Chapter 4: After weeks
I breathe deeply, happy that I'm free of that god awful tube, but I still have the nose tube giving me oxygen. They didn't want to take any chances, with my lungs still a little bit weak.
The door of my room opens, and I hear soft footsteps entering my room, the door closing, then silence.
"Who is there?" I ask, my voice rasping as I have not drank water this afternoon for the last hour, as the last nurse coming to check me left the jar with water too far away from my reach for me to get it. I've tried, but a sharp pain in my chest convinced me to stay exactly where I was.
"Who is there?" I repeat, and a small pale face appears from the small hall leading to the door, her long brown hair a strange mix with pink and blue stretches of color coming out of somewhere.
She is young, quite young, not older than twenty, and she is looking at me completely terrified.
"Hi," she says in a very low voice, and she approaches my bed as if she expects me to miraculously disconnect me from the machines and tubes currently holding me hostage in this bed and attack her.
"Hi." I look at her up and down for a minute.
She bites her lower lip nervously as she studies the machines and my swollen left leg hanging from traction, and her big hazel eyes fill with tears.
"Who are you?"
"Ah… well… My name is April Gunther… you probably don't know me because we've never met before and probably we would never have to meet each other if… ah… my brother hadn't crashed his car into yours."
I barely keep the surprise out from my face, but I think I've succeed as she keeps talking as if she hadn't dropped that bombshell on me.
"Ah, well, you see," she bites her lower lip again, and her dark eye makeup create a sharp contrast against her pale skin, reminding me a little bit of Abby in her very Goth days. "Your agents visited us a couple of weeks ago to talk to mom about what happened and since then I've been trying to gather the courage to come to see you. I feel so guilty for all of this. My brother crashed his car into yours, but it's my fault that he was driving out there in the first place."
"Explain," I say after I stay in silence for a few minutes, watching her fidget nervously at the foot of my hospital bed while I use my usual glare on her.
"We were in this party, and I've had seen how much he had drunk that night. I was with my boyfriend, and I didn't want to leave Jack so when my brother came to call me to leave the rave, I told him I wasn't going with him. I told him not to drive home, but he insisted that he was fine, just a little bit in the zone, and … and… I left him go."
With this revelation, she starts sobbing, her emotional balance breaking into tiny little pieces in front of me, her dark makeup leaving dark streaks on her pale cheeks as her tears flow unhindered.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I left him go. I knew he shouldn't, I should have left with him. I wasn't drunk, I've had just a glass of beer. I could have driven us home. Danny, he had seven, six, I don't remember how many beers and he was totally pissed. I knew Danny shouldn't drive but I didn't stop him. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
She lowers her chin to her chest, her sobs so strong that her shoulders shake with each one, her long colored tresses – is that orange too? – falling over her face, hiding her eyes from my view.
"Hey, look at me."
She lifts her eyes a little, but still her colored hair keeps falling uncontrolled over her face, blocking her eyes and not letting me see what she's thinking.
"Kid, look at me," I use my best marine voice, and finally she lifts her voice and meets my gaze.
"What's your name again?"
"Gunther, sir. April Gunther."
"Don't call me sir. It's either Gibbs or… Gibbs."
She smiles a little at my joke, but soon lowers her chin again, but I'm not letting her go so easily.
"Look at me, April."
She lifts her face and gaze at me, her eyes filled with tears again and I can see how deeply the pain of losing her brother so foolishly is affecting her.
"I'm happy you weren't in that car, April."
Her face fills with misery, but she holds her sobs at bay, and I keep talking with this kid, a little more than a girl really, who came seeking me out and is now folding under the pressure of a burden too heavy for her to carry.
"But I could have—"
"Could have, would have… none of it matters now. Tell me one thing, how old are you?"
"I'm nineteen."
"And Danny? Is that his name? How old was he?"
"The same. He was my twin." A tear escapes, despite her efforts to keep from crying, and she wipes it with her hand, almost like a little girl who has just scrapped her knees.
"April, Danny is the one responsible for his acts. He knew he was drunk, but he insisted in driving. It's not your fault. And I'm glad that you weren't in that car because, if you were, you would be dead as well. Do you understand what I'm saying? Even if you had entered that car, Danny probably wouldn't have let you drive, as he believed he was just fine. A man like him would never let a girl drive him home if he thinks he's okay to drive. Let me guess, that car, it was his, wasn't it?"
She nods silently.
"Had he ever let you drive his car before?"
"Once or twice. He was very possessive of it."
"If you had agreed to go with him, he would still insist to drive, and instead of one, we would have two dead kids to deal with."
"But how can you be so nice with me? My brother destroyed your life! I've spoken to your doctors and they told me that your leg is badly hurt, and you will have to stay for months on traction, and you won't be able to work anymore. He did it! He did it!"
She covers her mouth and sobs, her anguish rolling out of her in waves. I can't move, the central line attached to my chest and other tubes I'd rather not mention effectively chained me to my position, so I simply wave at her, asking her to come closer to my bedside. She keeps crying, but as soon as she is within reach from the bedside table, she automatically fills a glass of water and puts a straw on it, and hands it to me.
I gladly take it and after wetting my dehydrated sore throat, I leave the empty cup on my bedside and take one of her hands, the left one, into my own.
"I'll make it up to you, Mr. Gibbs. I promise I will."
"You don't have to."
"But I want to. For Danny. And for myself as well."