Unrestricted

by K. A. Berg

  Whose voice is that? It doesn’t sound familiar at all. Then again, nothing seems familiar right now.

  Something warm rests on my forehead. Suddenly, one of my eyelids is pulled up, and a blinding light shines into my eye.

  “Argh!” I moan. At least my voice works.

  “Ashley?” Tanner’s voice is much closer now.

  I try to shake my head to get the light out of my eye. “That hurts.” I push the words past my lips even though my throat is sore as hell. My whole damn body is in pain. What the hell happened to me?

  “You’re hurting her,” Tanner snaps at the person shining the light at me.

  “I have to examine her. I’m sorry, Ms. Mitchell, but I need to check you over. How are you feeling?” the stranger I’m assuming is a doctor asks.

  “Everything freaking hurts.” My voice sounds as though someone is squeezing my throat as I try to talk.

  “Why is she in pain? I thought at least one of those million tubes sticking out of her was for pain medication,” Tanner asks, sounding more annoyed than I feel.

  “We lessened the dosage because we needed her to regain consciousness. Sometimes the pain medication keeps patients asleep. We needed to know whether she was still unconscious because of her injuries or the medication. I’ll increase the meds again after I finish my assessment,” the doctor explains. “Ashley, can you open your eyes for me?”

  Sure, no problem. Take the fifty-pound weights off of them.

  “They’re really heavy,” I say, trying to open them anyway. Who would have ever thought it would be a struggle to open my eyes? With some effort, I’m able to open them slightly, but all the lights are blinding. “Can you shut off the lights?”

  “Sure, baby,” Tanner says, presumably rushing to turn them off. Why is he calling me baby? Why is he the only one here right now?

  “Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?” I ask, expending far more energy than I normally would to speak the simple sentence.

  I hear a quick intake of breath from the side of the bed Tanner’s on. “Doctor?” he questions, panic in his voice.

  “What’s the last thing you remember, Ashley?” the doctor asks.

  “Umm...” The last thing I remember? I don’t really know. Everything is hazy. Something next to me starts beeping quickly, making me feel even more alarmed. “I don’t know… Why don’t I know? What’s going on?” The beeping gets faster as endless questions swirl in my mind.

  “Ashley, take a few deep breaths for me and try to calm down. Everything’s okay. I promise. You’re working yourself up right now,” the doctor says gently. “Why don’t we start with some simple things? Do you know your full name?”

  “Yes, Ashley Marie Mitchell. Can I have some water, please?” If I’m going to continue talking, I need something to make my throat stop burning.

  I hear water pouring. Through narrowed eyes, I see Tanner hold out a cup to me.

  “Here, baby,” he says.

  I try to reach out with my left arm, but I can’t. It hurts like a bitch. The shooting pain prompts me to pry my eyes fully open. Now I have to know what the hell is happening. My arm is encased in a white cast from my wrist all the way up to my armpit. What the fuck happened?

  “Why is my arm in a cast? Someone please tell me what’s going on. Tanner?”

  His face is covered by a mask of sorrow, and it frightens me. That stupid machine beeps faster again as I look him over. Tanner’s gaze meets the doctor’s, but he doesn’t say anything until the doctor nods.

  “You were in a car accident,” he says slowly, as though it physically pains him to say the words.

  A car accident? I try to sift through my memories, but everything’s still cloudy. I certainly don’t remember an accident. I try to conjure the last thing I can remember before waking up here, and I can’t. It’s all just a jumble of incomplete thoughts and blurry memories that don’t fit together. My heart races, and it becomes harder to breathe. What happened to me?

  “Why don’t I remember it?” If I don’t remember, then something must be wrong with me. How can I not remember being in an accident? My freaking arm’s broken, for Christ’s sake. How can I not remember my arm breaking?

  “Given some time, I think you will. You hit your head pretty hard, and you had a collapsed lung. Because of that, your brain was deprived of oxygen for a little bit. Why don’t we start with what you do remember?” Doctor Whoever asks.

  I rack my brain for memories. A thousand things whirl around inside my head, but nothing makes sense.

