16. Scarlett
CHAPTER 16
Scarlett
B eep, beep, swoosh.
Shuffling noises. Murmurs, male and female. The smell of disinfectant wafts past my nose. Bright light pierces my eyes as I struggle to open them. I shiver.
Flashes of silver, of being on the Jet Ski … the water. Not being able to breathe. Of …
‘Where’s Ryan?’ My voice is harsh, croaky and shaking. It feels like sandpaper has been rubbed along the length of my throat, leaving it raw. A dull thud holds court at the back of my head, and I turn it to the side for relief. ‘He hurt too?’ The words are hard to form.
I remember being on the Jet Ski, holding him tight, proud, happy then … silver …
Nurse Barb holds a plastic cup with a straw in it to my lips. ‘Take a little sip. It’ll help your throat.’
She presses buttons on the beeping machine next to my bed as Doctor Cruikshank writes something in a white folder, brows furrowed.
‘There we go.’ Barb places the cup back on the bedside table.
‘Ryan?’ Frustrated, I try again, this time putting more conviction into my voice. Why is no one answering my question?
Barb and Doctor Cruickshank exchange a look I can’t quite decipher.
My heart thunders behind my aching ribs. I don’t want to ask, but I need to know. They can’t keep it from me. I need the truth. We were on the ski together and now …
‘Is he—? Oh, God, no. Please …’ My breath catches; my chest squeezes like I’m drowning all over again. I try to suck in air. Can’t. Hurts. Is this a bad dream?
Barb’s warm hand rests on my arm, tender where a cannula has been inserted. ‘He’s okay, love. He wasn’t injured. He saved you.’
Saved me? A cry of relief bursts from my parched, cracked lips. Ryan’s alive, and he saved me. Tears well, and I swipe at them with my thumb. Barb hands me a box of tissues, and I pull a few out and blow my nose. There’s still a disarming look in her eyes, though.
‘What, Barb? Is there something else? What happened? If he’s okay … saved me. I thought he’d be here.’
‘Love, now don’t be alarmed; everything is under control?—’
‘But …’
‘We’re not sure where he is.’
I jerk fully upright on the hospital bed, trying to make sense of what Barb’s saying. The machine beeps frantically. ‘What do you mean? I don’t understand.’
‘Take a deep breath, Scarlett. Your heart has had a bit of a rough time today, and we need to look after it.’
‘But Ryan is missing? You have to find him. Make sure he’s okay. Christmas isn’t a great time for him. Please—’ My fingers tingle, and I slump back on the raised bedhead, totally sapped of energy. Need to fight, find Ryan, but so damn tired.
It’s all my fault. Those four words ring in my ears. Oh no. No, no, no.
‘I need to speak with him. Call him. He thinks this is all his fault.’
‘You need to take it easy, Scarlett.’ Doctor Cruikshank rests his hand on my shoulder. ‘Your body had been through a massive trauma. It needs to recover and heal, and placing undue stress on it isn’t helping. I can give you a sedative if you’d like.’
‘Undue stress! And no.’ I tighten my jaw. Swallow. Lick my dry lips. ‘The guy who saved me, who is dealing with his trauma, whom I care deeply about, who blames himself, needs me right now. And unless you’re willing to discharge me, I suggest you get me a phone so I can damn well call him.’ I suck in one breath and another.
I lock eyes with the doctor, and a silent argument passes between us; neither of us breaks our stare until Barb hands me her mobile, Ryan’s number on the screen, ready to call.
I take the phone and, with shaky hands, tap the call button. It rings and rings. Eventually, his voicemail picks up. Hearing his voice sends a sliver of relief through me. Just the sound, the sweet sound, is enough to cause my heart to speed up again.
‘Ryan, honey, it’s me … Scarlett. Just borrowing Barb’s phone. Where are you? I’m okay. Come back to the hospital, please. I need to see you. Or ring. I know this is a really tough time for you.’ I bite my bottom lip to halt the tears. ‘Please. It was just a freak accident. I need you. It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.’ Nothing in your childhood is your fault.
The sob escapes, and I try to cover it with a cough. As the voicemail beeps to signal its conclusion, I hand the phone back to Barb.
Exhaustion washes over me; a yawn stretches the dried cracks of my lips. My eyelids droop. But I need to find Ryan.
‘Barb, help me find him.’ I muster all my energy and sit up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. Determination courses through me, almost giving me a second wind. ‘I want to discharge myself.’
‘No, Scarlett.’ Barb exchanges a concerned look with the doctor. ‘You were very close to being flown out to the hospital in Adelaide, and there is a risk of secondary drowning. You need to stay here and be monitored.’
As my feet touch the floor, I lock eyes with Barb, my gaze unwavering. ‘I need to go, and I will … with or without you. And I promise I will come straight back when he’s found.’
Barb hesitates, pressing her lips together before shaking her head. ‘People are out looking for him. I’ll get an update for you. He can’t have gone too far.’
‘How do you know that? He could be anywhere. Please, Barb.’ I stand and gently tug on the IV line, wincing as the needle moves in the back of my hand.
Barb’s hand is on mine in an instant. ‘Here, let me.’ She pulls on a fresh pair of gloves, turns off the drip machine and gently removes the line. ‘Why are you so determined?’
‘The lights. We were going to watch the lights turn on … together.’