It was raining. Pouring, in fact. I could practically feel the buzz of electricity in the air as the bus doors opened and revealed the bleak surroundings. I thanked the bus driver and stepped onto the pavement, hurrying to the shelter of a nearby store as the rain pelted down. I checked the time on my phone, alarmed to see my shift started in just five minutes as well as incoming call from Patrick.
"Pat?" I answered as I gripped my trench coat closer to my chest and maneuvered in and out of people running to get out of the rain and on with their days in their busy Tuesday mornings. "That's great Pat, I'm proud of you."
Something about swimming or running. The next meeting I should come to or rather.
I slid in front of an elder man who grumbled about young people, and pat my hair - a braid originally but now frayed from the rain - in the hopes I didn't look terrible for work.
I looked back and forth before crossing the road, noticing a truck in front of the cafe. The rain had begun to pour even heavier and I could hear the thunder in a distance. I chewed my lip as I made my way across the road.
"What do you think, Lou? I could enter this race and win! I'm in my peak form, right?"
"Yes, of course Pat. You've never looked better-"
"Get out of the way!" I heard the voice just a moment before I felt myself being pushed backwards. I landed on my bottom in a puddle of water as I heard a scream and the sound of tires squealing. I barely had time to process before I witnessed a man being crushed by a motorcycle - the same man who had just pushed me out of the way.
"Oh my god," I whispered into the phone as the rain quietened and people around us began to crowd.
"Lou? Lou, are you alright?"
"Gotta go," I hung up and stumbled to the man on the ground. Some people had gathered around the motorcyclist who looked to be in a bad shape but no words could describe how the man looked in front of me. Blood was everywhere, his body looked out of whack, as if several bones were out of place.
To my astonishment, he was not only alive, but conscious.
"Call the ambulance! Please, anybody!" I cried as I reached for the man's hand. "You're going to be fine. I'll stay with you, okay?"
The man just stared at me - he looked pale enough to be dead.
"Miss-"
"Lou," I told him. I could hear people behind me now, the sirens growing louder.
"Lou," he said my name slowly as his eyes began to flutter. "I can't feel anything, Lou. Is that bad?"
I had no clue. Absolutely no idea. I squeezed his fingers and his eyes focused again, on my hand.
"I can't feel it," he whispered again, his voice shaky. His blue eyes has become brimmed with tears.
"I'll be with you, okay? I won't leave, I promise." He stared at me with a fear so vivid, I felt myself shake for him. I prayed my presence was a comfort. I sat in the ambulance vehicle with him, stroking his hand. The man had passed out shortly after being lifted into the stretcher. I didn't even know his name.
I didn't even know his name but he'd saved me from the same fate. I replayed the seconds that had completely changed my morning. The rain poured down again as we arrived at the hospital. I was given a check up despite my best efforts at telling them a bruised bum was the worst that I could have suffered and then sent to the waiting room. They wouldn't let me in - they wouldn't even give me any information as I wasn't a family member. I sat, imagining the worst.
Eventually, John Doe was identified when the police brought the man's dropped items to the hospital.
Will was his name. Will Traynor.
I sat there for an hour before really doing anything. There are only so many interesting aspects to a hospital. The painting that was hung on the wall pictured a dandelion and reminded me of something I drew in primary school. There was a heavily pregnant mother sitting in the waiting room too who would pat her belly every now and then, reminding me of Treena who had recently given birth to a little boy named Thomas.
"Are you the woman that the patient pushed aside?" a female police officer asked, sitting beside me. I looked up from my thoughts on the dandelion painting and met the eyes of the officer.
"Yes. Do you know anything? Is he okay?"
The woman shook her head. "I don't know, I'm sorry. I do need to ask some questions though, is that alright?"
I nodded, a sense of numbness falling over me. I answered to the best of my ability and police officer thanked me before disappearing. After another half hour or so, I checked my phone to find four missed calls from Frank and about a dozen from various other family members who Frank must have contacted. I rang the store, guilt building up inside me.
"Hi, this is Frank." He sounded bothered despite his friendly nature.
"Hi Frank, it's Lou. Listen, I've been in an accident, I'm sorry I didn't get in contact with you earlier-"
"An accident? Are you alright?"
