monday, october 13th

The first thing I noticed was the beeping. An annoying, ceaseless beep on some sort of machine to the side. My eyelids opened, but only barely, shying away from the unnatural fluorescent lighting overhead. It was cold in there. Really cold, with the stark cleanness and thick aroma of hand sanitizer that could only be associated with hospitals. Rows of goosebumps sprang up beneath my skin as I shifted to a position where I could be warmer. As I moved my right arm, something bobbed at the edge of my vision.

I squinted at the thing. Its edges were fuzzy, but so was everything else in the room. My eyes probably weren't working right. Using my few active brain cells, I managed to piece together that there was a bag, with some liquid in it; clear but bearing no resemblance to water. A bag with not-water, hanging... on a pole thing... with a tube traveling down to my arm. Ew. I was suddenly aware that the itchy, lumpy bandage on my arm must be covering a needle digging into my skin, something I'd seen only in movies and TV shows. I could feel its uncomfortable prick.

More tubes were attached to my chest and a bunch of other places on my body, a tangle of strings leading to a small device that was shaped kind of like a cell phone, attached to the beeping machine. This was uncomfortable.

I shifted again in what must be, inevitably, a hospital cot. My fingers brushed against another tube. Not the scary gross needle tube or the beeping machine tubes, though. I let my fingers travel along the path of the tube until it reached my nose.

My nose.

My fingers curled around the tube. A memory flashed in my brain, seeing a character on TV with one of those. I'd asked my mom what that was, and she'd told me it was a nasal cannula. I hadn't heard her right; I thought she said cannoli. I freaked out for a good five minutes after that because I thought a cannoli was some kind of dessert and wondered why people would shove desserts up their noses to breathe.

That was when I started laughing. Jesus, what was wrong with me? You weren't supposed to laugh in hospitals—especially not if you were the patient—unless you were crazy. But here I was, sitting in a hospital cot with a needle stuck into my arm and a tube up my nose, cackling at something that wasn't even that funny. Nevertheless, I continued bellowing with laughter, my side splitting and my chest burning, the beeping machine on the side gradually speeding up alongside my heartbeat.

The door swung open abruptly, and in walked a pudgy, stern-looking nurse wearing blue scrubs and clutching a clipboard in her manicured hands. She looked startled to see me...probably wondering if I had some sort of mental illness. Wondering if she should call the psych ward. I managed to stop laughing, the ache in my chest subsiding, and shifted in my cot, trying to look like an object of pity or at least halfway sane. The relentless rhythm of beeps marched on, the only sound breaking the thick silence.

"You're up," she declared as if this wasn't obvious.

I blinked, trying to make myself shrink into the itchy blankets under the nurse's challenging gaze. "Yes."

"I'm just here to take your vitals," she announced. She sounded bored. Like checking up on sick, most likely insane teenagers was just another day in the life. It probably was, though. Glancing up and down at the beeping monitor and the bag of not-water, she scribbled something down on her clipboard. I squinted. I'd always wanted to know what nurses wrote in their clipboards. When I was younger it was one of life's greatest mysteries.

"What's this?" I grunted, holding up my right arm, the one with the bandage.

"Your IV," she muttered without looking up, scribbling some more. "You get your meds from there."

"Uh-huh," I said, nodding like a normal person while internally screaming WHAT KIND OF MEDS? I tried not to think about what kind of unnatural drugs with unpronounceable names I was being fed.

"This?" I pointed to the annoying beeping box, which was still eagerly exhaling persistent noises on the side.

"Telemetry box," was the mumbled response, the nurse's eyes never leaving her clipboard. What could be ever-so-fascinating on that piece of paper? "Monitors your heart rate."

"Are my parents here?" I croaked, noticing how raspy and defeated my voice sounded. I cleared my throat.

Her eyes gave a wary look that clashed with the comforting smile on her glossy red lips. "You're still recovering from minor brain damage. It might be better for you to rest a bit more," she suggested.

Minor brain damage? I frowned, saying, " But I want to see them."

"That's not the best—"

"I want to see them," I said, firmer this time. It came out sharper than I intended, and I shrank down into the cot. "Please."

The nurse sighed, lines on her forehead creasing. She clutched her clipboard tightly with her chubby, manicured nails as she trudged to the door and murmured something into the hallway. I pictured my parents sitting in uncomfortable chairs outside of the room, bags under their eyes, wondering if their daughter was okay. I felt guilt twitch in my stomach.

And then they were in the room, rushing past the nurse and to my bedside. My parents were never around much when I was growing up; they both had busy jobs that didn't offer flexible schedules. However, even if they couldn't come to my school concerts or tuck me in goodnight, I loved them nonetheless.

