Disclaimer: no one mentioned belongs to me, I guarantee it.
The Worst That Could Happen
Chapter Eight: Saturday
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~
When I woke up, I wasn't sure what was real or not anymore. Maybe this was another dream. Maybe *all* of this was a dream. There was no accident, no hospital, Gordo was okay.
There was a downside to this being a dream, however. If it was a dream, it meant that Gordo and I never really did get together. And I wasn't sure if I wanted to give that up.
When my eyes opened, all I could see was white. Blinding, glaring white, and I blinked repeatedly, getting the images to clear and separate.
I was in a hospital bed. Maybe this was my dream again. A horrible recurring nightmare.
"Lizzie?"
They were talking to me...that meant I wasn't dead...
"Guh..?" I said groggily, momentarily humiliated by my total lack of coherency. I shook my head, blinking a few more times, and my mother's face appeared in front of my own. She was looking worse than I'd ever expected her to be able to. Like she hadn't slept in weeks.
"What the...where am I?" I asked.
"The hospital, Lizzie," she said patiently, tears very obviously in her eyes. "Don't you remember?"
"I'm just...sleepy..." I murmured.
"You passed out, honey," a voice said, and I recognized it as my dad. I looked around, the room much more focused now as I was beginning to be a lot more conscious.
"Gordo." I wasn't sure if I'd thought it, or said it, but a look passed between my parents, so I must have said it. "He's okay, isn't he."
Suddenly I remembered everything. The paddles. The beeping of Gordo's machine. I had been in the bathroom. *The bathroom.* I had left his side for two seconds, and everything had gone to hell.
I saw Miranda in a chair in the corner of the room. She looked tired. Everyone looked so tired. This had been an awful week on all of us. I just wanted it to be over, for it to all be over, to just sink back into that blissful, dreamless sleep and not have to worry.
"Honey, about Gordo..." Mom hedged.
That was never a good sign. I bolted upright, ignoring the wave of blackness that crashed through my skull. "Please, tell me he's okay. Please."
They weren't saying anything. Seconds went by, minutes, hours, I had no idea. Time was standing still, my future hanging in the balance.
Miranda spoke up. "He's okay, Lizzie."
"Oh, thank God," I said in a rush of breath, leaning back against the flat pillows. Again, my quick movements brought me a horrible, pounding headache, and I groaned despite myself.
"Lizzie, are you okay?" my parents chorused worriedly.
"I'm fine," I said, although I was anything but. My temples were throbbing and I felt like my head was going to be ripped apart. "Tell me about Gordo."
"He went into shock," Miranda said. "Or something. I don't know. It happened right after you left for the bathroom. They shocked him with the paddles, and you passed out."
"Did the paddles work?"
She nodded. "He's okay now."
I tried to swing my legs off the edge of the bed, but the blanket was smothering them. I kicked weakly, and Mom steadied me with a hand on my arm. "I have to go see him," I insisted.
"No, Lizzie, you have to rest. You've been under a lot of stress, and the doctor said you should just lie down for awhile and eat something. Then I promise, you'll get to go see him."
Dad had taken Matt home, Miranda and her parents had gone home to check on the baby, and the Gordons, after briefly checking in on me, had returned to their son's side.
I choked down the bland hospital chicken dinner, and as my mother left me alone to throw out the tray, I struggled to sit up and get out of the bed. I managed to pull myself to a seated position, my legs dangling off the side, but was hit with another massive headache, one that caused me to topple to one side against the pillow. With a grunt, I managed to pull my legs back on top of the covers before falling unconscious again.
Another dreamless sleep. Ever since last Saturday, when I'd heard the news, I'd hardly been able to sleep, and food had made me nauseous. Now my body was rebelling against me, forcing me to fall asleep, deeper and longer each time. Maybe the next time would be the deepest and longest, and I would be permanently lost in this cocoon.
I felt like the narrator from Fight Club. I had seen it a few weeks ago, with Gordo, in his room. He wanted to see it for the raw violence, and sold me on it with the mention of a shirtless Brad Pitt. We both ended up getting sucked into the subtext, and I now found my life mirroring that of the narrator. Never quite awake, but never quite asleep, either.
The room was empty, and I didn't care about waiting around for someone. I was feeling lucid enough to get out of bed, and so I did, with minor dizziness, padding to the doorway.