"I'm fine but a man was crushed by a motorcycle outside the store and I have to stay. I'm really sorry Frank-"
He broke me off again. "No, don't apologise, Lou. Do what you need to do, I'll see if I can convince some teen off the street to help out." He wished me well before hanging up and I smiled despite myself. I had a good boss.
I also answered Treena's seven texts which basically went from caring to insulting within the first three messages. I explained what happened in a hefty paragraph and asked her to tell Mum and Dad. She sent a swift reply back. Sorry. Love you x
Eventually, Will's family arrived. A man in a suit with grayed hair and a woman in an outfit that looked like it costed more than all of my belongings combined entered, worry marked across their features. I didn't have to guess who they were - the blue eyes Will shared with his mother were evident.
"Are you Will's parents?" I called as they looked around for a nurse.
"Where is he? Is he alright? Who are you?" the woman questioned me, harsh lines appearing on her pretty face.
"I'm Louisa Clark. He's in the room over there," I pointed. "I was the person he pushed aside."
The woman looked at her husband, her face softening. "He... he saved you."
"He saved me."
The woman smiled slightly, pride evident, before she moved passed her husband to get to the room where a doctor holding a clipboard spoke to her.
"Thank you for staying," the man told me, his eyes creasing in a way you could tell he'd laughed a lot in his life time. "I'm Stephen Traynor and that's my wife, Camilla. You've met Will."
"Nice to meet you," I shook his outstretched hand, shyness suddenly swallowing my voice. He nodded his head before joining his wife for the news.
For several hours, there was none. Camilla tapped at her expensive phone impatiently, her foot dancing anxiously. Stephen sat in silence, stroking his wife's shoulder.
I didn't leave.
I felt obligated to stay despite his parents' arrival. His blue eyes, so innocent despite his age, pierced my soul. I can't feel it, his voice repeated. Noon passed and soon night fell. I went to the cafeteria to find some food and coffee. My back cracked in gratitude. I texted Pat finally to tell him what had happened. He hadn't texted me since our phone call: I wasn't entirely impressed by that but I ignored the feeling of resentment. In returned to the Traynors' with three flat whites and varied sandwiches. They thanked me profusely. Camilla practically inhaled the caffeine.
At 8.36pm, almost twelve hours since Will and I had arrived, the doctors left the room to sit beside the couple.
"Your son is alive and doing fine," the man explained before Camilla could even open her mouth. "We have operated what we can but he's suffered extreme trauma to his spinal chord. We're not sure if he can feel anything-"
My head shot up. "He told me... that he couldn't feel anything. When I squeezed his hand..."
The doctor nodded his head as if he had suspected so. "I'm sorry Mr and Mrs Traynor but... it is very likely your son may never be able to move by himself again."
Camilla looked green, her hand covering her mouth. Stephen wrapped his arm around his wife.
"He... won't be able to walk?"
"He is, as of right now, a C4/5 quadriplegic. He very well may never move his fingers again. I'm sorry, I'll be back with any new information."
Both Stephen and Camilla broke down into a mess of tears and I excused myself. Guilt filled me. I robbed this man of his movement.
That should be me.
I peeked into his room where the man lay; machines, wires and tubes covered him. He couldn't even breathe by himself. I stared through blurred, damp eyes. This was my fault, all mine.
Despite my promise to Will, I left.
Home offered me no comfort. In fact, when I arrived, Treena, holding the newborn Thomas, looked me up and down and frowned.
"Did you seriously leave him?" Judgement filled her voice and a small sound from Thomas seemed to agree with her.
"He'll never move again, Treen! He'll never walk or move his fingers!" I felt tears sting my eyes again. Treena wrapped her free arm around me, pulling me so close that I could smell Thomas' new baby smell. "It's my fault, Treena."
"You're being stupid, Lou." Treena grabbed my hand as she pulled me into the living room where she put the baby down in his crib. "He chose to save the day. You didn't ask for it. But it will be your fault if you promised that man you'd stay and you're here sulking!"
I grimaced at her as she wiped my tears and prodded my nose. I'd never understand how my younger sister was so much wiser than me. Perhaps life experience really didn't come with age.
"Did you promise, Lou?" she asked once more, eyebrow high enough to disappear into her bangs.
"I promised." An hour later, freshly showered and clothed, I returned to the hospital with more coffee and vowed to stick to my promise.