Last Stop
AN: Alright, well, here we go, the second to last chapter of LS! I don't really have all that much to say, except, of course, thanks to all my wonderful readers/reviewers, sorry for my lateness, and, uh . . . I promise there's less cheese in this chapter, haha. (But . . . Well, I can't tell you. You gotta read!) And I've been talking to myself like a crazed lunatic XX. Wah.
Chapter Ten: Snow Stained Purity
The high-pitched screeching of the alarm jolted me from my slumber. I mumbled something unintelligible, wondering when I had set the alarm, why I was so tired, and why my neck sort of tickled. My brain sent a signal to my arm, telling it to move; I felt soft flesh as it carried out the task. Suddenly, like a bolt of lightning, my eyes snapped open, and I remembered everything about the night and understood my slothfulness.
"How do you turn off this thing?" Hitomi muttered wearily, reaching out for the alarm and pressing random buttons in the dark. Deftly, wanting so badly to make that damn beeping stop, I reached over Hitomi and pressed the off button. Precariously, she set the clock back down, then rolled over to face me. I could barely see her in the pitch black that always permeated my room.
"Why'd you set that thing?" Hitomi murmured, shifting closer to me. Her bare body felt warm as it leaned into mine, slowly waking and intoxicating me all over again.
"I'm supposed to go to work, remember?" I said with a yawn, stretching my arms and legs. Hitomi flopped her head on my chest, her arm laying lazily over my stomach.
"I told you to take off," she stated, in that "see, I told you so!" voice (and so early in the morning, too).
I gave a fake smile, though I knew she couldn't see it, as I rummaged around with one hand for my pants on the floor (after all, most of the clothes that had to come off were my own). Hitomi slid onto the bed when I sat up to put them on. Her hand on my back caused me to turn around.
"You're not really going to work, are you?" she asked quietly.
"Of course not. But I have to call out. I'll be right back," I said, gently squeezing her hand before releasing it, standing up, and walking to the door. The light I had turned on the night before in the living room still blazed, initially blinding me. Looking around, I noticed my apartment had even more clutter than usual, but I also felt this new aura about it; like, for once, I was actually glad to live here. I felt safe. I felt I could call it home.
Picking up the phone, I punched in the bus company's number (don't ask why I had it memorized, I just did, okay?), rubbing sleep from my eyes. Someone picked up and said hello on the other end. "Yeah, hi," I said weakly, throwing in a cough for good measure. "This is Van Fanel. I'm afraid I can't come in today. I'm very sick." I coughed again, only this time, it was almost real.
"Okay Mr. Fanel, we will find a substitute driver for you."
"Thank you. Good bye," I said hoarsely, hanging up the phone quickly. Yes, that phone conversation was entirely too quick and unconvincing, but screw it. Walking back into the bedroom, I noticed Hitomi had gotten up to go to the bathroom and had left the light on, with the door cracked. I guess she couldn't take the impenetrable darkness.
"Do you want this door open, too?" I asked.
"No. That's too much light," was the muffled response.
After closing the door, I crawled back into bed, facing Hitomi with a smirk, finally able to see her slightly. "You don't know. Maybe you're a lights on type gal."
"You're so dirty," Hitomi said playfully.
"It's your fault I'm so dirty," I continued.
"Van," she whined. "That's just mean."
"Okay, okay," I said, placing light butterfly kisses on her lips, thinking about how I had so ravaged them only a few hours before. "I'm sorry." More kisses. "I didn't mean it," I said, working down to her neck., smiling coyly. "But we could always take a shower . . ."
"Shut up," Hitomi whispered, kissing my lips softly before snuggling against my shoulder. "And besides, all my stuff is still in your car."
"Oh . . . yeah," I replied awkwardly. "Want me to go get it?"
Hitomi shook her head. "I don't want you to go anywhere," she whispered.
The statement normally would have made me smile at the sweetness of it, but my mind stayed focused, serious (as if we were serious before). "What about your pills?" I asked worriedly.