  “Do you know who this is?” he asks, pointing to Tanner.

  “Yes,” I answer, but I’m still trying to figure out why he’s here. I try to sit up, but my damn legs aren’t working right either apparently.

  I feel panic setting in again, and the fucking beeping speeds up once more, making my already-pounding headache worse. Looking down, I notice the blanket spread over my lower body for the first time. I can’t see any damage, but if I can’t really move my legs… am I paralyzed? No, wait, I can’t be paralyzed. I can feel the awful pain in one of my legs, and it hurts like hell.

  “What’s wrong with my legs? Why can’t I move them? Why does it hurt like crazy? Someone please tell me what is going on!” I try to shout, but my throat still feels as though it’s on fire. Why won’t anyone tell me what the hell happened to me?

  “Shh,” Tanner says, running his hand down the side of my head, smoothing my hair out of my face. “It’s okay. You have a dislocated knee. There’s a big immobilizing brace on it.”

  “Take a minute and give yourself some time. What’s the last thing you remember?” the doctor asks yet again.

  If I knew, I’d fucking tell him. Even so, I try again, thinking for a minute before the memory of a crowd comes back. “Work,” I say at last. “It was cold.” I think so anyway. There are vague little blips in my recollection, but I don’t know what they’re from.

  “Okay, that’s good. Anything else?” he asks as he grabs a clipboard and pen. He writes something down quickly on what I assume is my chart.

  “You,” I tell Tanner. His face on all the televisions at the bar.

  “Me?” He looks as though that’s the last thing he’d expected me to say.

  “Yes, you… were all over the TV.” He nods, seeming sad. Why would that make him sad?

  I close my eyes, willing myself to remember—cold, work, Tanner… “Bed,” I say. “I wanted to go to bed.”

  “Good, Ashley. Good. Take your time,” the doctor says.

  My eyes are still closed, but I hear him writing.

  “You’re doing great, Ash.” Tanner continues running his hand through my hair.

  I instinctively lean into his touch. I feel like I shouldn’t be doing this, but for some reason, I can’t stop it.

  “Beeping… I remember a car horn.” Like a hole in a dam, memories are trickling in. “Lights, bright lights… Oh my God!” I gasp as the mental dam bursts, and I’m unable to stop the flow of images flooding my mind. My mobile hand instinctively moves toward my stomach, and I look at Tanner in shocked comprehension.

  His eyes are locked on my hand, and I see the tears welling in them. He must know I’ve just remembered the most important thing ever.

  “NO!” I shake my head, despite the excruciating pain. “No! No!” I shout, knowing the truth without having to ask. The baby. Oh my God! How the hell could I have not remembered him the second I woke up?

  Tears run down Tanner’s face as he stares at me. I continue to shake my head as though denying it will make it not true.

  “I’m so sorry, baby,” Tanner says, choking on a sob.

  I turn toward the doctor, hoping he’ll tell me Tanner and I are both wrong, but he has on the same sad face Tanner had been wearing a few minutes earlier.

  “Can you turn the pain medicine back up?” I ask, knowing full well it’ll knock me back out. “Everything hurts.” Maybe I’ll wake up and this will have been a bad dream.

&nb
sp; “Sure,” the doctor says before heading out of the room.

  He’d better get back with the medication quickly. I don’t want to remember anything anymore. I want to go back to five minutes ago, when I had been blissfully ignorant—when my world had still been intact.

  The accident might as well have killed me. What do I have left to live for now? Why? Why couldn’t God have taken me too? What have I ever done to deserve this? How am I supposed to go on after experiencing the first joys of being a mom—even if he hadn’t been here yet—and then having it all ripped away from me? What’s the point?

  I hear them talking about me, but I don’t let on I’m awake.

  “Why didn’t you call me?” Quinn asks.

  “She was only awake for about ten minutes before she asked them to up her pain meds. I was more concerned with her lack of memory at the time,” Tanner snaps. “There was no point in calling you back after they gave her the meds. The doctor said they would probably knock her back out for at least a few hours.”

  “What do you mean ‘lack of memory’? Like brain damage?” She sounds scared.