I knew where I was. That surprised me. I also knew how to get to Gordo's room from here, and I made a wobbly trek to the elevator, where I reconnoitered, and emerged on his floor feeling almost like my old self.
No one was in Gordo's room, either, and I wondered where on earth everyone could've been. Weren't they supposed to be keeping vigils on the both of us?
I entered, hearing the arrhythmic beepings of three machines chorused together. I went to Gordo's bedside, clasped his hand, grateful to feel his pulse under my fingertips. I kissed his forehead, and to my surprise, he moved.
Slowly, his lids fluttered open and I got to see those familiar blue eyes, albeit with a lot more tiredness in them, and lacking their usual sparkle. I beamed at him. "Gordo, are you awake?"
"Lizzie..?" he said thickly.
"It's me, I'm here," I assured him, holding his hand as tightly as I dared. "Oh, God, Gordo. I was so worried."
He blinked rapidly, trying to get his bearings. How well I knew that feeling. "Am I in the hospital?"
"Yes, yes," I said, trying to keep the worry out of my voice. He wasn't suffering amnesia or something, was he? He couldn't have been; he remembered my name. "You were in a car accident a week ago, remember?" Had it really been a full week? The realization of that hit me, and I gave his hand another firm squeeze.
"Car accident, yeah," he said.
"There was some internal problem the doctors missed," I explained, "and you had to be sent to emergency surgery. You're in the surgical ICU right now. And yesterday, you went into shock and they had to use those paddle things on you. But you're okay now."
"I almost died," Gordo said vaguely.
"You didn't," I said, but I knew that was a lie. He did almost die. I was so terrified.
"I did," he insisted. "And I obviously don't remember much from a coma, but I'm not lying when I say that I remember you. I saw your face, Lizzie. I saw your face and I didn't want to let go."
I had skipped the 'silent tears' step and had jumped straight to bawling. "Please don't leave me, Gordo," I said. "Not ever. Please. I love you. I need you."
"I won't," he promised. "Not if I can help it."
I leaned over and was kissing him when the doors open and a whole slew of people paraded inside. "See, I told you this was where she'd be," I heard Matt say.
I knew everyone's eyes were probably on us. The Gordons, the Sanchezes, my own family. I didn't care. I kept kissing Gordo, he kept kissing me back, we kept celebrating life and togetherness.
The Worst That Could Happen
Chapter Eight: Saturday
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~
When I woke up, I wasn't sure what was real or not anymore. Maybe this was another dream. Maybe *all* of this was a dream. There was no accident, no hospital, Gordo was okay.
There was a downside to this being a dream, however. If it was a dream, it meant that Gordo and I never really did get together. And I wasn't sure if I wanted to give that up.
When my eyes opened, all I could see was white. Blinding, glaring white, and I blinked repeatedly, getting the images to clear and separate.
I was in a hospital bed. Maybe this was my dream again. A horrible recurring nightmare.
"Lizzie?"
They were talking to me...that meant I wasn't dead...
"Guh..?" I said groggily, momentarily humiliated by my total lack of coherency. I shook my head, blinking a few more times, and my mother's face appeared in front of my own. She was looking worse than I'd ever expected her to be able to. Like she hadn't slept in weeks.
"What the...where am I?" I asked.
"The hospital, Lizzie," she said patiently, tears very obviously in her eyes. "Don't you remember?"
"I'm just...sleepy..." I murmured.
"You passed out, honey," a voice said, and I recognized it as my dad. I looked around, the room much more focused now as I was beginning to be a lot more conscious.
"Gordo." I wasn't sure if I'd thought it, or said it, but a look passed between my parents, so I must have said it. "He's okay, isn't he."
Suddenly I remembered everything. The paddles. The beeping of Gordo's machine. I had been in the bathroom. *The bathroom.* I had left his side for two seconds, and everything had gone to hell.
I saw Miranda in a chair in the corner of the room. She looked tired. Everyone looked so tired. This had been an awful week on all of us. I just wanted it to be over, for it to all be over, to just sink back into that blissful, dreamless sleep and not have to worry.
"Honey, about Gordo..." Mom hedged.
That was never a good sign. I bolted upright, ignoring the wave of blackness that crashed through my skull. "Please, tell me he's okay. Please."
They weren't saying anything. Seconds went by, minutes, hours, I had no idea. Time was standing still, my future hanging in the balance.
Miranda spoke up. "He's okay, Lizzie."
