WHEN I WAKE up, the first thing I notice is that my body doesn’t feel like it belongs to me anymore. My eyes are dry, like they’ve been scrubbed with sandpaper. My mouth is pasty, my lips stuck together. My limbs are heavy, unwilling to move. I don’t even care where I am. I already know that my life is over.
I doze off, but whether it’s for ten minutes or ten hours, I couldn’t say. I wake up again to a quiet, continuous beeping sound, and open my eyes to find a man in a white coat towering over me.
“Mia, can you hear me?” he asks in a thick French accent. “You had an accident. You arrived at the hospital last night.”
I glance down at my wrist, but I can barely move, and I don’t see anything. Someone took my jewelry off, including my watch. “What time is it?” I ask. My voice is so croaky that I’m not sure he can hear me.
“It’s six in the morning. You’ve been asleep since the ambulance brought you here. Do you have any memory of what happened?”
I try to shrug but it hurts. It’s not that I don’t remember. It’s just that I don’t want to.
“I’m Dr. Richard. And you’re in one of the best hospitals in Paris. You’re going to be okay, Mia.”
I look away, tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. The only way I’m going to be okay is if I can walk out of here on my own two legs and meet with the ABT apprentice program director today.
I try to sit up, and pain shoots down my entire left side. Tears spring to my eyes.
“You broke your collarbone, but it was a clean break. We’ll keep you overnight just to be safe, but you were very lucky, Mia. You won’t need surgery. It should take you a couple of months to heal with some physical therapy, but I’m confident you’ll get back to normal.”
A clean break. You were very lucky.
He smiles again, convinced he’s giving me good news. He also says that the hospital called my parents and reassured them that I was okay.
I am not okay.
Tears roll down the sides of my face, making their way down my neck and through the pillowcase. I can barely listen as the doctor tells me that we were almost at the other end of the crossroad when a car to our right went through the red light. I went flying a few meters away and landed on my left side. Louis toppled over the top, hitting the tar flat on his face. His helmet is battered, but he’s fine. He only suffered a minor concussion—a small miracle—but he’s still under observation.
The neon light above me is blinding, like the truth of my diagnosis.
Since I can’t bring myself to say anything, the doctor tells me to get some rest and that he’ll check in on me in a couple of hours.
“You’re going to be fine, Mia,” he says, turning back to me when he reaches the door. Except he doesn’t know me at all. I’m not going to be fine. I want to scream, but even that feels out of my reach.
I close my eyes, and again, I’m not sure how much time passes before a soft and familiar voice comes to me from the other side of the room.
My vision is blurred, and my eyes slowly adjust to the bright sunlight coming in through the window. There’s a woman sitting in the chair in the corner, talking quietly on her cell phone.
“Mom?” I say, thinking I must be hallucinating.
Mom leaps from her chair. “Mia!” she says, rushing to me.
I try to shuffle up in my bed, but I can’t really move. “Am I still in Paris?” I ask, looking around the room.
My head feels like concrete has been poured inside of it. My mind is fuzzy, unable to focus. I want to go back to sleep and wake up ten years from now, when all of this will have stopped hurting so much. Maybe.
Mom nods sadly. There are bags under her shiny eyes. “I jumped on the first flight over. They said you’d be fine, but I couldn’t stand the idea of you waking up alone here.”
My throat tightens. I don’t know what to say.
“Do you need something?” Mom asks, her voice laced with concern as she carefully sits on the bed and grabs my hand. “Some water? Juice? They gave you something for the pain, and they said you might be thirsty.”
I look down my arm, which is connected to an IV drip. More tears roll down my cheeks.
“Talk to me, Mia,” Mom says again.
“What time is it?” I ask, scanning the top of the nightstand for my phone, and not seeing it.
Mom tries to look casual as she checks her watch, but there is worry all over her face. “It’s just after two p.m.”
I shake my head and try to sit up straighter. “Maybe if I…”