Laughing quietly, already drifting back into slumber, Hitomi pressed her lips to my bare shoulder, running her hand from my stomach, to my chest, to end stroking my lips with her thumb; it sent chills of delight down my spine . . . yet also caused distraught. "It's okay if I miss one . . . I've been on them long enough. But your worrying is cute," she said, allowing her arm to fall limply over my chest, breath steadying.
Yes . . . you've been on them long enough, I thought, kissing her hair, replying with a muffled, "Yes, cute . . ." My eyes would not shut, for now my mind would not turn off, thinking of Hitomi's lie. The lie. She had lied to me. And I had forgiven her with the snap of a finger.
Or had I?
It's so stupid. It's so stupid that I believed Hitomi to be perfect, that no sadness had traumatized her during her life. Sure, she had to have small sadnesses, small flaws, because everyone has that, but those could be easily forgotten. Sure, maybe a relative or a friend had died, and she'd sobbed at the loss of them, pined for them. But I never fathomed rape, much less a lost child. I never imagined it was something deeper than a fear of intimacy that held her body resigned from mine, never saw the problem as a complete phobia of sex. And I never imagined it because Hitomi had locked it away in her heart, always smiled at me, always dodged the question, always lied. Always lied. She lied about it. She lied to me. She lied from the very beginning, from that very first date, as she probed me, searching for my secrets, while locking hers away deep in a safe, burying them with smiles designed to court me, and at the same time throw me off her trail.
Hitomi lied to me.
Thoughts such as these echoed in the back of my mind even as I made love to her the night before. But these thoughts, too, they were stupid. The rape occurred long before I ever met Hitomi. It had nothing to do with me, except for the fact that it scarred her, prohibiting us from physical intimacy. And, although it was horrible to think such ways, if Hitomi had a child of her own, would I have ever met her? Probably not. Even if I had, would I have dated her? Not a chance. Would I have lived my life a grouch? Most likely. So wasn't it all good, in the end? Yes.
But still . . .
"It bothers you, doesn't it?" Hitomi whispered, almost inaudibly. I stared at her, unperturbed by her voice cutting into my thoughts; on the contrary, I welcomed the intrusion. But I was disturbed that I hadn't felt her move away from me, so that her head rested on the pillow, her eyes fixed on me. They held a knowing within them . . . a sadness.
"What? What bothers me?" I asked quietly.
"My confession . . . it bothers you . . . how we ended up here together . . . bothers you . . ." she whispered.
"No it doesn't," I said, sounding as though I was trying to convince myself.
"Now you're the one who's lying."
I sighed and rubbed my eyes, sensing Hitomi's staunch defense. "Isn't it typical that I would lie?" I murmured.
"What's that mean? That it's okay for you to lie, but it's wrong if I do?" Hitomi asked fiercely.
"No," I said immediately, mentally banging my head against the wall for my poor choice of words. "It's just . . . more typical that I would lie, but that doesn't make it okay . . . because it's not okay. But it's not okay for you to lie, either . . . Is this how you felt when I kept things from you?" I inquired.
"Maybe. But what you feel is probably so much worse, because there's something more to it," she said, snuggling against my neck. "And I know that sorry isn't good enough."
Her words clicked in my head. "I thought I knew you," I whispered.
I'll never forget how Hitomi leaned over me then, her face practically touching mine, so close I could feel her steady breath, could see the dolor in her eyes, registered the tenderness of her bare body resting against mine. There was nothing between us, mentally or physically; our thoughts, our secrets, our desires, our losses, they could all be read like an open book. Playfully, she nudged my face with hers, so that every word she spoke was a light kiss, so that I didn't hear her message, but rather, I absorbed it. "You do know me, Van. You knew before. Now you know me better than anyone. And I know you, Van. I know you better than anyone."
Yes, I mouthed, pressing the word into her, finding it unnecessary to speak. Hitomi's gaze mesmerized me, held me in a trance-like state, as she continued.
"I love you. I love you, even though I disagree with you sometimes. I love you even when you hurt me, because I know you have flaws. I have flaws, too. Our love has flaws. But you still love me, don't you?"
