My parents came to get me from the hospital a couple hours later. When my mom walked in, she started to bawl. The image of me, lying in pain, in a hospital, brought back terrible memories. I was in the hospital for about 2 weeks after the car crash when I was 8. My mom never left my side, sobbing the whole time. She muttered under her breath about it being her fault. I felt awful.

"Oh, Artie," My mom blubbered, "Are you okay?"

"Mom, I'm fine, it's all okay," I said softly, patting my mom's arms that were thrown around me. My dad stood on the other side of me, completley still. I guess the image didn't sit well with him either.

A young nurse with straight black hair walked in. She reminded me of Tina. I winced at the thought.

"Artie Abrams?" The nurse asked. I nodded my head.

"Are you ready to leave?" She inquired. I nodded again. The nurse set down her chart she was holding and walked over to me. Her name tag said, "Angela". Angela became engrossed in the tangle of tubes hooked up to me. She unhooked them delicately and unwrapped my neck brace.

"Steve? Can you help me over here?" Angela called. A man about the same age as Angela walked over curiously. He nodded his head.

"Can you help me lift him?" Angela asked. Her high voice reminded me of tinkling windchimes.

"No problem," Steve said, smiling broadly.

Angela put one arm around my neck and another on the small of my back. Steve mirrored her on the other side.

"One, Two, Three," Steve said, grunting. They lifted me up and put me smoothly in a bigger wheelchair than my previous one.

"Your chair was pretty much totaled in your accident," Angela said and chuckled. I nodded. Steve smiled at me and Angela and walked away. Angela told me I could keep the nice, new wheelchair. Angela handed my mom a white slip with notes scribbled on it.

"Medication, for the pain," Angela said and walked out. My dad stood behind me and started to push me out. My mother followed, tears still streaming down her face. My parents filled out more paperwork and we left the hospital.

The next morning, I woke up to my mom shaking me lightly. My eyes fluttered and I saw my mom's beeming face.

"Honey, I am going to work, Dad already left. I want you to stay home and relax today, okay? I left 2 pills on the counter for you to take when you get up. I love you, baby," My mom said. She kissed me softly on the forehead and left the room. I fumbled on the nightstand for my glasses. Finding them, I put them on sleepily. My new wheelchair was sitting idly next to my bed. I pulled myself to a sitting position. I rubbed my eyes under my glasses. Pulling my chair closer, I transferred myself from the bed to the wheelchair. I rolled across the room to get a shirt from my drawer. My head hurt, bad. It pounded, a mixture of pain from the accident and the pain Tina left behind. I left my room behind to go to the kitchen.

My mom assembled an intricate breakfast of pancakes and fruit. It resembled a carousel. It was so beautiful, I didn't want to wreck it by eating it. Next to the breakfast was a tiny cup with 2 orange pills in it. A messy note was scribbled down next to the cup.

Artie,

These are your pain pills, take them when you read this and then again at lunch time.

Love you,

Mom.

I took the pills, ate my breakfast and sat on the couch to watch a movie. I wanted to put on Coming Home, but I decided it would just hurt to think of Tina any more than I already was. My mom left the silver laptop next to the couch, so I grabbed it. I went on Facebook, just to see what was going on. I looked at the clock, it was 6:00 in the morning. No wonder no one was on. Scrolling through the feed, I saw the one thing that would send me spiraling into pain again.

Artie Abrams is single.

Thanks for reminding me, Assbook. I sat on the couch, frozen, trying not to think of her. Trying not to think of the times I have kissed her out in the sunshine, trying not to think of the times I gave her rides on my chair, trying not to think of the times I took her soft hand and her tinkly giggle would pierce the silent air. That hand isn't mine anymore. Those lips are going to be someone else's to kiss. Those giggles are reserved for someone else now. Cue the sad music. I am so pathetic.