Leading You Home

Nineteenth

It hurts to breathe.

The white walls make me cringe when I open my eyes. Carefully lifting my head, I stare down at myself tucked comfortably in a hospital bed. The IV buried in my left arm, the beeping of my steady heart on the monitor beside me, the papers with my name at the top on the table next to my bed.

I hit the service button.

Several seconds later, a young nurse comes into the room. Her hair-black, layered and cut to her shoulders-sways as she walks to the monitor. Her emerald green eyes glance at me momentarily before writing down my stats.

"What happened?" I croak. My mouth and throat are dry from not talking. How long have I been out?

"You were in a car accident," she says, her voice monotone and flat. I immediately wonder if she even likes her job. "A family of deer were in the road and you were going too fast to stop-"

"I know that," I hiss, slightly irritated with her attitude. Pushing against the bed, I try to sit up. Without any warning, pain shoots through body. My legs, my arms and my head aches, but my torso screams in agony. Tears pool in my eyes.

The nurse, finally looking mildly concerned, leans over to help me lay back down. "Don't do that!"

"What's wrong with me?" I croak out, taking shallow breaths and laying a gentle hand over my torso.

The nurse tucks the blankets around my body and lightly fluffs my pillow. "You have a mild concussion, several broken ribs and a shit ton of bruises. You've been unconscious for a day."

My hand moves to my forehead where I feel fabric that wraps around my whole head. I watch as the nurse removes my hand from my torso and lays it at my side. As she reads the monitor and checks that things are looking fine, I think back to the accident, and remember the last thing I saw before losing consciousness.

"Oh my god..." I mumble, the hand on my forehead beginning to shake. "Bradley..."

"Is in the surgery unit," the nurse says, scribbling something on my papers.

I look up at her. "What? But I thought..."

Her pen stops moving and she looks over at me through her lashes. "The boy you were in the accident with is in the surgery unit because he had a punctured lung and a broken leg. He lost a lot more blood than you and did flatline for eight minutes."

I let out a sigh that hurts my ribs, and can barely manage words. All I can see is Bradley laying on that gurney, still and lifeless. His body as pale as a ghost, covered in blood. Flatline for eight minutes. He was dead. Bradley was dead.

"They brought him back though," the nurse continues, watching me. "And he's in recovery."

"He's alright," I whisper to myself. The relief that floods over me is intoxicating, and suddenly I can feel his hand pressed against mine as we zoom down the road, talking about the future. Another question dawns on me, one that I think I already know the answer too. Glancing at the nurse, I ask, "What about my Beetle?"

"What?"

"The Volkswagen. My car. How bad is it?"

The nurse's eyebrows furrow, like she's surprised I even asked. "Oh. It's totaled."

She goes back to her business as I stare out into space, thinking over all that has happened. With my Mom and Dave, Carrie and Bradley, Emma and Clark. My head starts to hurt. And then I start to cry.

_____

The apathetic nurse left quickly after my breakdown. She jotted down a few more notes and left me to wipe my own tears. I was thankful for the privacy, anyway. Crying in front of people has always been something I hate but this time, I was caught off guard.