A movement to my left draws my attention and I turn spying a slight framed, female nurse who’s throwing a used syringe into the trash. The woman turns to me, her soft brown gaze trained on me as she smiles. I can’t miss the pity that shines like a beacon in her eyes.
"That will help you calm down, Sweetheart. We all have been praying for you and working ourselves to death making sure you stayed with the living. The doctor will be in to see you soon. Please, get some rest and talk to your mother," she tells me before quietly leaving the room.
The other nurses finish fastening the straps to my legs and surviving arm. I can only assume that they don't want to hurt me any further by strapping it as well. That's what "it" is now. It doesn't rightfully deserve to be called an arm…. Not with all the missing pieces.
Mom slowly approaches my bed. She looks even worse than she did the last time I was awake. Her hair is beyond repair, the usually wavy, dark brown hair which I had inherited from her is splattered with silver all around her temples. Clearly, she hasn't been to her usual monthly hair appointments in some time. She looks like she's lost twenty pounds and her clothes hang loose on her skeletal frame. Her eyes are completely sunken into her skull, not a speck of life in their depths.
"Mom," I croak, my throat sore and torn from all the screaming I've done.
"Yes, Sweetie?" she asks, her feet carrying her to me slowly.
She reaches out and when I don't flinch away, her fingers brush some stray hair away from my face. With this little action, I see a spark of life come back into her eyes. Those loving orbs remind me of looking into a cloudless summer sky. Whereas, mine are like being in the middle of an overgrown forest, many shades of green with a little brown peeking through. Just like Dad's.
"Henry....he's really gone, isn't he?" I ask, the words that flow from my mouth leaving a sour taste behind. I already know the answer, but I need to know for sure. It feels like it's hours, but it's just a few seconds before she answers me.
"Yes, he is, Sweetie," she whispers, causing my heart to seize, "I'm so sorry."
I grip Mom's hand, my knuckles paper-white. It feels as though all noise within the room has faded, the only thing audible being the beating of my own heart. Sorrow takes over my body and let tears flow freely down my face.
Henry's gone.... What am I supposed to do now?
Chapter Three
The next few weeks pass by with a haze. All that it seems that I can do is cry and stare out the window, to the bustling streets below me. Henry never liked the city. He said that it made him think too much of his parents. When we first met, I thought he had the perfect life. He had two parents that still loved each other and two little sisters. No matter what happened, he would always have a family to love him.
God, I was wrong. Cecelia and Jacob Ryan were the most dry and uncaring people that I've met in my entire life. I begged Henry to let me meet his family and I wished that I hadn't right away. Nothing that Henry did was good enough for his lawyer parents. They thought his fascination with art was unhealthy and just a phase.
So, when he decided to major in art history, his parents blamed me for his 'useless obsession with a profession that would lead him into poverty'. Only the two younger Ryan siblings held any respect in his parent's eyes. Heather and Hannah Ryan, they proudly professed to anyone and everyone how they were following in their parent's footsteps and attending law school.
I still haven't heard from his family and I doubt that I ever will. Their dislike for me is mutual. If they try reaching out to me, I'll make sure that they know how I feel about them...how Henry felt about them….
In the days following my meltdown, I met my doctor. He's a nice man and old enough to be my great-grandfather. His hair is more white than silver, like looking at a snow-covered field. And his eyes, they shine with the wisdom and weariness that come with generations of saving and losing lives. He's been nothing but patient and calm with me during what I know will always be the hardest time of my life.
When I had calmed down enough to want to know what happened, he told me everything. The accident mangled my arm so badly that they were forced to amputate and try to save the remainder of the limb. Apparently, when the car caved around my arm, it severed a major artery and they tried to repair it numerous times. The impact also shattered the bones in my forearm to the extent that there was little to nothing left to fix. He also told me the accident caused severe internal bleeding and a nasty head injury, causing me to fall into a slight coma. That was what I had first woken from, nearly two weeks after the accident.
After my initial state of consciousness, I slipped into a second coma. The team of doctors over me came to the decision that I shut down as I attempted to heal. Little do they know, it's impossible to heal a broken heart. The most shocking piece of information he told me was that I was comatose for a little over three months. When I realized that I missed Henry's funeral...they had to sedate me. I nearly lost my mind. It felt as though someone had dropped a weight on my chest and no matter how much I tried...I couldn't calm myself. How could I have been away from my love this long and not know it?
Despite being the bearer of bad news, I adore my doctor. He's answered all the questions I've asked about myself and promises that I will be able to leave the hospital soon. I like him mostly because he doesn't try to hide anything from me.
After I awoke, I begged Mom to tell me what happened for days, my mind still blurry about what transpired during the accident. All she would tell me was that we would talk about it some other time. I stopped asking her any questions related to the accident, since there was no way to pull the information from her.
Mom is, and always has been an amazing parent and my best friend. I assumed she didn't think I was ready to know yet. She doesn't want me to hurt any longer than I already am and thinks she's being a good parent by hiding the truth from me. She's protecting me just as she has my entire life.
