One Last Thing ✅

sixteen things

Beeping.

Beneath that, voices. A woman, smacking her gum as she runs through a string of numbers that make no sense. Someone else mmmmmhmmmming after each one.

"Ninety over sixty-five."

"Mmmmmhmmmmmm."

"Ninety-eight point four."

"Mmmmmhmmmmmm."

"Last blood draw at nine-forty-five."

"Mmmmmmhmmmmm."

Using every bit of strength that I possess, I lift one eyelid. It is heavier, weighs more than Betsy does, but I persevere until a room appears, shiny and white and clean. Two women stand in the corner. One, dressed in bright pink scrubs, reads numbers off a yellow clipboard, pointing with nails that might be nine inches long. 

Nine Inch Nails.

Ha.

I manage to open both eyes.

The other woman stands with her hand on her hip, eyebrow arched, as she listens to the first woman recite what I now realize are my vital signs. Her pristine white jacket indicates that she's probably my doctor. Her long, blonde hair is swept back in a thick braid. A stethoscope snakes around her neck.

She turns her head slightly, eyes widening when she notices me looking at her. "Liliana. You're awake." She says my name wrong.

"What... what happened?" My tongue feels strange in my mouth, twice its normal size. Some of the sounds don't come out right, but she seems to understand my question. She and the nurse with the crazy long nails exchange a look, like they're each urging the other one to take on the task of filling me in.

The doctor steps toward my bed, pushing her braid over her shoulder. She takes a deep breath and exhales. "Liliana, I'm Doctor Knowles. I'm sorry to say you've been in a car accident. A pretty bad one. You're quite lucky to be alive."

If I were in any other situation, I would have corrected her pronunciation of my name, but I'm lying in a hospital bed and it looks like most of me is wrapped up or taped to pieces of cardboard. I feel like I'm being held together with duct tape.

My gaze falls upon my left hand, which is completely covered in white gauze. It looks like a giant mitten, like I might be going outside to make a snowman. My heart skitters.

How will I play?

"What's wrong with my hand?" I ask. "I play the guitar. I kind of need it."

Doctor Knowles places her hand lightly on my leg. "It might be a while before you're able to play again, Liliana. If..." Her voice breaks off.

The skitter turns into a thud. "If what?"

"If ever," the nurse with the crazy nails cuts in. Dr. Knowles shoots her a dark look. Turning back to me, she pats my leg gently.

I can't feel it.

I'd pull away if I could.

But I can't.

"Liliana, I'd be surprised if you're able to play in the next few months. It will probably take longer than that before you're completely healed." She pauses, takes a breath. "Your hand went through the window. Several nerves were completely severed. We were able to save it, but just barely."

I don't know how to feel.

Everything seems fake.

I can't be hurt that badly.

'Tis only a flesh wound, I think, quoting my favorite Monty Python movie in my head. I hear Jared in my head, doing his terrible British accent.

Jared.

Suddenly I am filled with pain that has nothing to do with the accident.

"Where's Jared? Where's... everyone?"

The doctor blinks. "Who's Jared?"

I hesitate.

What do I call him now?

My boyfriend? My ex?

"My... friend. He's seriously going to flip out. That was his car. Has he gotten here yet? What about Grams? She won't even know to be worried. I told her I was staying at Riley's house tonight."

Doctor Knowles glances back at the nurse, who's been listening to us with her head cocked, tapping her foot against the linoleum. "Could you go check the waiting room?"

The nurse sighs heavily, tucks the clipboard underneath her arm, and leaves the room. Doctor Knowles turns back to me. "Your grandmother is on her way," she says, putting her hand on my arm. I wish she'd stop touching me.

I try to picture a police officer—maybe Riley's father—showing up at our front door with a stricken look on his face. "Your granddaughter... she's been in an accident."

Poor Grams.

She doesn't deserve this.

At that moment, the door swings open, and the nurse with the crazy nails walks in. And behind her—

"Jared!"

Jared stands in the middle of the room, uncertain, seeming afraid to come closer. His silky blonde hair falls over his bloodshot eyes. He shoots a questioning glance at the doctor.

"Just be careful," she advises, then tactfully retreats.

He looks back at me. "Jesus, Lil, thank God you're safe. I don't know what I would have done..."

I stare at my lap. "I'm sorry about your car."

He turns his head to the floor. "Don't be dumb. I'm not worried about that." His words are mumbled. It's the right thing to say, straight from the script, but there's a weird, strangled quality to his voice. "Riley and Abbott are in the waiting room. Do you want to see them?"

"No."

The truth is, I'm embarrassed by my behavior. I can't even bring myself to look at Jared. The thought of Riley and Abbott coming in here and seeing me like this is almost unbearable.

There is a long silence, and I can hear the ticking of the clock on the wall. The words he said outside the bar repeat in my head, a loop of me getting dumped over and over again. I just don't have the time or the energy. Suddenly I become certain that once he leaves, once he walks out that door, everything will be different.

My heart is in my throat.

"Jared?" I ask, hating how vulnerable I sound. But my need trumps my humiliation.

"Yeah?" he asks.

"Could you just... come here?"

He lifts his head then, and I see the blue of his eyes, the color that always seemed to want to suck me in and swallow me whole. There is hurt there, and it echoes my own.

"Sure."

He slides into bed next to me. Arm around me, so familiar, the nook I fell asleep in so many times. Warm. Safe. If I close my eyes, I can pretend none of this ever happened. That is how I drift off to sleep.