Page 16 of Crimson Promises
But Aurora James never gets a happy ending. Or the chance to even explore one. Like a magnet, I attracted tragedy and heartache wherever I went.
I never made it to Perk & Pour.
* * *
The beeping of my steady pulse was what first stirred me awake. I opened my eyes a fraction, and the blinding white of the room forced me to shut them again.
“Honey, are you awake? Can you hear me?” A warm hand squeezed mine. Dad.
I tried to swallow. My throat felt like sandpaper; it was rough and coarse. I couldn’t get any words out. All the movement I could muster was running my finger over the ridges on one of his knuckles.
He broke out in a sob. “I’m so happy you’re okay. You gave us quite the scare, young lady. I’m going to call the doctor. They should check you out. Make sure everything’s all good.” I heard the scraping of the chair as he moved to stand up.
Quickly, I touched his finger once more.
“What is it, Aurora?”
I managed to point my finger upwards.
“Is it the temperature? Is it too cold?”
I kept my finger still.
“Are you in pain? Maybe you need medicine?” I was, but that oddly wasn’t the most pressing concern.
I pointed up one more time.
“The lights?”
I tapped his knuckle twice.
“Want me to lower them? They’re probably too bright.”
He either shut or dimmed the lights. Either way, it was a sweet relief not to feel like my eyeballs would be scorched by the earth’s core. The soles of his work boots screeched against the floor as he made his way back toward me. “I’m going to call the doctor. Be right back.”
Ever so slowly, I nodded.
When I heard the faint click of the door, I tentatively opened my eyes. With heavy lids, the hospital room came into a fuzzy focus. Somehow, I had ended up in a private room. No windows. The smell of antiseptic permeated the air. A negatoscope held films of my body at the back of the room, casting the room in an eerie glow. It was tough to see the details, but there were no fractures or broken bones.
My gaze dropped to my wrist and then my ribcage. There was nothing. Not a cast, no bandage. A thin red line was the only evidence of any injury. I lifted my shirt and felt around my ribs. It was too painful to twist my torso to see anything. The skin was tender and must be bruised. But I remembered bits and pieces from the accident: namely, having a glass shard inside me. Shouldn’t there be stitches, at the very least?
The jiggle of the doorknob caught my attention. I snapped my eyes closed. A female voice was murmuring to my dad. Someone flicked the lights back on.
As Dad touched my elbow, I blinked my eyes open against the glare of the fluorescent lights. Tears shimmered in the corners. I reached for his hand and held it just as tightly as he had held mine earlier.
Cold hands pulled my attention away from him. A nurse, the female voice with big tangerine hair, had her hands pressed to the sides of my throat. When she caught my gaze, she said, “Didn’t want to interrupt, but I need to check you out.”
I cleared my throat. “Of course.” It comes out sounding strangled even to my ears. Dad brought a cup of water to my mouth. I gulped voraciously.
“Glad to see you found your voice again. Your dad mentioned that you had a sensitivity to the light. Completely normal, but I’m just going to take a look.” She clicked a flashlight. “Can you follow the light with your left eye?”
I did as she asked.
“Now your right.”
When she was done, she slid the flashlight into the breast pocket of her scrubs.
Every time I closed my eyes, flashbulbs exploded. I placed my hands on the plastic rails of the bed to steady me.
