Raven

by Ashley Suzanne

  Garrett.

  “Hey,” I say hoarsely. My throat raw and painful.

  “Baby,” he says, eyes instantly opening and fully alert. “How do you feel?” he asks, sadness stretching across his face.

  “I feel shitty, but it’s better than the alternative.” With each word it stings, but I’m so damn glad to be alive, it’s a happy medium. I’ll take it.

  “What the hell happened?” he asks. Right when I’m about to answer, a man in a white coat walks through the door, tablet in hand. He looks up from whatever he’s punching into his little machine and smiles.

  “Welcome back, Ms. Fields. I’m Dr. Alhelmy. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m alive,” I respond gleefully. Garrett brings over a small glass of water with a straw, letting me slowly sip until the burn subsides a little.

  “Rian, we’re going to need to have a chat. I’m not sure what your friend’s been able to tell you, but you were in a car accident.”

  That’s interesting. But, again, that means that Tom didn’t kill me.

  The doctor’s face tightens, almost painfully, as he opens his mouth to speak again.

  “You were injured very badly. The majority of your injuries were superficial able to be patched almost immediately upon your arrival, but …” he stops short, glancing down at my right side.

  Following his line of vision, my head swarms and stomach churns, vomiting up the water I just drank. Garrett tries to catch it, but is too late when the fluid ends up all over my lap.

  “What the …? How …? I don’t understand,” I cry, trying to lift my arm, or what’s left of it. Peeking from underneath the gauze wrapped around the part I have left is my raven.

  I faintly hear Garrett trying to comfort me on my left, but I can’t focus on anything other than the missing limb that was there the last time I was awake. How the hell did this happen? Did Tom cut my arm off? Oh fuck, where’s Tom?

  “Rian, I’m sending someone down to speak with you. I’m so sorry, but it was the only thing we could do. Your arm was damaged so badly, there was no way to save it.”

  Uncontrollable sobs wrack my body. When I woke up, how didn’t I know? Closing my eyes, willing my body to calm down, I can actually feel my arm and hand. It’s there, then I look again and it’s in fact gone. Oh, God.

  Garrett climbs in the bed next to me, mindful of the equipment and my IV, pulling me into his arms and rocking slightly until my tears subside, leaving only anger and regret. I should have screamed. I should have fought. I should have killed him.

  ****

  Over the past few days, a therapist has visited me multiple times, giving me valuable information, but it doesn’t change the fact that when I close my eyes to dream, I have two arms … two hands. I’m whole.

  The therapist explained that what I’m going through while conscious, able to feel my missing arm, is actually quite normal. She called it phantom limb syndrome, where I can feel the pain and tingling in a limb that no longer exists.

  It’s a bitch, is what it is. How can someone feel something that no longer is a part of them?

  The first night, I woke up screaming in so much pain that I thought I was dying. Garrett was there, he’s always here, comforting me the best he could and lulling me back to sleep, only for me to dream of holding both of his hands, which won’t ever happen again.

  Garrett mentions that the detective that’s wanted to speak to me for a few days will be coming by this afternoon sometime for an interview. Probably to pick my brain about the night in question. I’ll be honest, I’m not looking forward to it. Tom’s been arrested before, my statement not making any difference. If it did, my mom might still be alive and he would have rotted in prison.

  I haven’t even told Garrett what’s happened yet, allowing everyone around me to believe that I don’t remember. Some kind of amnesia regarding the accident. I’m not sure if I’ll ever tell anyone. We know how well it worked out last time I told anyone about Tom.

  Getting up and moving around is all that I want to do today, not sit and talk about what led me to this spot. Playing around in my head how I’m going to deal with the cop, I decide to put on something that doesn’t consist of a hospital gown and those terrible socks with the grips on the bottom that never stay in place.

