Chapter Six
One Month Later
This December doesn’t feel like Christmas at all.
Not that I ever got to experience a normal one to begin with.
Reece has been traveling for work and only comes home every two weeks.
I haven’t had much extra money since I haven't been able to work much due to the injury to my hands last month. So instead of buying decorations, I found a few boxes of Christmas decorations in the closet and have been going through them to see what I can use. Most of it is old, and I’m not sure if it’ll upset Reece that I’ve taken them out of the closet because I’m not sure who they belong to.
I just wanted to decorate for Christmas.
I started to put together an old-looking artificial tree.
Finally, it is together; it’s not very steady, and it looks a little off-kilter.
Huffing, I push it into the corner where I have made a spot for it to sit.
Looking through the tote, I hear a crack and inspect inside to see what could have caused it.
I pulled out a very old porcelain Precious Moments ornament, “Baby’s First Christmas,” with Reece’s name scribbled on the back.
“FUCK, how am I going to fix this? Why is it every time I try to do something nice… it just blows back in my face…” I walk over to the kitchen counter and place it there.
I’ll have to get glue tomorrow and see if I can put it back together.
Back at the tree, I carefully pull out the garland and start wrapping it loosely around the trunk.
I start hanging ornaments until I’m satisfied.
The last thing is the angel that needs to be placed on top.
Grabbing it from the tote, I step onto the kitchen chair.
It’s not very steady, and it wobbles a little... but I won’t be up here long.
As I start reaching for the top of the tree, the chair underneath me cracks and breaks.
Sending the angel and me to the floor. Pain explodes as I land.
White-hot pain is so excruciating that it’s nauseating.
I get up on my knees and look down. My left wrist is bent.
Pins and needles spread from my fingers to my shoulder blade.
My left arm is now useless. Sweat starts to break out on my temple, and my arm is growing cold.
I need to get to the hospital… but I can’t drive myself.
Embarrassed, I called Peyton, needing a ride.
Pulling into the ER parking lot, Peyton drops me off and goes to find a spot.
As I walk to the entrance, I’m trying to cradle my left arm as much as I can so I don’t bump my wrist. I’m in so much pain.
Why am I so stupid for this? Why couldn’t I just wait for Reece to get home?
He’s going to be so fucking pissed. About so many things.
The receptionist looks up from her computer as I approach. “Can I get your name and date of birth, please, along with what brings you in?” She barely takes her eyes off the screen.
I slowly raise my arm, showing my wrist in an unnatural position. “My Name is Juniper Monroe, date of birth June 6th, 1999.”
“Thank you, ma’am, if you could please take a seat. A triage nurse will be with you soon,” she automatically looks back at her screen.
As I sit down, Peyton starts making her way into the ER entrance. She heads in my direction, sitting next to me. “What has been going on with you, Juni? Your hands last month and now this? Are you okay, truly?”
“It was just a stupid mistake, my fault. Reece isn’t even back into town… he was supposed to come back home this weekend… he’s been gone for two weeks.”
“We will call him after you are seen. You or I can fill him in,” she says, looking down, typing on her phone.
A small door to our left opens, and a nurse steps out.
“Juniper Monroe?” She asks as she scans the lobby.
Peyton and I stand, heading in the direction of the triage.
“Please take a seat. I’m going to run your vitals and your blood pressure.
” She slips the cuff onto my right arm so they can get an accurate reading.
She presses the button, and pressure starts to squeeze my arm as the screen calculates.
Once the machine stops, the cuff deflates: “Okay…142/92, that’s to be expected.
It’s a little elevated, okay!” She then places a little block box on the end of my finger tip.
It doesn’t take long to beep. “95%! Perfect. Sorry, hon, we are almost done!” Looking down at the small watch on her wrist, she grabs my uninjured wrist and starts to count my pulse…
“Okay! Your pulse is 90, that's good. Now I just need to ask you a few questions about your injuries.” Once we finally finish all the questions, she closes my chart.
“That’s everything… You can head back out to the waiting room to be seen.”
“Thank you.” We both murmur as we go back to the sitting area. Not long after triage, we are called back. Because of the deformity from the fall, it’s a priority for me.
“Juniper?” Another nurse calls my name as she opens the door to the emergency department.
“That’s me, thank you!” We follow her to the room they have assigned me to. Once again, this nurse rechecks vitals and asks again how the injury occurred. Then she leaves.
Three knocks on the door, and in comes a younger-looking male doctor.
“Hello Juniper, I’m Dr. Robert Kincaid… I’m here with Ortho.
I need to assess your wrist, please,” he says with a warm smile.
After Dr. Kincaid evaluated my arm, he said it would need to be set.
They bring in some painkillers for me to take before my X-ray so that they can confirm the direction of the break.
So it can be set and put in a temporary cast.
I’m still awake, but not fully present. The painkillers dull my vision, leaving me delayed; my body is slowly processing behind my thoughts.
I finally really look at my wrist. As it lies wrong at the end of my arm — bent, swollen, definitely broken — I’m still in shock.
This still doesn’t feel like real life… like it belongs to someone else.
Dr. Kincaid speaks to me, calm and softly, though I’m not really paying attention.
When he takes my arm, the pressure comes to mind before the pain does.
His hands were solid, unyielding — one bracing my forearm, the other closing around my hand.
The pull came slowly but steadily. My body reacts.
breath hitched. shoulders tensed. A small sound escaped my throat — not a scream, more like an exhale — as my wrist was drawn out, stretched past its tolerance.
The pain surfaced then, sharp and bright, punching through the haze.
“Stay with me, Juniper,” he said. I just nodded, or maybe I only thought I did.
The adjustment was sudden. A twist. And a firm pull.
There was a dense, internal shift; my vision went white.
For a heartbeat, I thought I might pass the fuck out if the pain didn’t stop.
— the pain is overwhelming, breathtaking — and then…
nothing. The sharp pain has stopped. My wrist looked straighter now, still swollen, still pissed off, but no longer bent.
Dr. Kincaid pulls his hands away quickly, wrapping the padding, followed by a hard splint and temporary wrapping to act as a cast — as if the bones might have a mind of their own and do this shit again.
His cold fingernail pressing on my nail bed, fuck that hurts…
before I can question what the fuck he is doing…
he releases it. Watching the white turn pink again.
“You're all done, Juniper. You did very well. You can head home as soon as they bring in the discharge paperwork,” Dr. Kincaid says as he discards his gloves into the trash, dismissing himself quietly.
As I am sitting there, still having painkillers running through my veins, my body starts to shake. But I’m not cold, just still in shock. A thought comes to mind, the reality of what had just happened… “Reece is going to be so pissed… shit.”
After receiving my discharge paperwork, we made our way to the exit. “How about I treat you to some Whataburger?”
My eyes lit up, “Oh my gosh, yes please if you don’t mind!
” Walking side by side, we make our way to Peyton’s car, sensing someone approaching.
I look up and am met with shock as I briefly see the face of the man I hadn’t seen in six years as we collide.
The scent of sandalwood floods my senses… and grease?