  “No, she remembered who she was, who I was. When he started asking her questions about what she remembered, things came back slowly,” Tanner explains.

  “Did she remember the baby?” Quinn asks.

  “Not at first. It took her a few minutes, but then she did.”

  I hear the sadness in his voice, and it angers me. I remember so much more now. The dreams I’ve had since waking up here have been like a reel of the last few months.

  “How’d she take it?” Alex asks. I hadn’t realized he was here too.

  “As soon as she remembered, she asked for the meds. I can’t say I blame her. I wish I could get something to knock me the hell out.”

  I could help him with that. I wish I could knock him out with my new cast.

  “You didn’t get to tell her about him?” Quinn asks, piquing my interest.

  Tanner sighs. “No, we didn’t get to tell her much at all. She knows about the accident, her arm, her knee, and her head injury. I don’t know how I’m going to tell her about him. I memorized everything I could about him, but I don’t know how to relay it all back to her.”

  My blood boils hearing his words. “You mean you got to see my son and I didn’t?” I practically growl, but I don’t open my eyes. I don’t want to see his face right now.

  “Sweets?” Quinn says.

  I hear her move toward me, and it’s only a few seconds before I feel her hand grasp mine, squeezing. “How are you feeling?”

  “Answer my question,” I demand, finally opening my eyes to glare at Tanner with all the contempt I feel right now.

  “Yes,” he says, sounding defeated.

  “Get out!” I tell him.

  “Ashley,” Quinn says gently.

  “No!” I cut her off before turning back toward Tanner. “I remember everything now. Being knocked back out wasn’t the sanctuary I’d been hoping for. GET OUT!”

  Alex pats him on the back. “Come on, Tag. You could use a little fresh air. It’s been awhile,” he says, trying to lead Tanner toward the door.

  I know I should feel bad. His eyes are swimming with pain and hurt but too fucking bad. The asshole got to see my son, and I won’t ever be able to say the same. I’m not sure how long I was out for, but I know it was long enough there’s no way I’ll get to see my baby.

  Even though I’d expected him to, Tanner doesn’t argue. He just sighs, accepting his defeat, and heads toward the door.

  “That wasn’t very nice,” Quinn says. “He hasn’t left your side for four days. He didn’t even celebrate his big win. He dropped everything, came running, and hasn’t left since.”

  “I don’t give a shit, Quinn. I don’t need to hear about him right now. Tell me everything.”

  Quinn relays the details of the accident back to me, and they sound like the plot of a horrible movie. I don’t know why I’m surprised. This is the way my life goes. Of course, Tanner would be the only one who got to see my son—ironic, considering Tanner didn’t want him in the first place. Yet somehow, I’m the one paying for his bad karma.

  I’m surprisingly glad the doctor comes in just as Quinn finishes recounting my horror story. He’s a welcome distraction from my thoughts.

  “Glad to see you awake, Ashley,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

  “My whole body feels like it was hit by a car,” I answer sarcastically. I mean, how does he think I feel? What a stupid question. It reminds me of the conversation Tanner and I had about the dumb questions reporters ask during their interviews.

  “Well, I guess that’s pretty accurate.” He doesn’t seem too fazed by my wit. “I assume you’ve been given some information regarding your injuries.” He looks back and forth between Quinn and me.

  “Not really,” Quinn answers. “I only gave her the rundown of the accident.”

  “Okay, well, let’s start with your head injury. All of your scans look fine. I don’t expect any permanent damage. Your memories are coming back but expect things to be a little muddled for a bit. You may also notice some trouble paying attention and difficulty making decisions. All normal. You’ll probably notice some trouble getting your mind and body to work together—also normal.

  “As for your arm, the upper bone—your humerus—was broken in the crash. It punctured your skin and required surgery. There’s a metal rod and screws holding it all together now. Due to the severity of the break, expect to be in the cast for eight to twelve weeks,” he explains.

  “Twelve weeks?” I ask, shocked and pissed off. Twelve fucking weeks with this fucking cast on?