  In the private bathroom, Garrett’s brought me some clothes from home—a larger tee shirt, baggy sweat pants and actual socks that are sized for my feet. Taking off the hospital gown is the easy part. Since Garrett untied it before he ran to get coffee, I’m able to slip right out of it. The shirt is pretty simple, too, but the pants, those are a bear.

  The physical therapist said I’d have some issues at first, and then it would seem like second nature to only use one hand. You never really know much you take for granted having two arms that function until you’re only left with one. Getting frustrated, I throw the pants across the bathroom.

  “This isn’t fucking fair!” I scream, no longer sad, only pure anger flows through me. I stare at the bandage … what used to be my elbow … wanting to rip it to shreds.

  “Baby?” Garrett calls from the other side of the door. I beg my tears to back down and my temper to subside. He’s taking all of this really hard, I don’t blame him, but seeing me upset like this will only make it harder on him. He needs to know that I’m doing okay … or at least think I’m fine.

  “I’ll be out in a minute,” I say, pretending to be alright.

  Sitting on the closed toilet, I pull my pants to me using my toes. Once in my hand, I try to manipulate my three remaining appendages to work in unison and get them on properly. Slowing down helps a lot. I guess I’m so used to being able to hop into a pair of pants in two seconds, I want to be able to do it the same way I always have.

  Walking out of the bathroom, the sweats hanging off my hips, Garrett meets me halfway, crouching down and knotting the drawstring. As painful as it is to need him to tie my pants, the look in his eyes almost makes it better. He just wants to care for me and I’d be a dick to push him away. I won’t say it hasn’t happened, or that it won’t happen again, but I’ll try as hard as I can to let him be here for me. I’ve done my fair share of hurting others when I’m hurt. It always makes everything worse.

  Garrett helps me get situated in bed and a knock on the door frame pulls my attention from his compassion. A decent looking man wearing a suit emerges and walks to the side of my bed.

  “Good afternoon, Rian. I’m Detective Mitchell. I spoke with Garrett,” he pauses, nodding at Garrett and proceeds. “I’m here to talk to you about your accident. Do you have a few minutes?”

  “Well, I do have a super important episode of Judge Judy to watch in a little while, but I can give you a few minutes,” I respond sarcastically, eyeing Garrett as his shoulders shake with silent laughter. I might not take it out on Garrett, but people I don’t know or care about are fair game.

  While the cop pulls a chair over to the bed, Garrett leans down and whispers in my ear. “Welcome back, baby. I’ve missed you.” His statement isn’t lost in translation. I’ve felt so off kilter lately, my little smart-assed comment is the first sign that I’m the same person I used to be—just missing a physical part of me—but mentally, I’m all me.

  “First, I want to say how sorry I am about your injury, and I’d very much like to catch the persons responsible.” I nod even though I don’t want his pity. I’d really like to just go home and finish recovering in my bed and never think of this ever again.

  “Can you tell me what you remember from that night?” I mull it over, deciding to follow through with my plan to keep my damn mouth shut.

  “I was at the arena. It was my first fight. I kicked ass and went into the locker room to change. I laid down on the bench and must have fallen asleep. The next thing I remember is waking up here, everyone telling me I was in a car wreck and now I’m missing an arm,” I respond, my answer sounding rehearsed, and I don’t give a shit. It’s not my job to make him believe me.

  �
��And you don’t remember anything about the accident?” he asks skeptically.

  “Did you miss the part where I said I was sleeping on the bench in the locker room and then woke up here? I thought I made myself very clear.” I answered his question. What more does he want from me? Other than the truth that he’s never going to get.

  “Is there anyone that might want to hurt you? The doctors wrote in their report that you had burn marks on your upper arm consistent with a taser.”

  So that’s what happened. I remember feeling like I was dead, drowning in a sea of darkness unable to fight my way to the surface. It makes sense, but I’ll never think of the feeling I get when Garrett touches me again as a taser. There’s nothing similar about the two.

