Page 117 of Up In Flames
Someone flicks the lights off, and I open my eyes a little wider, although they feel heavy as fuck. I understand that I’m in a hospital, but nothing else makes sense. My leg has multiple steel rods sticking out of it that are all attached to each other, and my back and ass are killing me. My left arm is in a sling, and my neck and headache remind me of my jet-ski injury. But worst of all is my chest. The space between my pecs is so fucking sore it hurts to breathe.
Before I can start asking questions, a nurse races into my room askingmea thousand questions about pain, numbness, tingling, and memory before yelling down the hall for the doctor. Ten minutes feel like sixty while the doctor pokes and prods. It’s embarrassing as all fuck when he lifts the sheets to check the urine bag attached to the side of my bed.
Shoot me now.
I’m slow to process everything, but I try to move my left hand and bat him away.Fucking ow! Won’t be doing that again.
After an eternity, the doctor says, “You’ve been in a terrible car accident. You’re only alive because of the quick action of thefirst responders on the scene. You sustained multiple fractures, including your right tibia and fibula, as well as multiple ribs, multiple vertebrae in your cervical spine, a ruptured spleen, and both of your lungs collapsed. Your sternum has suffered a deep bruise as well, but didn’t break thanks to the deployment of the airbag. However, because you were traveling at a high rate of speed, the impact was pretty severe. You had emergency surgery to realign the bones in your leg and stop the internal bleeding from your ruptured spleen, which had to be removed. Your visitors are allowed to stay because your vitals are stable, but keep your heart rate down, don’t move, and if you experience any sharp pain or bleeding, hit your call button immediately. Otherwise, they’ll all be asked to leave. You’re not out of the woods yet.”
Well, that was a fuck-ton to process.
When the doctor leaves the room, I don’t even know where to start, so I go to the one person whose presence surprises me most in the room.
“D?” Staring at a version of myself I haven’t seen in almost ten months, something wet trails down my cheeks as he approaches my bed, and I swipe at my face only to pull my hand away and see a streak of rose-colored blush across my hand.
“Hey, Bird. Long time no see,” my twin says. The smile on his face is the most confusing part until he reaches over and swipes his thumb across my cheek.
Did I imagine the events of the last few months? Was it all some weird, trippy, drug-induced dream?It can’t have been, though, because Knox is at my side.
You’re only alive because of the quick action of the first responders on the scene,the doctor had said.
I slide my eyes toward Knox, who is wearing a blue Engine 286 sweatshirt.
“It was you,” I state matter-of-factly, unsure how I know with such certainty that my boyfriend is the one who pulled me from the wreckage.
Knox nods. “Yeah, baby. It was me. It’llalwaysbe me…whenever, wherever, and however you need me, I’ll be there.”
Not caring that everyone is watching us, not caring that I still have so many questions, and not caring that this is the mostunromantic moment of my life, I slowly grab Knox’s hand where it rests on the bed and bring it to my lips. The movement almost makes me blackout from pain.
Worth it.
When I look down at the spot I kissed, there’s a pink, glittery lip print…and my nails are painted.
“Am I wearing lip gloss?” I ask the room. “And I love this color. Who did my nails?”
Livvy laughs. “You’re also wearing foundation and blush because your complexion was hideous,” she says, trying very hard not to cry—and failing. “I did your nails. Knox did your makeup.” A look of admiration crosses her features as she adds, “He said you like the way the brushes feel and thought it might help you relax or wake up faster.”
I try to turn my head toward Knox, but he stops me. “Baby, you’ve literally broken your neck. Please stop trying to move,” he says, moving back into my full line of sight.
“I’m so sorry for leaving you,” I say, starting to cry. “Please forgive me. I love you,” I say, the words spewing from my mouth. They’re honest words, but I wish I had said them earlier and definitely during a moment less traumatic than this one…and without an audience.
“I love you, too, Princess.Sofucking much.”
He presses a whisper of a kiss to my lips. When he stands up straight again, my eyes dart to my parents and widen.
“Yeah, son, we know,” my dad says.
“How long have I been out?” My tongue still feels sloppy, but the more I talk, the clearer my speech becomes. It helps even more when Knox holds a plastic cup with a straw to my mouth.
“Three days,” Ashton answers as he walks in the door, followed by Francesca. They have multiple bags between the two of them, and the scent of cheeseburgers fills the air. “Scariest fucking days of our lives, Tay.”
“Ohmygod, Bird! You’re awake!” Francy yells.
I wince at the volume, and Knox rubs his hand over my hair as he gently tells my sister, “He’s going to be noise—and light—sensitive for a while, like he was after his concussion. It’s best to whisper and lower the pitch of your voice if you can.”
“Bird, your father and I owe you an apology,” my mother chimes in before moving to the foot of my bed and placing her hand on my good ankle.
Remembering that I heard Patrick’s voice, my eyes briefly flick to the spot where he stood before they move back to my mother.
