Interception
GRAYSON
Reality was escaping me.
I was warned about this. Diagrams, drawings, 3D models—I'd seen them all. They showed me what I couldn't actually see with my own two eyes. What my heart looked like when I was born.
In middle school, they told kids to remember what the aorta did by using alliteration. The aorta is the artery that carries the blood away from the heart. Aorta, artery, away.
I didn't need that. I knew the aorta carried the blood away from the heart. I knew it because once upon a time, my aorta was so narrow that my tiny baby heart overworked itself just so I could stay alive. Just so the rest of my body could get that blood.
They fixed it, of course. But my entire life, they warned me this could happen, that there was more at risk than perpetual high blood pressure. It was rare, but it was possible. That my aorta wouldn't be able to carry blood away from my heart well enough again. Aorta, artery, away.
And if the rest of my body didn't get the blood it needed...well, lots of shit could happen.
And now that it had, I didn't believe it.
I didn't believe it at all.
Lying in a hospital bed—it was just a surreal imagining that doctors had conjured up to scare me. It was a picture my parents had painted to try to convince me not to play football. It was nothing but a narrative in a pamphlet.
It wasn't real.
What was going on in my head was far more likely. Curled up in my dorm room with Nessa. That was real. That had to be the truth. These doctors, this hospital bed—it was just another nightmare.
I didn't believe it. Not for a long time.
"Gray," Mom said, "look at me."
I rolled my eyes over, just wanting this scene to wash away again so I could go back to my bed. My real bed. The one that was waiting for me with a dark-haired, sharp-tongued girl in it. I missed her lips already. As soon as I woke up, I'd kiss her until she was breathless and begging me for more.
"I'm looking," I droned.
"He seems more aware today," she said beneath her breath, glancing at Maman. "Better than yesterday, at least."
"I'm aware."
Aware that this wasn't real. Aware that I didn't believe her lying lips for a second.
Mom's eyes widened as she looked back at me. They were watery.
"Do you know where you are?"
"Hospital."
That much seemed obvious. I ran my tongue over my chapped lips, wondering if this goddamn place had water and if I'd be able to drink it, considering this was just another dream. But I was too impatient.
"I need to get back, though, mom."
Back to Nessa.
Mom jumped out of her chair, grabbing my hand. Maman appeared over her shoulder, clutching onto it as she looked down at me.
"Don't," she breathed. "Stay here."
I didn't want to stay here. It smelled sterile and sweaty all at once. There was a constant beeping, and it was giving me a headache.
"But—"
"Grayson," Mom cut in again, "you've been in a coma, honey."
A coma? Shit, this was even more depressing than usual.
"We've been waiting for a long time," she said, and a tear rolled down her cheek. "Stay."
Well, fuck. As much as I ached to get back to Nessa, I couldn't leave my mom crying. I hated when she cried. I hated it when I watched her break down when grandpa died, and I hated it now.
"Okay," I breathed.
Mom squeezed my hand again, and I couldn't bring myself to watch those tears stream down her face, so I looked to the ceiling. God, this was brutal. If this was some kind of sign to go get checked out by Dr. Martinez, then point taken. I would schedule an appointment as soon as I woke up.
Sure enough, right on cue, Dr. Martinez walked in. Her dark brown hair was tossed up in a bun, and her eyes were tired. Like she hadn't slept all week. She spoke quietly to my parents first, not even bothering to look at me.
"He seems... I don't know," I heard Maman whisper. "Something still seems off."
"I expected as much," Dr. Martinez murmured. "He might be waking up more, but remember, his brain is still recovering. Healing from a stroke like he had takes time."
A stroke? Lord, my subconscious was laying it on thick.
But now that she mentioned it, I realized there was a pulse in my head. It was loud and angry and swinging back and forth like a pendulum. A wrecking ball in my skull. I didn't know what it felt like to have a stroke, but I knew my head fucking hurt.
"Oh my god, I get it," I groaned. "I'll go to the goddamn doctor."
Dr. Martinez turned to me, an amused look on her face.
"Grayson," she said, calm as ever. She was always calm.
I managed a weak smile.
"Hi, doc."
"How are you feeling?"
"Some water would be nice."
She chuckled, letting my moms rush around the room frantically, getting me what I asked for. They pushed a tiny dixie cup in front of me, which I drained and crumpled in my fist. It soothed my throat, but I felt like I could have drunk an entire gallon.
"You said that you would go to the doctor," Dr. Martinez continued. "Do you realize you are at the doctor?"
"Yeah." I rolled my eyes up. "But I'm not really if you know what I mean."
She smiled. I didn't understand why she looked so goddamn happy. Turning to my mom, she whispered something before turning back to me.
"Grayson, what day do you think it is?"
I tried to think past the pounding in my head.
"I don't know. It's right before spring break. Thursday? Friday?"
She nodded, taking that in.
"It's actually the end of April," she said quietly. "But you've been here since spring break. Almost a month."
I stared at her, blinking. Several long moments passed, and the pendulum continued to swing. Ticking like a grandfather clock. It started to slam into the sides of my head like the clock was broken, and the gears were spinning, out of control. And with the pain, everything became...clear.
Everything became clear, and everything hurt.
"No," I breathed.
Everything hurt so goddamn bad.
Dr. Martinez nodded. "Yes, Grayson."
It was real. This was all real, and suddenly I was finding it hard to catch a breath. The beeping beside me sped up, and Dr. Martinez walked swiftly to my side. So did my parents, their hands encompassing mine. I sucked in air.
"Deep breaths, that's it," Dr. Martinez soothed while she messed with the chords connected to the machines next to me.
I wasn't sure how long we stayed like that. Dr. Martinez monitoring my stats. Mom and Maman monitoring me. And I closed my eyes, coming to terms with it all. With reality.
After a long time, Dr. Martinez spoke.
"When you're ready, I'd like to ask you a few questions about the days leading up to spring break. When you drove home from college."
The days leading up to spring break.
Nessa. They were all Nessa. Sleeping with Nessa. Kissing Nessa. Touching Nessa. Feeling Nessa.
Oh god, Nessa.
She wasn't in that bed, waiting for me to wake up. I was already awake. Which meant she was...
"Where's my phone?" I gasped, looking frantically between my moms.
But they both shook their heads.
"You dropped it when—" Mom cut off, swallowing hard. Maman had to finish for her.
"It shattered, Gray. It's dead."
Fuck. God-fucking-damnit.
"But don't worry," she reassured. "Your team knows where you've been. We told Brodie. And he got in touch with...god, what's his name again? The redhead. Your captain."
"Julian," I choked out.
But what about Nessa. Jesus Christ, what about Nessa?
"That's the one," Mom said. "He came to visit a few times, you know. Brought some of the other players, but I can't remember all their names. And don't worry about school, honey. We worked that out, too." She winced—like she realized she'd been rambling. Talking nervously. "Although we don't need to talk about that now," she added before zipping her lips.
I didn't give a fuck about school.
Throwing my head back against the stiff hospital pillow, I instantly regretted it. A rush of nausea hit me. I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes.
I tried to steady my breathing.
"Did he say anything about Nessa?" I managed to get out.
"What?" I still didn't open my eyes, but I knew it was Maman, her breathy, light accent coming through.
"Julian. Did Julian say anything about a girl named Nessa?"
There was a long silence.
And I knew that was my answer.
The aorta was the away team, and it had intercepted all the passes that my goddamn heart tried to make. Again.
I just hoped that now it let my get off my ass—and soon—so my heart could make the most important pass of all.
💗
today was not my day. I thought maybe we could all use some Grayson to make it better.
xoxo
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