  “I don’t really know anyone. I work at a bar a few nights a week, but the guys that come in are regulars and are good people. The guys at the gym are douchebags of the highest order, but would rather get in my pants than hurt me. Then there’s Garrett and Zan. Both of them are the only family I have left. So, no, I don’t know anyone who would want to hurt me,” I lie through my teeth, not even feeling an ounce of remorse. One day Tom’ll get his and it won’t be from another prisoner.

  “We’re trying very hard to catch the person that did this to you, but without your cooperation, we’re not going to get very far. The car involved in the accident was reported stolen the day before,” he says, frustration practically billowing out of his ears.

  “Whoever did this to me, I don’t know who he is. Don’t you think I’d like the asshole who landed me in a hospital missing an arm caught?”

  “So you know your attacker was a man?” My breath hitches and I realize that I’ve let on that I know something. Before I can try to back pedal, Garrett, my savior, comes to my rescue yet again.

  “I think it’s time for you to go, Detective. Rian’s been under quite a bit of stress lately and it seems that you’re adding to it rather than providing any kind of comfort. I’ll be sure to call you if she remembers any further details.” Garrett stands and not so kindly escorts the detective out of my room, only returning to my bedside once the cop’s in the elevator and off the floor.

  Breathing out a sigh, I relax into the bed, closing my eyes for a moment. I could have caught myself up and there wouldn’t have been any way to get out of it. Feeling guilty for not letting Garrett into my head, I wait until he’s seated before I run down the details of the night to him.

  Chapter 24

  “You mean to tell me that your deadbeat step-dad got out of prison and his first order of business was coming after you?” Garrett seethes and I regret telling him. I’ve seen an angry Garrett, even a pissed off Garrett, but this Garrett, with the look of murder in his eyes—it’s terrifying and something I’ll never be able to get out of my head. Ever.

  “The last thing I remember is being thrown into the front seat of his car and thinking I was dying. Everything went black all of a sudden and now it makes sense that he electrocuted me.”

  “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

  “Leave it alone. He’s not worth going to jail over. Somehow he got away and won’t come back. He’s not stupid.” I know how incorrect that statement is. The only thing Tom wants more than his next drink is to see me suffer.

  “And we’re not telling the police this, why?” I can see Garrett’s mind racing, trying to understand my mental state. It sounds absurd, I know, but it’s the only logical thing I can put together right now.

  “I made a statement last time. I put myself and my mother in danger. Nothing happened, Garrett. Not a damn thing. They let him out, he came back, she killed herself. They won’t do anything to him, they never will. Just let it go.” I wish he would just understand for a minute where I’m coming from and give me the benefit of the doubt that I know what I’m doing.

  “I’m going to find his sorry, piece of shit ass and fucking murder him.”

  “Not if I do it first,” I joke, but being completely honest at the same time.

  Garrett’s pretty quiet and brooding the rest of the afternoon, excluding the hour or so he ran out for a change of clothes and food. I take that time to think over everything that’s happened in the last week—how different my life is going to be once I go home.

  I’m more than determined to not rely on anyone else to help me but Garrett; he can help me when he needs to. I think he feeds on being able to be there for me. Not just physically, but like when that cop was getting a little too pushy, he immediately saved me, knowing I was done and wanted him to leave.

  The biggest heartache I’m dealing with is knowing I’ll never be able to fight again. I was only in one match, but I feel like I could have gone places. I had the best trainer and coach a girl could have. Had this not happened, who knows, I might have been the next big thing. Now that I don’t have that, or anything at all really, I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself.

  I won’t sit and be pathetic, I know that much. I’m too strong-willed for that. Maybe it’s finally time for college. Put my smarts to good use? Yeah, we’ll see about that. The thought of being back in school makes me cringe.

  When Garrett comes back, he walks over the threshold with Gabriella close behind him. Glancing at the clock, I realize it’s been a few hours since Garrett left. He must have gone to get his mom. She tried to drive up a few times over the last week, but we’ve both been adamant that she relax at home. Gabriella’s not getting any younger and all this worrying isn’t good for her.