"Oh, thank God," I said in a rush of breath, leaning back against the flat pillows. Again, my quick movements brought me a horrible, pounding headache, and I groaned despite myself.
"Lizzie, are you okay?" my parents chorused worriedly.
"I'm fine," I said, although I was anything but. My temples were throbbing and I felt like my head was going to be ripped apart. "Tell me about Gordo."
"He went into shock," Miranda said. "Or something. I don't know. It happened right after you left for the bathroom. They shocked him with the paddles, and you passed out."
"Did the paddles work?"
She nodded. "He's okay now."
I tried to swing my legs off the edge of the bed, but the blanket was smothering them. I kicked weakly, and Mom steadied me with a hand on my arm. "I have to go see him," I insisted.
"No, Lizzie, you have to rest. You've been under a lot of stress, and the doctor said you should just lie down for awhile and eat something. Then I promise, you'll get to go see him."
Dad had taken Matt home, Miranda and her parents had gone home to check on the baby, and the Gordons, after briefly checking in on me, had returned to their son's side.
I choked down the bland hospital chicken dinner, and as my mother left me alone to throw out the tray, I struggled to sit up and get out of the bed. I managed to pull myself to a seated position, my legs dangling off the side, but was hit with another massive headache, one that caused me to topple to one side against the pillow. With a grunt, I managed to pull my legs back on top of the covers before falling unconscious again.
Another dreamless sleep. Ever since last Saturday, when I'd heard the news, I'd hardly been able to sleep, and food had made me nauseous. Now my body was rebelling against me, forcing me to fall asleep, deeper and longer each time. Maybe the next time would be the deepest and longest, and I would be permanently lost in this cocoon.
I felt like the narrator from Fight Club. I had seen it a few weeks ago, with Gordo, in his room. He wanted to see it for the raw violence, and sold me on it with the mention of a shirtless Brad Pitt. We both ended up getting sucked into the subtext, and I now found my life mirroring that of the narrator. Never quite awake, but never quite asleep, either.
The room was empty, and I didn't care about waiting around for someone. I was feeling lucid enough to get out of bed, and so I did, with minor dizziness, padding to the doorway.
I knew where I was. That surprised me. I also knew how to get to Gordo's room from here, and I made a wobbly trek to the elevator, where I reconnoitered, and emerged on his floor feeling almost like my old self.
No one was in Gordo's room, either, and I wondered where on earth everyone could've been. Weren't they supposed to be keeping vigils on the both of us?
I entered, hearing the arrhythmic beepings of three machines chorused together. I went to Gordo's bedside, clasped his hand, grateful to feel his pulse under my fingertips. I kissed his forehead, and to my surprise, he moved.
Slowly, his lids fluttered open and I got to see those familiar blue eyes, albeit with a lot more tiredness in them, and lacking their usual sparkle. I beamed at him. "Gordo, are you awake?"
"Lizzie..?" he said thickly.
"It's me, I'm here," I assured him, holding his hand as tightly as I dared. "Oh, God, Gordo. I was so worried."
He blinked rapidly, trying to get his bearings. How well I knew that feeling. "Am I in the hospital?"
"Yes, yes," I said, trying to keep the worry out of my voice. He wasn't suffering amnesia or something, was he? He couldn't have been; he remembered my name. "You were in a car accident a week ago, remember?" Had it really been a full week? The realization of that hit me, and I gave his hand another firm squeeze.
"Car accident, yeah," he said.
"There was some internal problem the doctors missed," I explained, "and you had to be sent to emergency surgery. You're in the surgical ICU right now. And yesterday, you went into shock and they had to use those paddle things on you. But you're okay now."
"I almost died," Gordo said vaguely.
"You didn't," I said, but I knew that was a lie. He did almost die. I was so terrified.
"I did," he insisted. "And I obviously don't remember much from a coma, but I'm not lying when I say that I remember you. I saw your face, Lizzie. I saw your face and I didn't want to let go."
I had skipped the 'silent tears' step and had jumped straight to bawling. "Please don't leave me, Gordo," I said. "Not ever. Please. I love you. I need you."
"I won't," he promised. "Not if I can help it."
I leaned over and was kissing him when the doors open and a whole slew of people paraded inside. "See, I told you this was where she'd be," I heard Matt say.
I knew everyone's eyes were probably on us. The Gordons, the Sanchezes, my own family. I didn't care. I kept kissing Gordo, he kept kissing me back, we kept celebrating life and togetherness.