance to finish my sentence before one of the nurse’s slips the oxygen mask over my face. The heart monitor starts beeping rapidly and my mother’s face is masked with concern. Before I realize what’s happening, my bed is yanked from the wall and portable machines are set down next to me. The doctor leads the way out of the room, and my parents are on either side of me. I desperately want to hold their hands, but it’s all but impossible.
We come to a set of double doors, where Elle and Ben are standing. Ben leans down and kisses me on my forehead because it’s literally the only spot that doesn’t hurt on my body aside from having a headache.
“I’ll be the first one to sign your cast,” Elle says. I know she’s trying to make me feel better, but I could honestly do without a cast, although I have a feeling the doctor was sugarcoating my injuries. I can’t feel or move my leg. That’s not normal.
My parents are by my side through the ride down in the elevator, until we get to another set of doors. “If you’ll wait here, as soon as I’m done, I’ll be out,” the doctor says to my parents.
Mom removes my mask and kisses me on the lips. My dad opts for my cheek. He whispers, “Don’t cry, baby girl.” I hadn’t realized I was until he mentioned it.
“I’m scared.”
He cups my face and looks into my eyes. “Dr. Colby is the best. We brought her in from UCLA for you. She’s going to take care of you. Mom, Elle and I will be right here.”
“Where’s Quinn?”
“He’ll be here, I promise.” Dad doesn’t exactly answer my question. He and Mom both kiss me again and continue to tell me they love me as I’m pushed into an operating room. The staff filters around me, no one is talking or making eye contact with me. It makes me wonder if they’re upset they have to work with a doctor who isn’t on staff here. It also has me questioning how is this possible and what did my dad have to do to make this happen.
“I’m going to lay you back, Peyton.” One of the nurses says. “Your dad told me you’re a football fan. Why don’t you give me a list of your favorite players?”
“Mason Powell,” I say even though she has no idea who he is. “Noah…”
This time when I wake, there isn’t any music to soothe the panic, but I can see the Chicago skyline from my room. My leg is suspended in the air and my arm is bent and resting on my chest, only I can’t really feel my chest at the moment. I try to wiggle my toes, but the effort is too much. The soft sound of breathing catches my attention and when I look, there’s a familiar head of hair and pressure on my hip I hadn’t felt before.
I would know Noah’s hair anywhere. When he lets it grow, which he always does for football season, there’s a slight curl to the top. I run my fingers through it, praying that my IVs don’t get caught. He moans softly and rolls his face into my non-injured leg. When his eyes open, he seems shocked.
“You’re awake.”
“For a few minutes now.” I also notice my oxygen mask is off but can feel air being pumped into my nose. I’m tempted to touch whatever contraption is on my face, but that would mean taking my hand away from where it dropped next to Noah’s.
“I should go wake your parents.” He stands but stops at the sound of my voice.
“Please don’t,” I plead. “Just stay, for a while.”
Noah turns and looks at me. Something is different, but I can’t put my finger on it. He leans forward, bracing a hand on either side of my head and kisses me on the lips, lingering there longer than what would be considered friendly.
When he pulls away, he sits back down and takes my hand in his. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do that.”
Sure I do, two years since you kissed me goodbye. I would never say those words to him so I let his statement hang in the air.
“I was here, before, when you were unconscious.”
“You were?”
He nods. “I have so much to tell you, Peyton, but you really need your rest. I want you to be completely coherent when I say what I have to.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
I don’t know how long Noah and I stare at each other before I fall asleep, but when I wake again, the sun is shining and the halls are much busier than before.