  “There’s my girl,” she says, tears in her eyes, as she rushes to my bed, engulfing me in a tight hug.

  “Hey there, lady.”

  “Oh, sweet girl, I’m so sorry. Whatever you need, I’m here for you. We both are.” Squeezing me one more time, she finally lets go and takes Garrett’s typical seat next to the bed, taking my hand in hers. “Garrett said the cops have no leads and you don’t remember anything after that fight. Do the doctors think your memory will come back?”

  Over the top of her head, I see Garrett slyly wink and drag another chair next to his mother. “I’m not sure about my memory. I sure hope it comes back, but ya never know. I’m just happy to be alive.” As much as it infuriates me at times about the accident, this injury is better than any other alternative. The therapist and I both agree that it’s much better to focus on the positive than dwell on the negative. It’s working wonders with my mental state, which everyone keeps commenting on when they talk to me.

  A week later, the doctors agree that I can in fact continue my healing at home. The incision on my arm is healing nicely and they say if I choose to have a prosthetic, I’ll be able to be fitted for one soon. I haven’t really decided on that, I think it might make me feel like a robot, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.

  Leaving the hospital is strange. I haven’t seen the sky or taken a breath of fresh air in a while, it’s easy to forget what it’s like. It truly is the little things that we take for granted.

  During my stay at Casa de la Hospital, Gabriella decided that she’d stay in my old apartment for a few weeks, just to help while Garrett goes back to work. He wanted to boycott, said he wanted to be with me, but he really did need something else in his life other than being my caretaker. I appreciate every ounce he gives me, however, he has a business to run.

  Kelsie’s on her way over to see me. She tried to visit me in the hospital, but there was no way in hell I was letting her see me there. I needed a bath, some makeup and a comb run through my hair before allowing anyone from my life, other than Garrett and Gabriella, to visit. Kelsie wasn’t happy, but she understood.

  Garrett runs my bath, putting all kinds of good smelling stuff inside, and even helps me lower myself into the suds before retreating to the kitchen to make some dinner. Resting my head back against the cool tiles, my body just starts to feel relief when the creaking of the door jars me from my bliss. With my heart hammering in my chest, my back straightens and the fear I felt that night with Tom creeps back into me.
Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I don’t dare open the curtain that separates me from whatever’s on the outside.

  “Hello,” I croak.

  “It’s just me, babe.” Kelsie’s voice echoes in the small room and a sigh of relief explodes from my lips.

  “Hey,” I say, trying to recover.

  “You okay? Garrett said you were in here and the curtain was drawn. I can go back in the living room if this is too weird for you.”

  It is weird, but oddly comforting. Even though Kelsie’s my best friend in Lexington, we’ve never been “I’m going to be in the same room with you while you’re naked” close. Shit, we’ve never even been “call me later” friends. That whole “I’m a lone raven” outlook on life I had.

  “No, you’re fine. You just startled me.”

  I hear the toilet seat shift and assume Kelsie’s sitting on the lid, like this is the most normal thing in the world. I’ve watched those girly movies and seen how best friends typically act around each other, so this might actually be normal. It’s definitely something I’ve never experienced, not even with Garrett. It’s nice and a milestone that I’ve never passed before.

  Kelsie spends the next twenty minutes briefing me on everything going on at the bar. Everyone’s anxious for me to go back, but I don’t think I will, not for a while at least. I have to get used to being one-armed and I’m pretty sure the best place to do that isn’t at a bar.

  My whole life’s going to change now that I’m home. There are some things I’m never going to be able to do again, like training. And others I’ll have to teach myself to do all over again. I’ll take each day one step at a time.

  “You ready to get out?” Garrett asks, ushering Kelsie out of the bathroom.

  “Yep.” Garrett pulls back the curtain and helps me to my feet. As he runs a fluffy towel over my body, his shallow breathing and dilated pupils don’t go unnoticed.