  The doctor nods and continues, “We’ve been monitoring you for signs of infection, and you’ve been receiving antibiotics through your IV as a precaution. You also have two broken ribs—one of which punctured your left lung. We had to make a small incision near your left breast, where we inserted a chest tube.”

  I look down, wondering how the hell I could’ve missed a tube sticking out of my chest. There’s no tube there, and I look back up at the doctor in confusion.

  “It was removed yesterday because you were breathing much better. We expect no complications there. As for the broken ribs, you’re going to be very sore and may notice some pain with breathing.”

  Well, at this point everything fucking hurts, so I probably won’t notice shit.

  “Your knee was dislocated, but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been in a crash like yours. The orthopedic surgeon will explain the recovery process in more depth to you, but for now, the knee has been set back in place, and the ligament damage was repaired. You’ll be in the brace for about eight weeks. Your leg, like your arm, will require significant physical therapy—probably about nine to twelve months’ worth before your leg feels back to normal. Well, as normal as it will after this kind of injury.”

  “How the hell am I going to do a goddamn thing with only one arm and one leg?”

  First, I lost my son, and now I’m basically an invalid.

  “You’re alive,” Quinn says softly. “It could have been much worse.”

  “Maybe for you. Starting to seem like it would’ve been best for me if the damn accident had just killed me,” I say in complete earnestness. Why not just let me die? Why take my son and then leave me in this hell, for at least a year based on what the doctor is telling me? “So, what else is all fucked up, doc?” I don’t care whether or not he thinks I’m a complete bitch.

  “Well,” he responds with some attitude of his own. Fuck him. “We had to remove your spleen, which will make you more susceptible to infection from now on, but all in all, you’ll be fine without it. After that, we delivered the baby by caesarean. The procedure went fine. There was no permanent damage preventing future children. The OB will also give you more information on the procedure when he comes in.”

  “Anything else?” I ask, entirely done with this conversation. I want to drift back off into the darkness, where I can
hopefully dream about life as though it hadn’t just been completely ripped away from me.

  “No. Do you have any questions?”

  “Can I have another dose of whatever you’re giving me for pain, please?”

  He nods and looks toward Quinn, silently asking if she has any questions.

  “How long does she have to stay?” Good question. Funny I hadn’t thought to ask it.

  “I’d say at least a few more days. We’ll reassess everything at the end of the week.”

  Great! I get to stay and look at the same ugly walls for a few more days. Wonder if I can just stay in a drug-induced coma until I have to face the real world—or better yet, for the rest of my now-miserable life.

  “What day is it?” I ask, not feeling up to the effort of counting the days out in my head.

  “Thursday,” Quinn says in unison with the doctor whose name I still don’t know. Not that I really care.

  “Oh…” Yep, four days. That’s right.

  “I’ll have a nurse administer another dose of medication for you,” the doctor says before leaving the room.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Quinn asks.

  “No, I don’t want to fucking talk about it. I don’t want to talk about how my life has been torn to shreds or how I didn’t get to meet my son but the asshole who helped create him did. Why the fuck is he even here anyway?” I know she’s just trying to be a good friend, but I don’t have it in me to care.

  “Because I called him. He had every right to be here, Ashley. I know you’re pissed, but do you realize we didn’t know if you’d even make it? We had no clue if you were going to wake up, and if you did wake up, we didn’t know if you would be you or some mushed up version of yourself. Be mad all you want, but the only thing I care about right now is you’re alive and you’re you.”

  I hear the anger in her voice and see the fear still lingering in her eyes. I shouldn’t be mad at her for calling people to lean on, but I can’t stand the thought of Tanner getting to see my baby when I won’t get to.

  “Am I me, Quinn? Look at me!” I yell. “I’m a fucking invalid. I can’t even wipe my own ass! I’m stuck in this fucking bed like a useless piece of shit. You heard him—almost a year of recovery! Yeah, I’m really alive, and I’m really me. Tell me what the fucking point is. Huh? It would’ve been easier for you to plan a funeral instead of having to wait on me for the next several months, and it would’ve been easier for me to have never woken up! At least one of us is happy I’m alive…” I turn my head away from her since it’s the only part of my body I have any control over right now, ignoring her tears.