Hatchetfield Stories

Not That It Matters Anymore

I'm in a pretty bad place mentally and helicopter crash fics bring me comfort for some reason so here you go :)

TRIGGER WARNINGS:
-Injury
-Panic attack
-Hospital setting

-------

Emma didn't look away from the direction in which Paul had left for a long time, both because she hoped he came back, and because she didn't want to look at her leg.

Her face felt stiff with dried tears, the tears that were still fresh cold in the evening breeze. Her eyes were puffy and sore from crying, but she couldn't get herself to stop. Her leg throbbed, she was scared, and she regretted sending him away.

Shit, she was going to die in fucking Hatchetfield.

Paul's tie was tied around her leg, but it did little to stop the blood from pouring from the wounds on either side of her thigh.

It felt like ages since she'd left Hatchetfield for a short trip in Guatemala, which quickly turned into a month, and before she knew it, it had been five years since she'd seen her family.

Five years since she'd seen Jane.

She still remembered every word Tom had said when he broke the news to her. "She'd want you to come to the funeral," he'd said, and Emma let out a sniffle she hoped he couldn't hear over the crappy connection. "Can you make it?"

And so she'd come back. Back to the town she hated so much.

After the funeral, she spent a few weeks in the cheapest hotel she could find, before she found a small apartment she could afford. But she needed a job, and quick.

She'd almost hoped she didn't get hired at Beanies, the 'singing coffee shop'. But she did, and she hated every second of it.

That was when she got the idea for the pot farm. She'd grown weed in her closet before, so it seemed to be the right thing to do. She signed up for biology classes at the local college that same day, and though she still had to work her shitty job at Beanies, at least she had a goal now.

'Not that it matters anymore,' she thought bitterly as she stared at her leg.

She doubted Paul would ever come back for her. She felt guilty for most likely sending him to his death, but it was the only way to stop them.

Her vision was failing her, and slowly the world faded away.

So, Emma laid her head down, and waited for death to claim her.

*** *** ***

Emma didn't expect to wake up after that, so when she did, she didn't know what to do. She blinked a few times, and it took longer than it should've before the bright hospital room came into focus.

Where's Paul?

That was the first thought she had once she realized she was alive. Her leg throbbed despite the strong painkillers they'd undoubtedly given her.

She looked around. The sun was shining, which meant it had been many hours since they'd crashed. There was an IV in her arm, and she was hooked up to a heartbeat monitor, which sped up as the memories of the day before washed over her.

Paul was dead, wasn't he? She'd indirectly killed him by sending him to blow up the meteor.

A doctor rushed into the room, followed closely by someone in a military uniform.

She rolled onto her side as the tears rolled down her face, her leg protesting as she moved it.

"Miss Perkins-" the doctor said, taking a step back when Emma screamed as he touched her.

"I killed him," she muttered. "I killed him!"

"She's bleeding again," the soldier spoke up, pointing at the bloodstained bandage around Emma's leg.

"Shit." The doctor hesitated for a moment, before turning her onto her back and pinning her shoulders down, forcing her to look at him as she sobbed. "Miss Perkins, you need to calm down or you'll fuck up your leg even more."

Emma tried to take a deep breath, but her breathing came in gasps, and she choked on her sobs. "Paul..."

The doctor nodded slowly, finally understanding what was going on. "Once you calm down I'll make sure there's someone you can talk to, okay?"

Emma nodded, still too wrapped up in the memory of Paul to give more of a reaction.

The doctor let her go, and he walked out of the room, gesturing for the soldier to follow him.

And then she was alone again. Left alone to think about everything that had gone wrong.