“She’s awake! She opened her eyes! Call the doctor. Get him in here quick.”
I recognize that voice. It’s my mother’s.
Why is my mother here?
Where am I?
The irritating beeping continues.
A confusion of scents hangs in the air. Flowers and perfume, hairspray and mouthwash, body odor and bleach. There’s something else beneath it all, an underlying stench I’ve never encountered before. Like the smell of something rotting, it’s deeply disturbing.
I open my eyes again, this time focusing on the person looming over me, bending down over the bed. It’s Chelsea.
Her eyes are red and swollen. Her face is blotchy, and her blonde hair’s a mess. I’ve never seen her look like this. And why is she in her work scrubs?
When I speak, I’m surprised by how weak and scratchy my voice sounds and by how much my throat hurts. “Hey, girlfriend. You look like shit.”
She grabs my hand and bursts into tears. “Shay. Oh God. Thank God.”
I look around the room. My parents stand together at the end of my bed. My father is gripping the metal guard rails that surround the mattress with both hands as if he’s hanging on to it for life.
“Hi, honey,” he says, his voice choked. His clothing is rumpled and his eyes are red, and I realize that, like Chelsea, he’s been crying too.
The beeping grows louder and faster as cold fear seizes me.
I’m in the hospital.
This is a hospital room, and my parents and Chelsea are here because I’ve been hurt.
Suddenly, I can’t catch my breath. It feels like a thousand pound weight is crushing my chest. I swallow, blinking against the harsh light of the room, and try to sit up.
I can’t move.
Panicking now, I look down at myself.
I’m covered by a thin blue blanket, but my arms and legs are where there should be. Slender plastic tubes are stuck in both arms and the back of my right hand. The tubes lead up to bags of clear liquid hanging from a silver pole beside the bed. Next to the pole is the heart rate monitor causing all the beeping.
A young doctor in a white jacket sweeps into the room, followed by a big male nurse in blue scrubs. He must’ve been who my mother ordered to call the doctor. Chelsea moves aside to make room for the doctor at the edge of the bed but doesn’t let go of my hand.
“Hello, Shay. I’m Dr. Dayan. How are you feeling?”
He has a gentle voice and a gentle smile, and now I’m even more afraid than I was before. My tongue doesn’t want to work, so I stare at him in terrified silence, waiting for him to speak again.
My expression must be pretty dire, because he starts to explain things to me slowly, as if I might not understand his words.
“You were in a car accident. You’re in the ICU. We gave you drugs to reduce the swelling in your brain, so you might feel disoriented and confused for a while. That’s normal.”
I’m in the ICU?
As if summoned by that thought, the pain in my body makes itself known.
It’s everywhere but worse in certain places. My head aches and my right hip throbs. My spine doesn’t feel right, as if it’s out of alignment, and all the nerves between the discs are pinched. And my throat is so raw and tender. Even my vocal cords are sore.
Everyone in the room is holding their breath. I can sense it without looking at them. The feeling of collective dread hangs in the air like an evil mist.
And I understand that I’ve been hurt very badly. That these people I love weren’t sure if I would live or die.
Cole.
My heartbeat goes haywire. My mouth, already dry, turns to dust and ashes. Cold descends over my entire body, making it feel as if I’ve been wrapped in sheets of ice.
I whisper, “Is Cole okay?”
Leaning over to shine a penlight in both my eyes, Dr. Dayan says, “You’ll be weak for a while. That’s normal too. Muscles atrophy quickly when they’re not used. Your throat will hurt as well. Your breathing tube was removed this morning when we stopped the paralytics.”
I don’t care about a stupid breathing tube right now. What I care about is the man who was in the car with me.
“Where’s Cole? Chelsea? Is he all right?”
Chelsea and the doctor share a glance. Then she squeezes my hand.
“Let him examine you, okay? Then we’ll talk.”
Her voice is soft. Too soft and tinged with sorrow. And I know what it means.
Cole isn’t okay.
Whatever’s wrong with me, it’s worse with him.
The sound of screeching tires and shattering glass fills my ears. The sensation of tumbling through empty space grips me. I suck in a breath that feels like fire and smells like smoke and burning fuel.