Yes, I mouthed as Hitomi kissed me.
"Do you forgive me?"
As I kissed her, I pinned her beneath me before audibly answering, "Yes."
oOo
To say that the next two months of my life were great would be an understatement.
They were almost perfect.
Reveling in the new openness in our relationship after the Christmas revelation, Hitomi and I saw more and more of each other, as our love continued to mature. Most weekends Hitomi stayed with me rather than in her dorm. Even during the day, as I wrote articles for the newspaper, Hitomi would generally stay, doing her own schoolwork quietly, puttering around cleaning up my sloppy apartment, or doting over me and distracting me as I worked. Sometimes she would go out (despite the cold) with Yukari and Merle for "girl time" (you know, shopping, gossiping, getting hair done, all that good stuff). And at night, as I watched Hitomi sleep peacefully by my side, I pondered about what our life would be like in the future, married, living together on a full-time basis. Within the blissful cocoon of love that surrounded me, I could see a bright, happy future; but the more realistic, dreary side of me knew this notion was, somehow, terrifically wrong.
Hitomi's friends and I became very close, as happens with most couples. From time to time, we'd have a little get together, just sitting around and talking (and drinking). Most of our conversations ended in silliness, but I found the change of pace refreshing; for the first time in a long while, I had friends, people I could trust and goof around with, and count on when life takes those curves a little too fast.
Talks of adopting Hana managed to pop into our conversations a score of times. Just as Hitomi and I had drawn closer to each other, Hana, too, became ever more attached to us. Playing and talking with her, I knew it was somehow wrong of me to favor her over the other children, but I couldn't help myself. The more time I spent with her, the more I wanted to get her out of the orphanage. Hitomi, respecting her duties as a social worker, tried to divide her time evenly between the children and doing paper work; she, too, found this a hard task.
"The three of you look like a family," Dryden commented airily one day, that omniscient smirk plastered on his face. Hitomi and I stared at each other, our eyes asking questions and perceiving the answers, while Hana gazed up at us expectantly. Instead of voicing our thoughts, Hitomi and I just smiled, continuing our short walk across the room, standing on either side of Hana, holding hands. Truthfully, we had no idea where the future would take us, but we just found it fun to mess with Dryden's mind.
Perhaps most surprisingly, Hitomi undertook a waitressing job on Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday evenings to help save money for the wedding. Although I argued that she didn't have to do this, since having a job cut into spending time at the orphanage and spending time with me, she dismissed anything I said with heated determination. After a few nasty fights, I pretty much dropped the subject, letting Hitomi do whatever she wanted, though I could tell school, her job, and her volunteer work gradually began to take their toll.
Often I wish she had taken the time to slow down.
oOo
"A severe snowstorm will head in later today, around three this afternoon. Blizzard-like conditions are expected, with a snowfall rate at times of two inches per hour. The storm will move out tomorrow morning, leaving behind up to twenty inches of snow. Avoid driving, if possible, to allow road crews to plow and salt the roads."
Such was the weather forecast for Wednesday, February 26th. Sleepily, I grumbled under my breath, cursing the foul weather and preparing myself for the chaotic day ahead. People were so very foolish in the snow-- they either drove unbearably slow, getting themselves stuck, or drove far too fast, unable to stop in time, making an even bigger mess than before . . . and often ending in tragedy. I sourly hoped that I wouldn't run into any such headaches that day.
But we all know luck doesn't favor me much, now does it?
The snow clouds had already begun to roll in, drifting along ominously, toying with everyone's minds, as they watched the skies and scrambled to get all their daily tasks done before the snow began to fall. Just driving to work I encountered more traffic than usual, and resorted to cursing and horn honking more than once. Ever since that day, I decided that snow was fun to play in, but a bitch for just about everything else.
