Hey! I'm finally back! About damn time too. Sorry for the wait, folks. So glad to have another Malec fic up and running. I've got an emotional roller coaster planned for this story, as well as some hot and steamy love. There are going to be some raw topics covered, some things I haven't introduced before. So this ought to be interesting. Anyway, I shan't keep you all waiting any longer. I hope you enjoy this first peek at the story! Cheers, readers!
The first thing I could hear was the pounding of blood in my ears, like a relentless metronome inside my head. Next was the clamour of people, and then, far away in the distance, sirens. The entire right side of my skull throbbed, and the incessant noise was doing little to assuage the pain. Slowly, my eyes peeled open and a wave of confusion rushed over me. I was upside down, and the seatbelt latching me to my seat was digging painfully into my chest and stomach. Ahead of me, the front windshield was spiderwebbed, a beautiful kaleidoscope of fragments splattered here and there with red.
That was when I saw him: The driver in the front seat. Like me, he was still securely buckled into his seat, but past him I could see the large dark splotch of blood smearing the window of his door. Over the surrounding noise, I could hear the faint plip, plip of blood dripping from the driver's head and landing in the pool below him— on the roof of the cab. I could not tell if the man was still alive or if I was staring at a dead body.
My head turned and my focus snagged on the condition of the driver's side of the cab: Both doors were caved inward and the backseat window had been reduced to a small pile of shards now littering the inside of the vehicle. Outside the car, I could see vehicles lined up behind the crosswalk, their hazard lights flashing in rhythm with the dripping of blood from the driver's head. One was farther out in the intersection than the others. People were crowding the street and sidewalk, pointing and holding up cell phones. But those distractions could not keep my eyes drawn away from the state of the door. With the window gone and the frame smashed inward, it was less than secure. It might as well have been wide open, ripped clean off its hinges.
My heart rapidly began to accelerate and a shudder rippled down my spine as though someone had blown a cold breath against the back of my neck.
This is it, Alec. Five seconds. Five seconds of fear.
One.
A ragged whimper escaped my dry throat.
Two.
My dangling hands jerked up to claw at the seatbelt that strangled me and sucked the air out of my chest.
Three.
My entire body began to quake, from the hanging tips of my hair to my feet, which swayed above me. For a moment I thought I was going to pass out.
Four.
My hand whipped out and grasped the door handle beside me, but it did not budge even a fraction as I tried to push it open. Even the window remained sturdily in place as I shoved at it. I had to get out of the car; my anxiety was choking me and I could no longer breathe.
Five.
I screamed. The sound was even terrifying to my own ears, but I could not stop. Fear's victorious laugh, disguised as my scream, continued in an endless song.
Suddenly, a surge of adrenaline hit me like a splash of cold water to the face. My cry cut off and I blinked back tears, numb to everything except the urge to get free of my cage. I braced my hands against the roof of the cab and inhaled deeply.
"Hello?"
The voice was so loud with my sharpened hearing that I jumped, and the car rocked slightly in response. My head whipped to the side and I saw someone peering into the cab through the window frame. He was crouched on the street, his hands raised like he was approaching a frightened animal.
"Can you hear me?" he asked, his words slow and deliberate.
After a moment, I nodded. "Y-yeah."
He smiled and inched closer to the destroyed door. "Listen to me, okay? You were in an accident, but help is on the way and we're going to get you out of there."
Under his calm and soothing voice I could hear the approaching sirens, but they weren't close enough.
With one hand still pushing against the roof, I reached with my other for the buckle of my seat belt.
"Hey," the guy's voice was still composed, but it had heightened in volume. "Don't move, okay? You may have sustained injuries in the accident, and it's a good idea to stay still until the crew gets here and can safely extract you."
I looked at him, staring at his reassuring smile, but my hand was already tapping against my seatbelt. My eyes caught slits of light slipping through the edges of the doorframe. Though it was still jammed shut, all my mind could concentrate on was the fact that the door was partially open.
"That's not going to work for me," I said. My foot joined my hand in a tapping motion. The tics were getting worse.
"Trust me. I'm a doctor. Staying still is going to be better for you in the long run."
"I can't." I bit down on my lip to prevent the escape of the following string of words. I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't.
"Yes you can, and I'm going to help you. We're going to wait out the next two minutes and then—"
My mind was already calculating, thus blocking out the stranger's next words. Sixty seconds in one minute, one hundred and twenty in two. One hundred and twenty divided by five is twenty-four. Twenty-four repetitions.
