Page 13 of Drifting

It all comes back in a rush.

I wrecked my car. What made me wreck?

Oh, god, Cin. I let Cin and the team down.

Tears slowly run down my face, and when I go to wipe them away, I can’t move my left arm.

“Take it easy, Ms. Winters. Do you know where you are?”

Swallowing, I lick my dry lips. “Hospital.”

“Good. My name is Betty. I’m your nurse. Let me check a few things, then I’ll get the doctor so we can get you some pain medicine.”

Does she have to sound so damn cheery? I’m so not in the mood.

Oblivious, she continues, “After we get you settled, there’s a Mrs. Abney here to visit you.”

I squeeze my eyes tight. Mrs. Abney, my social worker, and the one person I’ve been running from for almost three years. I grimace in pain.

“Oh, I know it hurts.” She pats my shoulder. “I’ll go get the doctor. Hang on.”

My curiosity gets the better of me. I need to find out what kind of damage I did to myself.

Slowly, I open my eyes, squinting until I get used to the brightness. My left arm is up in a sling contraption, and when I throw off the sheet, a cast covers my right leg.

The door slides open, and an older gentleman walks in. He has neatly combed, ebony hair with a bit of white at the temples, and black glasses frame his angular face.

Not bad for an older guy, if he wiped the scowl off his face.

He doesn’t even glance up as he types away on his tablet. “Ms. Winter, I’m Dr. Mitchell. I saw you when you first came in. You have a comminuted fracture and compound on your left arm which, in layman's terms, mean you have multiple broken bones, and some of those bones broke through your skin. The orthopedic doctor will operate on you sometime tomorrow. He’ll be putting in pins and rods in the bone in your arm so your arm will heal correctly.

“As for your leg, you have a simple fracture, which the cast will help to heal correctly. Because of your head and neck harness, you didn’t receive any severe spinal injury, but the seatbelt caused pulmonary contusions. It will hurt for a while when you try to take a deep breath. Please leave the oxygen tube under your nose while you’re here. It’s to help you breathe.

“We needed adult authorization to do the surgeries, but the information we had for your mother is incorrect. Luckily, a Mrs. Abney arrived with the proper papers and permitted us to do the operation.”

Yep, lucky, that’s me.

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from asking why they need Patty or Mrs. Abney to okay the surgery. I’ve taken care of myself for most of my life. Why do I need their permission to be fixed up? Man, does that piss me off. Just because they’re older doesn’t mean they’re better qualified to know what’s best for me.

“You’ll have a cast on your arm and leg for the next several weeks. While you’re here, you will receive pain meds intravenously. You also have two bruised ribs that we’ve wrapped for now. The bruising around your face and chest will dissipate. Any questions?”

“How long am I stuck in this place?”

“Your social worker will tell you.” He glares down at me over the top of his glasses. “Any medical questions?”

He thinks I’m another troubled kid acting out.

“How long will the casts be on for?” There’s your medical question.

He takes off his glasses and puts them in his pocket. “It will take between four to eight weeks, depending on if you listen to what we say and how well your bones heal.”

“Eight weeks!” I exclaim, then wince as pain flares through my body. “How the hell do you expect me to get around?”

“Maybe you should have considered that before you got behind the wheel of a race car. Now, if you have no more questions, I have other patients to see.” He tucks his tablet under his arm and lifts a brow.

I bite my lip, turning my head away from him, and stare out the window.

He mutters something to the nurse, then leaves.

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