Late upon arrival, I hastily prepared for the long nine or so hours ahead. The air in the station seemed heavier, more frantic than usual, as other various workers bustled along, all talking lowly to one another about the oncoming snow. Some seemed enthusiastic about it, as snow lovers, while others, like me, did nothing but complain and speculate about the horrific work day ahead. I always thought it was interesting, how people get so worked up over the weather, and how much the weather really does affect our lives. I've come to the conclusion that, as human beings, we sometimes hate and fear the weather because we cannot control it, and often times, we cannot predict the severity of its will.
Before heading out, I stumbled across my boss, who looked cold without a jacket as he walked across the lot. He gave me a cheerful smile as I approached him, despite his chill, and I hesitantly smiled back, for the boss usually didn't come in so early anymore; but again, the weather affects everything.
"You be careful out there today," he said briskly. "If it's as bad as they say it's going to be, listen for the call to come back. We'll have to shut down, with the predicted snowfall rate."
"I'll be waiting for the call."
He gave a small laugh. "Remember, be careful. I know you're a good driver, and I trust you. But you be wary of other drivers. It only takes one idiot to cause a traffic jam."
I laughed halfheartedly. "Too true."
"Take care, Van."
"You, too."
oOo
For a little while, before the snow came, everything went fine; although there was more traffic, less people boarded the bus. As soon as the first flake fell, however, all the idiots seemed to hop into their cars, with a bumper sticker that read "I CAN'T DRIVE FOR SHIT." If I wasn't desperately trying to stop the bus to prevent crashing into some I-randomly-stop-because-it's-snowing idiot, I was stuck behind someone going ten miles per hour. The steering wheel tempted me to run into a pole numerous times; anything to get off the roads.
By the end of my shift, all the buses were being called back, for over three inches of snow had fallen and the snow fall continued to increase. At the past few stops, no one had even been waiting; but with a sinking feeling, I somehow knew Hitomi would be waiting faithfully, freezing and snow covered, for me to pick her up. Against orders, I did not go directly back to the station, and instead traveled along the near-deserted roads, until the next stop came into few.
And sadly, I was right.
She boarded, bundled tightly yet shivering slightly, as she would on any other day, giving me a smile, practically hidden by her hood, and dropping a token into the slot before sitting down across from me.
"You are insane," I confirmed to myself.
"What?" Hitomi asked, pulling down her hood to allow her hair to fall freely.
"Get off and go back to your dorm," I growled, an eerie feeling sweeping over me, sitting on the bus, illuminated only by the artificial light and ethereal glow of the snow.
"No."
"Hitomi--"
"Why can't I go home with you? You have to drive to the station anyway," Hitomi said, no hint of anger or stubbornness in her voice. For the first time I noticed how worn out she looked, her eyes dull and shadowed; or perhaps the lights were deceiving me.
"Won't you have school tomorrow?" I asked, more softly.
"Can't I miss a day?" she asked, laced with exasperation.
Like the sympathetic sop I was, I grudgingly shut the door, waiting as she took her seat. At first, the bus wouldn't move, stuck in a drift of snow, and for a second I panicked, only to have the bus lurch forward with a start. Once back on the main road, the snow level evened out slightly, and yet it was obvious the layers were steadily growing. By now, the falling snow covered most of my vision; without the street lamps and the lights of businesses, and the fading tire tracks on the road, I probably would've been hopelessly lost; I knew I'd made a terrible mistake in waiting so long to head back. I drove extremely slow, almost like the idiots I hated, full of anxiety, doubled by the fact that Hitomi sat with her face in her hands, looking disturbingly desolate.
"What's wrong?" I asked, trying to keep the fear out of my voice, trying to sound wholeheartedly concerned for my ailing fiancée, and failing miserably.
"Tired," Hitomi whispered, allowing her hand to fall from her face. In the shadows of the night and the reflection of the snow, she looked deathly pale, with hollowed and lifeless eyes that made my heart ache. "I want to go home," she said in a pained whine.
"Shh," I said, as though trying to quell a distressed child. "We're going home--" the word fell awkwardly on my tongue, for it seemed wrong and yet enthralling, that Hitomi should consider my apartment home, "-- and then I'll put you to bed, and then you can go to sleep for as long as you want." Then, to comfort myself, I said, with a small smile, "My princess is sick because she wouldn't listen to her prince."
