Page 2 of Puck Blocked
Chapter One
Present
My lashes feel like they’re glued shut, my lids heavy as I try to pry them open while something hammers around inside my brain. I choose the option of keeping my eyes closed for a minute. I just need another minute.
As I lie here, the sounds of machines humming and beeping, the smell of antiseptic, and the coldness of the air let me know I’m in a hospital. They also let me know I’m still alive. Although these days I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.
It’s not that I want to die exactly. I just don’t want to live. When living is filled with nothing but pain, what’s the point? I’ve been trying. I thought I was doing really well.
I thought wrong.
When I hear footsteps enter the room, I slowly blink my eyes open, needing to see who it is, needing to know if it’s him. My body relaxes and the breath I was holding comes out in a whoosh of air the moment I realize it’s a nurse. It’s not him. I’m not surprised, though. He’s never visited me in the hospital before. I doubt he’d start now.
“Hey, darling, how are you feeling?” the nurse asks. The voice, it’s one I recognize, one I’ve heard all my life.
“Mrs. Jameson? What happened?” I ask while bringing my hand to my head. It hurts. Badly. Much worse than usual.
“You were brought in last night, sweetie. You were in a car accident. Do you remember any of it?”
“A car accident?” Of course I was in a car accident. I do my best to not roll my eyes.
“Are you in pain?” Mrs. Jameson offers me a soft smile.
I nod. Because, honestly, right now I’ll take whatever she wants to give me if it means the pain will stop. Although, there isn’t a pill to stop the real pain, the dull ache deep within me that hasn’t left since my brother died. Since I lost Sean and…
Nope, I will not even think his name. He doesn’t exist anymore. Sometimes I wonder if he ever really did. I like to pretend that I made him up in my head, some fantasy a teenage girl created to escape her reality. But then I look at Mrs. Jameson, his mother, and know that’s not right either.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask about him. How is he doing? Is he still hurting as much as I am? Does he miss me? Does he even think about me?
I don’t, though. Instead, I close my eyes and count to six. It’s my magic number, and I’m not going to analyze why it’s that number in particular that seems to calm me whenever I’m at my worst.
I hear Mrs. Jameson’s footsteps head for the door. Then that little click that tells me she’s left. But when I open my eyes, she’s still here. She returns to my bedside and picks up my hand. I brace myself for what’s about to come.
“Montana, sweetie, I’ve just read your file. This isn’t the first accident you’ve been involved in.”
“I’ve always been clumsy,” I say without meeting her eyes.
“This is a little more than just clumsy. What’s going on?”
“I was in a car accident,” I tell her.
“Montana, I can help you. Whatever’s going on, it’s not okay. You don’t need to let this happen to you. Please, let me help you.”
“Mrs. Jameson, I was in a car accident.” My voice breaks when I add, “Please don’t tell anyone anything different.”
“I’m going to get you something for the pain.” I don’t miss the fact she hasn’t agreed to keep my secret before she steps away again. “I’ll be right back.”
When she walks out this time, I let a single tear fall. She’s wrong. She can’t help me. No one can. There’s only one way out of this, and that’s death. I know my time will come soon, and when it does, I’ll be okay. I’ll be with my brother.
I’m numb, staring at the far wall, when I sense someone standing next to me again.
“This is going to make you drowsy. Don’t fight it. Your body needs rest to recover.” Mrs. Jameson injects a clear liquid into the IV. I don’t bother asking what it is, because I don’t care what it is. Anything that sends me into that black abyss of nothingness is fine by me.
I jump at the sound of the key in the door. And rush to put away the textbooks I have scattered around the living room. I’m not supposed to have them. I was supposed to quit school.
I can’t be a good girlfriend if my focus is split between him and something else. He deserves a girlfriend who wants to support him, not someone who only thinks about themselves. I know that, and I’m trying to be that girl. I don’t want to be selfish, but I also don’t want to drop out of school.
As I shove the books under the sofa and pull the cover back so they’re out of sight, I stop and think. Am I like her? My mother? She was selfish. She left her entire family for a younger man. She did what she wanted without caring how it impacted anyone else.