So…I had to pull all the information from my elderly doctor while she was away. His patience with me, that was the only thing that held me together as he told me of all the events that transpired.
"Macy? How are you feeling?" Mom asks, breaking me from my thoughts. At least my thoughts pulled me from the reality of the world surrounding me.
I close my eyes and pull the sheets further up my body until my chin's covered. "I feel the same way that I did when you asked me five minutes ago,"
"I know you don't want to talk. I just need to know that you're alright," she sighs, looking back to the book in her lap.
"I know, Mom," I mumble, "I just don't know how to answer your questions. I want to be okay and I am physically. Sure, I hurt. Sometimes it's more than I can bear. But, the thing that bothers me the most isn't something that you can kiss better."
"I know, Sweetheart. I'm so sorry," she whispers, reaching out to hold my hand.
I curl my fingers around hers and look up into her blue eyes that seem so tired, but not as lifeless as they once did. I'm glad that I could convince her to go home for a few days, even though she fought me the entire time. Now, her loose curls bounce around her face, the naturally gray streaks now hidden beneath a layer of meticulously placed hair dye.
"Mom, when you were still with Dad. Did it scare you when you thought of losing him?" I ask, not even knowing where that question came from myself.
"It scared me to death," she says, a look crossing her face that tells me that she's thinking of the good times, "I thought that your father would be by my side until the end of forever, but some things aren't meant to be. We had a once in a lifetime kind of love, but sometimes that isn't even enough."
"It was enough for Henry and I...." I whimper, tears threatening to spill down my face.
"I know, Sweetheart. What you had with Henry was special. It always will be and you will cherish your time with him for the rest of your life, but one day...you'll have to move on."
"I'm not ready to talk about moving on, Mom," I hiss, turning on my side to face the bl
ank wall with the single door that will one day lead to my freedom.
"I'm sorry...." she whispers. I can hear her stand up and her lips press against my temple a moment later.
"I just want to go home," I sigh before closing my eyes and allowing my mind to shut down for a while.
∞∞∞
A knock on the door brings me back to the present and I lift my head from my pillow. My hand slides down my face as I rub the sleep from my eyes.
“Come in,” I call, my throat sore from all the crying.
“Hello, Sweetheart,” Mom says as she enters the room, several plastic bags in her hands. “I brought you some real clothes.”
I push myself into a sitting position. “Oh, thanks.”
A sad look crosses her face and it makes my pulse quicken.
“Mom, what’s going on?” I ask, the words rushing from my lips, “Is something wrong?”
She looks up to me but shakes her head, her loose curls bouncing around her face. “Nothing’s wrong, Sweetheart.” I can hear unspoken words in her tone.
“You’re lying,” I tell her, not giving her a chance to hide something from me.
“I’m not lying, Macy,” she says, a slight blush appearing across her cheeks. Liar.
“Then what’s going on?”
“I have to go back to work. Mr. Heiman called me this morning to tell me he couldn’t hold my position any longer and that since you’re now awake and well that I have to be in first thing tomorrow,” she says as she sits at the foot of my bed, her hand rubbing my sheet covered legs.
“That’s all?” I ask, not believing that was the only thing on her mind.
“I don’t want to leave you….” she confesses, “You aren’t ready to be alone yet. I know you think you are, but it’s just too soon. So, I might have called your father to come stay until you’re released.”
“Oh?” I breathe. I wasn’t expecting that. Of course, I love Dad, but I would have never in a million years have guessed that Mom would call him. I can only recall a handful of civil conversations between the two of them since their split.
“I’m sorry, Sweetheart,” she says, her hand squeezing my knee gently.
“Oh, Mom…that’s fine. You just had me worried,” I admit.
I’m excited to see Dad. I know the one reason he hasn’t been by to see me is because Mom’s here all day and night. I can’t blame him, she tends to snap on him. Plus, he works as a trucker and he’s all over the United States. When I usually call him, he answers with a ‘Denver’ or ‘Nashville’. It’s our little game that we’ve played as long as I can remember. It will be nice to spend some time with him.
“You’re not mad?” she asks. “I can just tell Mr. Heiman that I can’t come back yet. He won’t fire me because he can’t find someone as good to replace me. I think the man just misses me.”
“No, Mom. I’m not mad,” I tell her as I reach down to grasp her hand with my own.
“Oh, good!” she sighs, her body immediately relaxing.
“I know you don’t care for him anymore, but Dad has really changed over the years.” I tell her, something that I know I’ve repeated many times since we left him.
“Oh, I know, Sweetheart. I just can’t forget what we went through. I loved him once, you know....” she tells me, a sad, forlorn look on her face. It reminds me of the fact that throughout all the years, she never found love again.
Mom decided to finally leave Dad shortly after my thirteenth birthday. We were the least important things in his life, and he did little to change our minds. I refused to leave Mom to fend for herself and we packed all our belongings away, to start a new life. He never said a word as we left him in a home that was a shell of what it had once been.
I remember Mom driving us to our new home in town, tears streaming down her face. I believe she finally realized that there would never be a place for us in his heart. By the time we arrived at our new home, which was a small two-bedroom apartment, her tears were dry and she entered our home as a new woman.