But Hitomi would not follow my path. "I'm not cut out for the real world."
"That's not true," I said gently, "You've just completely worn yourself out in the dead of winter, and now you're sick."
"I am not sick," came her weak, resilient growl.
"You are sick, you silly girl," I growled back, as I debated whether or not to actually stop for the red light that I could barely make out through the white death that swirled about the windshield. My mind fretfully thought of how I would get stuck in the snow if I came to a stop, or how I might get hit by some other lunatic who was driving on the road if I ran the light; the lawful side of me, reluctantly, won, as I began to stop the bus, giving an involuntary start when Hitomi's cold hand brushed my cheek. I stared at her wide eyed as she stood next to me; she appeared to be the embodiment of living death.
"Do I really look that bad?" she asked, shivering. On impulse, I took her freezing hand and kissed it, giving it a squeeze of reassurance.
"No, you look so much worse," I whispered honestly. "Now sit down and put your gloves back on, please."
To the ease of my mind, she complied, but rather than sitting down across from me, she took a seat behind me, where it was harder for me to see her, which made me feel guilty for my comment; however, I said nothing.
The light changed to green, and yet I hesitated before pulling out slowly to make the turn. No cars were in my line of vision at the moment. The bus was moving forward, seemingly perfectly fine, until about halfway through the turn, when I ran into another snow drift that halted my forward progress. Cursing under my breath, I pressed the accelerator, causing the wheels to turn with a light screeching, yet going nowhere. In the distance I registered the onslaught of another vehicle's headlights, traveling perpendicular to me. I tried the accelerator again. Still nothing, and all the while the snow fell, unfalteringly, mocking me in my man-made machine that could not stand up to its natural wrath.
"Van . . ." Hitomi's voice rang out piercingly, obviously not knowing what to say. In the rear view mirror I could see her poking around the half-barrier to gaze at me uncertainly. Her face, even in sickness, was reassuring.
"Just a little stuck," I grumbled, switching the gear into reverse, noticing the headlights in the distance once again, closer now, coming ever closer at a dangerously fast speed for such a snow storm. Then I noticed that it was a truck, a massive hauling truck, and as if having an epiphany, I suddenly heard the faint blast of its whistle. Hurriedly I looked back in front of me, looked beyond the snow, and noted that I was stuck in the middle of the intersection.
And then panic seized me.
"Shit!" I cried, not thinking, as my heart began to race, foot slamming the accelerator, not caring about where it would take me or how fast it would do so: so long as it wasn't here. And yet still I went nowhere, trapped within a cursed machine, on a cursed street, in a cursed world. My heart raced, raced as it never had before, my foot continuing to press the accelerator, the bus swerving slightly side to side, going nowhere fast.
"Base to 629. 629, do you read me? Over," came the scratchy sound of a base operator trying to call me over the radio. But there was no time to respond. The blare of the truck horn became overwhelming.
"Van--!"
"629--"
"N--!" I never finished the simple two letter word as the truck came crashing into the side of the bus, into my side, sending both vehicles skidding across the snow slick streets, amongst the horrible sounds of glass shattering, the bus teetering before landing, groaning, on its side. The side and back of my head, already smashed into the window and seat upon recoil, bleed into my hand as I tried to protect my face from flying glass, other debris, and being suffocated by the airbag. My chest and side ached painfully as the seatbelt held me steadfastly in place, even as the bus lay on its side. I fell unconscious for a few moments, dizzy, suffering a concussion, yet, despite all my physical ailments, I will never forget how much my heart hurt, to hear Hitomi's body be flung across the bus.
"629! 629, where are you?!" persisted the frantic cries from the radio.
Vision unfocused, I looked down at the broken door facing the street, snow already pouring in through the smashed windows. "Hitomi . . ." I moaned, suspended in the air only by the will of the painful seatbelt. I spotted her body sprawled about the broken windows, face down to the street. "Hitomi!" I exclaimed, despite the throbbing of my head and the double vision, hastily undoing my seatbelt, only to fall, hard, to the floor, induced into another daze before reaching Hitomi's side.
