TMI (2014 Collector's Dream Winner)

TMI - Chapter 27

Tired. It was the only thought that consciously formed in Meg's mind.

Her feet shuffled along the dark street, her eyes unfocused.

"Megan! What's wrong?"

She jerked and froze, like she'd been zapped with a bolt of lightning. There was Chase, in the car that had pulled up beside her, the car she'd hardly noticed.

"I'm fine." She started walking again. Chase jumped from the car with a curse.

"You're not fine. What the hell happened?" He blocked her path, gestured to pocket of her hoodie, where she'd tucked her hand.

She followed his gaze, saw the dark wet stain and inhaled sharply. Gently, he tugged her hand from the pocket. The towel she'd wrapped around it was drenched.

"Get in the car," he ordered, his mouth pressed in a tight line. When she didn't move, he pushed her toward the open door.

"The seats," she protested.

"Get in the damn car, Megan." He opened the back door, shoved her in, slammed the front door, and then climbed in the back seat with her.

"Megan. Tell us what happened." Dave Gallagher demanded and pulled back into traffic with a squeal of tires.

"Megan?" Chase snapped his fingers when she didn't reply to his dad. "Talk to me. What happened?" He stripped out of his own hoodie, then his t-shirt, and wrapped the shirt around her hand.

She blinked and then her eyes traveled down his naked chest. Chase quickly pulled the hoodie over his head. "Um, I was slicing an apple and the knife slipped."

"When?" Dave asked.

"Uh, I don't — when I got home from school."

"Shit, Megan, that was four hours ago. Why didn't you call us immediately?" Dave increased speed.

"I — I didn't think it was that bad. I thought… I figured it would stop bleeding."

Chase increased the pressure on her hand and she hissed in a breath.

"Sorry, sorry. I know it hurts."

"It didn't. Not until now," she murmured, her words slurring.

They arrived at the emergency room entrance minutes later. Chase tugged her out but as soon as she put one foot on the ground, she wobbled, and her vision grayed. She felt Chase scoop her up under the knees and carry her through the ER entrance.

"I need help here!"

Was that his voice? It shook and sounded almost shrill.

Suddenly, a wheelchair held her. Chase was talking to someone, his voice still weird. "Her hand is pouring blood. She says the knife slipped while she was cutting up an apple but that was hours ago… maybe three o'clock. She didn't think it was that bad, so she started working on a painting." They unwrapped her hand, poked at the gaping sides of the wound.

"Get the vascular on-call down here," the nurse said to his colleague. "What's your name?" a white blob asked her.

"Megan. Megan Farrell."

"You her boyfriend?" The white blob asked and before Meg could think of a response, Chase replied.

"Yeah. Her mother's working, she doesn't know."

"We'll call her. Put her in Seven!"

They pushed her chair into a large room with lots of curtains.

"Megan. My name's John. We're gonna take care of you. Can you climb up here for me?"

She started to stand but wondered where here was. She didn't see anything. Leaning heavily on the arms of the chair that felt like it was now spinning in one-eighties, she reached out a hand, felt a bed to her right and all but collapsed onto it.