We were finally happy in the days and weeks following the move. Mom and I had a feeling of worth for the first time in many years. Yet, I knew she was broken on the inside. To this day, I know she’s never healed from it. The man that once loved her enough to ask for her to marry him watched her leave without speaking a word.
“I know you loved him, Mom. I just feel bad when I spend time with him, I always have,” I confess.
“Sweetheart, you don’t need to feel bad about spending time with him. He’s your father. Nothing will change that. He’s a better man now than he was. Just because I can’t get over things in the past doesn’t mean that you should do the same….” she says as she grabs the bags containing my clothes, “Now, do you want help up so we can get you into some actual clothes?”
“No thanks, Mom. I can do it,” I say with a shake of my head. I climb to my shaky legs and shuffle to the bathroom.
I close the door behind me and spare no time stripping from my gown. The cold air bites at my skin, causing goosebumps to pop up across my entire body. I waste no time turning on the shower, the steam making the room heat instantly. I hear a knock on the door and open it a crack before Mom’s hands appear, holding shampoo, conditioner and some body wash.
“Thank you,” I call through the door and take the bottles from her. After I’ve sat them on the small built-in shelf along the shower, I step into the scalding hot water. A hiss escapes my lips, but I don’t mind the heat. Not one for wasting time, I quickly lather my legs with the shaving cream and get to work.
I’m nearly out of breath by the time I finish shaving. After eyeing the bottle of shampoo for a moment, I decide to go ahead and get it over with. What I’m not expecting is how awkward it is to wash my hair one handed. It takes a few minutes, but I finally get the hang of it. I silently thank the heavens that I’m still in the hospital, because I would have run out of hot water.
I’m finally done and I can’t remember the last time I felt so clean. My hand pats at the towel rack beside the shower and grab a big, fluffy towel to dry off with. Once I figure out a way to wrap it around my body, I step out of the shower completely refreshed.
“Mom, are you still in there?” I call.
“Yes, Sweetheart, do you need something?” she asks, her voice from just beyond the door. She must have been sitting close in case I needed help.
“Clothes!” I call out, slightly embarrassed that I forgot.
A moment later, the door cracks open and she hands me my clothes. I notice what she’s picked out for me, which is a pair of black cotton briefs and a dark blue sheath dress. It’s easy to pull the clothes on and before long, I’m swinging the door open.
“Wow, welcome back to the land of the living,” a voice says from the doorway, I glance to my left and spy a face I didn’t expect to see so soon.
"Denny?" I sob, reaching out for him.
"Come here, Hon," he whispers before rushing to my side.
He wraps his long arms around my shoulders and I can't contain the tears that flow down my cheeks and onto his shirt. It feels as though a weight's been lifted. I needed this. God, I've needed this hug for the last few weeks.
"Where have you been?" I ask, sniffling the tears away as I pull back to look him in the face.
"I had a few things that I had to take care of...." he says vaguely before kissing my cheek.
I stare up into his face and trace my fingers across the new piercing that runs through his eyebrow. His mocha colored eyes stare down at me, tears threatening to spill down his face. I trace his eyes, wiping the tears from his sinfully long eyelashes.
"I'm so happy you're here!" I whimper, burying my face in his chest.
"I wish that I could have come sooner. I came to see you right after the accident, but things came up and I couldn’t visit for a while. I made it back as quick as I could when your mom told me that you woke up," he tells me, his voice barely audible since his face is pressed into the top of my head.
<
br /> "You're here now and that's all that matters. I missed you so much, Denny," I mumble into his shirt.
His hands rub up and down my back, the multiple rings on his fingers massaging the skin that his digits touch. I take in a deep breath, inhaling the scent that I can only describe as being Denny. For the first time since waking up from this terrible nightmare, I can feel my body relax. With tears stinging my eyes, I pull back and run my fingers through his shoulder length onyx colored curls.
"How long will you be here?" I ask, my stomach dropping at the thought of him leaving me.
"Well, I'm not going anywhere because I'm here for good. Your dad helped me move some things out of storage. I hope you don't mind, but you have some colorful decor around the house now," he chuckles before kissing the knuckles across my left hand.
"I'll rest a lot easier knowing that someone’s watching over the house since I'm being held prisoner," I sigh before laying back on my pillows.
I take a moment to take a close look at my best friend. There are bags the size of Texas underneath his eyes, telling me that he hasn't had a decent night’s sleep in a long time. The usually mischievous and playful glint to his dark brown eyes is gone. The long-sleeved t-shirt even hangs off him like he's a skeleton. Hell, he's always been kind of lean and lanky, but this is ridiculous.
"Denny, what's going on with you?" I ask, reaching out to take his hand in mine.
A haunted look crosses his face before he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. I don't like this side of my Denny….
"I'm just glad you're alright. You look a lot better than I expected...." he tells me before squeezing my hand.
"Yeah, you probably expected to see me bedridden and skeletal," I joke, for probably the first time since waking up.
The Dying Fate (The Umbra Chronicles Book 1) Page 3