My head started to spin. I pushed hard against the roof and felt my body press closer to the seat. "One," I counted aloud as my fingers pushed against the buckle. The seatbelt popped free and I fell from the seat, landing hard on my shoulder. The guy outside, the doctor, was shouting, urging me to stay put, but I was already pushing myself onto my hands and knees.
"Two," I whispered.
The ground and car were moving, tilting and slanting, making it difficult even to crawl toward the open window.
"Three."
My hand slipped in the sticky puddle of blood beneath me; I did not spare one second to even look at the driver, still silent behind the wheel.
"Four."
Without even attempting to push the door open, I stretched my hands through the window and reached for the street. The guy outside grabbed one of my arms to steady me. Tiny sharp shards of glass bit into my palm as I all but threw myself through the window. Slivers of pain licked at my knees as they hit the ground hard, glass slicing through my jeans and skin.
The stranger was still holding my arm, albeit loosely. Shakily, I pushed myself to my feet and straightened. Up close, I could see that his eyes were a unique yellow-green, and about as wide as dinner plates.
"Five," I breathed, right before the world disappeared and I began to fall.
"Alexander," a voice called. "Can you hear me?"
I stirred, struggling to breach the surface of consciousness. Before my eyes opened, I became aware of the warmth around me, the slight pressure against my left index finger, and a dull pulsing pain that stretched from my neck to my temples. After they opened, I saw that I was in a small bed, white blankets pulled up to my waist. A gray plastic clip covered my index finger, and connected to it was a wire that hooked up to a monitor. My heart rhythm and blood pressure stared at me from the screen. They last thing I noticed was the man standing at the foot of the bed.
His smile was warm and friendly. "Hello, Alexander. Do you remember me?"
My forehead wrinkled as I squinted at him. He did look familiar. I remembered his yellow-green eyes; they were the last things I saw before. . .
"You were outside the cab." My voice was weak. "You're the doctor."
He nodded. "Very good." There was a binder in his hands. Still smiling, he began to scan through the documents inside, flipping the pages loudly. My chart, I realized. He's reading my chart. As he sifted through my medical history, the man shifted his weight and my eyes flitted to the open doorway behind him.
My pulse jumped in my throat, and through the corner of my vision I saw the numbers on the monitor beside me change. Spiking. My right-hand fingers, at rest beside me, began to tap against my thigh. The bed was already propped up at a gentle angle, so I didn't have to struggle quite so hard to sit up. It was when I turned my body to get my legs over the edge that the doctor noticed me.
He stepped forward, his hand out. "Whoa there. You can't be wandering around; you're body is still recovering. I'm putting you on strict bed rest."
"I, uh, I just need to. . ."
His hand gently pressed against my chest, preventing me from getting up. "Whatever you need, I can grab for you. Just lean back and relax."
"I can't." My hand raked through my hair, and my eyes were magnetized to the doorway. The heart rate monitor began to beep.
"Alexander—"
"The door!" My voice peaked in severity and desperation. "Please, just please, close the door!"
The doctor stepped back, a look of puzzlement on his face. To his credit, he made no comment as he turned around and shut the door quietly. As soon as it clicked securely, I collapsed back against the pillows and let out a shaky breath. My heartbeat began to steady itself as I counted in my head: One, two, three, four, five. When I dared to look at the doctor again, he was watching me with patient, almost understanding eyes.
"Better?" he asked, not a hint of condescension in his tone.
I nodded.
"Good." He placed the binder on a nearby portable table and approached the side of my bed. His slender fingers reached into the breast pocket of his white lab coat and withdrew a slim silver cylinder. He lifted his index finger and held it in front of my face. "Look here for me please." I followed his instruction and tried not to blink as he briefly shone the flashlight in front of each of my eyes. Satisfied, he stepped back and pocketed the light. "Can you tell me what you remember from the accident, Alexander?"
I took a minute to think. "I woke up and I was upside down."
"Nothing before that?"
"No."
"I witnessed it. Your cab was first in line in the left-hand turning lane. The light turned green and in the middle of the intersection, your cab was hit by a delivery truck that sped through the red light. The truck's impact was so intense that the cab actually did a complete roll before landing upside down."
I swallowed past the lump of shock in my throat. "I don't remember any of that."
"Your head hit the window pretty hard, which made you lose consciousness. You may or may not regain memory of the initial impact. A little anxiety is normal should the memory return."
"The driver. . . ?"