"London, sweetie!" my mother cooed, cupping my face in her hands. "How are you feeling?"

"Honey, does your head hurt? Are you thirsty? I can go get you something from the cafeteria," my dad offered.

I managed a weak smile. "I'm fine, though I haven't eaten much." I turned to my dad. "A muffin would be great."

"Coming right up," he said, smiling and rushing out of the room to carry out my order. My mother stayed by my side, still staring at me with wide, concerned eyes. My parents looked nothing like me, with their rod-straight platinum-blonde hair whereas mine was curly and brown, thin lips while mine were full. I'd always had people ask me if I was adopted; my parents assured me that I got my features from my grandmother. I never got proof, though; she died when I was born. Snapping back into reality, a question surfaced from me that had been bobbing around my brain for some time.

"Why am I here?" I asked my mother.

She gave me one of those sympathetic smiles that mothers are obligated to give when bearing bad news. It's in their job description.

"Well, it could've been a lot worse. sweetie. The car slowed down a lot before it hit you. It didn't leave a lot of damage on your body, but you fell down and hit your head, and now you have a small—" she used her thumb and forefinger to gesture how small "—concussion. But the doctor says you're well enough to come home today, and you only need plenty of rest to get better." She smiled at me with kind eyes, squeezing my hand with hers, a common Mom Gesture.

I was confused. "Car? What car? There was a car?" An ache in my head pulsed as I strained to recall a car in the midst of the madness.

"Honey, what do you remember?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, massaging my temples in concentration."I don't know. I remember walking across the street with Faye and Devan, and then something... something just—I don't know... I was on the ground... then I woke up here."

Another condoling smile from my mother, even a head tilt this time. "That was the car, honey."

I rambled on with no answer to her words, gesticulating wildly. "It was crazy, Mom. I just... I went... I hit the ground... and my head... and then I blacked out, I guess... I don't know if Faye or Devan..."

I bolted upright, the hospital bed shuddering and creaking against my sudden outburst, the beeping noise speeding up. "Faye and Devan! Where are they? Are they here? Were they hit? I need to— I... I need to see them!" I threw back the scratchy, thin covers and tried to hop out, but my mother restrained me.

"Hey, hey, London," she said, restraining me with her arms. "Sit down. Don't put stress on your mind; you'll get a headache." I shut my mouth, sinking back down into the uncomfortable mattress, taking in shallow, ragged breaths. I watched the annoying beepy monitor on the side as the beeps gradually slowed to an even pace.

I closed my eyes, whispering, "Where... are... Faye and Devan?"

There was no response. My eyes opened to my mother's sorrowful face.

"No," I wheezed, shaking my head violently. "No, no, no!"

My mother's hand grabbed mind for comfort, but I yanked it away. "How?!" I whimpered. "How? I thought I took the worst of the hit! What...why?!" How? How could the world do this to me? What did I ever, ever do to deserve losing my best friend and boyfriend? The world seemed to grow dark around me until there was only me and my cries, out into space, falling, falling, down into an endless abyss. I reached out and tried to grasp something to anchor me back into the world, but there was nothing. I screamed and immediately the world zoomed back into focus, into now, my mother shaking me to see if I was alright.

"London! London?" I turned my head towards her, shaking. The monitor was going insane, the beeping sound spiraling out of control.

"You...blacked out for a moment...I didn't know...I didn't..." she stuttered. Her cheeks were tear-stained and she was taking in shallow breaths, too. I immediately felt guilty for scaring her.

"I'm sorry," I wept, trying to wipe my cheeks with my right arm, the one attached to the needle tube thing. It didn't work, as it sent pricks of pain up my arm. I used the left one instead. Then I closed my wet, warm eyes and tried to breathe.

In, out.

In, out.

A single tear rolled down my cheek, and my breath caught and I opened my mouth, no sound coming out.

After a few moments, the gasping sobs came. "Are...are they really gone?" I buried my face in my hands, hugging my knees up to my chest. "I'm never going to see them again?" My voice was tiny, thin, desperate.

"I'm so, so sorry, baby," my mother said, her face masked with sorrow and despair. I noticed the wrinkles around her eyes were deeper than usual and her hair was streaked with gray. I felt a wave of remorse run its course through me, seeing how much my mom had suffered from me being here.

"Mom?"

"Yes, London?"

"We raided all the snacks in the kitchen, by the way." It seemed like so long ago, though the time that had passed couldn't have been more than a day.

"That's okay, honey."

The incessant beeping carried on without mercy. 

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What do you think of Faye and Devan's death? 

How is this going to impact the rest of the story?

XOXO ~brooklynrose~