The doctor's smile dissipated. "He passed away at the scene."
I looked down at my palm. The blood I'd crawled through had been washed clean from my skin. All that remained were the scattered punctures from the broken window.
"The other driver suffered a heart attack immediately after the accident. He also passed away. You're very lucky you were sitting on the passenger side of that cab, Alexander. I don't think you'd have survived otherwise."
"Yeah," I said flatly. "I'm a pretty lucky guy."
The doctor smiled and picked up the binder again. "The bump on your head gave you a minor concussion, so I'm going to keep you overnight for observation. Just as a precaution. Expect some tenderness in your neck for a few days, which may result in headaches. We've got you on some pretty nice pain meds right now, so you should be comfortable for the night. None of your ribs were broken, but you have sustained some bruising from the seat restraint. That'll fade in a few days. Now, your mother was listed as your emergency contact—"
I stiffened. "You didn't call her, did you?"
He smiled sympathetically. "She's out in the waiting room. Someone came with her, your girlfriend perhaps?"
Heat crept into my cheeks. "That's my sister. I don't have a girlfriend."
"I see. I can tell them to come back tomorrow if you'd like."
I let out a breath. "That's okay. They can come in." I couldn't push my mother away, not when she'd driven all this way to see me. Not to mention she was probably worried out of her mind.
The doctor smiled. "I'll send them your way. A nurse will be in to check on you later." He paused for a moment. "There is one last thing I wanted to discuss with you. During your examination, I noticed several bruises scattered across your torso and abdomen. Bruises in their late stages of healing. Bruises that weren't caused by this accident."
I looked down at my lap. "No. I got those a few weeks ago."
His voice was gentle. "They must have been pretty severe to still be healing."
"They weren't that bad." Lies, lies, lies, lies, lies.
"I see. I'll go get your family. Press that button beside you if you need anything." He reached his hand for the doorknob.
"Um, thank you," I blurted before he could pull it open. "Thank you for helping me, Doctor. . . ?"
His smiled broadened. "Bane. Take care, Alexander." He opened the door and stepped through it, thankfully closing it tightly behind him.
I leaned back against the pillows and closed my eyes. In the dark stillness, I could see his eyes, so much like gold and emerald leaves on a tree. His voice lingered in my head, as calming as wind chimes in a delicate breeze. Most of all, I felt the heat on my arm from where his gentle hands had clutched me, keeping me steady and catching me right before I hit the ground.
The door suddenly flew open and two dark-haired figures rushed in. I started and jerked upright, just in time for a slight body to grab me in a tight embrace. I winced at the onslaught of pain, but wrapped my arms around my little sister and held her tightly. When she pulled back, there were faint smudges of mascara trailing down her cheeks with her tears.
"Alec Lightwood," Isabelle said, her voice shaky but stern. "You scared us half to death! Don't you ever do that again!"
"I know. I'm sorry." I reached out and squeezed her hand.
My mother sat at the foot of my bed, her hand pressed to her mouth and her shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs. Needles pricked at the backs of my eyes; I hated seeing my mom cry. When she found the strength to stand again, she leaned over the bedside railing and gathered me into her arms. Her hand stroked my hair over and over, nearly lulling me to sleep. Her arms fell away and she gently held my face in her hands, her eyes searching every pore of my skin.
"Alexander," she whispered. "Your face. . ."
Though I couldn't feel it through the pain medication, I guessed the side of my face had been bruised pretty badly. My cheek puffed into my peripheral vision, swollen.
"I'm okay, Mom," I assured her, my voice steady.
Her smile was unconvinced, but she hugged me against her again, this time a bit tighter. I rested my uninjured cheek against her shoulder. Isabelle was dabbing at her eyes with a tissue, but my gaze was abruptly magnetized to the open doorway. My sister noticed my body stiffen straight away and followed my line of vision. Without a word, she got up and closed the door. I mouthed a thank you to her and she replied with a watery-eyed smile. My attention returned to my mother, who was whispering my name over and over. I remembered all too vividly the last time she had held me like this, trying to comfort herself and her child at the same time. It had only been a few weeks ago, after all.
"I'm sorry, Mom," I murmured into her shoulder. "I'm so sorry."
Her hand rubbed up and down my back in a soothing motion. "Shh. You have nothing to apologize for, Alexander."
I closed my eyes and let myself melt into her embrace. But I couldn't help wondering how many times my mother would have to hold her son, bruised, beaten, and bloodied, in her arms.