"629!! Report your status!! 629!!"
"Hitomi . . ." I whined, staring at her shattered body, disregarding my own pain, completely horrified at hers. Already snow began to cover her, melting as it touched her warm blood, trickling out from various scratches made by glass on her unprotected face. She appeared to be unconscious. Yet what frightened me the most was the pool of blood that had already formed, as the crimson liquid oozed out of what appeared to be deep wounds to her side and chest.
"Hey!" a new voice broke my thoughts, as I frantically contemplated what to do about Hitomi. "Can anybody hear me?"
"What do you want!" I half screamed, half sobbed at the nameless, faceless voice.
"So you are alive!" the voice said with relief. "I've already called an ambulance!"
I didn't know what to say as I stared at Hitomi's broken body again.
"Is it just you?" the voice, which I had, in my fuzzy mind, concluded was the truck drivers, asked.
"No, there is another," I yelled mournfully. "She's badly hurt," I cried. Then, to myself, as I gently cradled Hitomi's head in my hands, "So badly hurt . . ."
"Open the emergency exit!" called the truck driver.
"Van! Van, where are you?!" came the scratchy voice over the radio.
Kissing Hitomi's forehead lightly, I slipped off my jacket, feeling another round of dizziness, and covered her with it, trying to keep her warm for the moment, and intending to try and stop her bleeding after I had hastily opened the emergency exit on the roof of the bus. When I pushed at the exit, initially nothing happened; I was too weak. But I had to get back to Hitomi, and eventually found the strength to open the escape door.
Again I went to Hitomi, scared of moving her, scared of aggravating her wounds, and yet I had to do something besides watch her life seep away onto the cold, snowy ground. Cautiously at first, then with all the force I could muster, I pressed the cloth of my coat into her wounds, feeling the blood stain my hands, sending a chill of fright down my spine. "Hitomi, oh God, Hitomi!" I exclaimed, leaning my face to her pale one, yet receiving no response. "Hitomi!"
The truck driver poked his head through the emergency door, but I ignored him. "Will she be alright?" he asked worriedly, perhaps feeling remorse for the pain that he had caused.
"I . . . I . . . I don't know," I answered truthfully, body shaking, shaking not from the cold, but from the fear that I might lose the one person in my life that I held most dear. But that couldn't happen, could it? No. No, Hitomi couldn't die. Hitomi was just hurt. Just sick. She'd get better. And then we could live our happily ever after, without all the drama. Yes, Hitomi would get better, I halfheartedly reassured myself.
"Is she close to you?" the truck driver asked, and for the first time that night I felt angry, utterly angry, at the dumbass who had smashed into me and asked such a stupid question, at the snow for being such a bitch, at myself for being such a selfish bastard. I hated all these things and many more. And I hated myself some more simply for hating them.
Coldly I turned to the truck driver, although I could not see his face. "She is my fiancée. My fiancée!" I exclaimed, the anger melting as I turned back to Hitomi, her eyes now open, staring blankly, painfully, at me.
"I'm s-sorry . . ." the truck driver began.
"Shut up!" I yelled, leaning down once again to my beloved Hitomi, pressing my jacket harder into her side, still feeling the blood rushing out. "Hitomi . . ." I whispered, unsure of what to say, unsure of her response.
"Van . . ." she replied in a choked voice, and to my horror, she coughed up blood.
"Shh, shh," I pleaded, "Don't speak. Just relax. I'm trying to stop the bleeding."
"Do I really look that bad?" she choked, bringing up more blood.
"I told you not to speak!" I said, louder than I'd intended. I was on the verge of tears; but I controlled myself, remembering that I was talking to Hitomi, sweet, lovable, caring Hitomi. "It's going to be okay," I whispered, kissing her lightly on the nose. "Everything is going to be okay. The ambulance is coming, princess, and when it does, they'll clean you right up, and you'll be all better. Then you can sleep all you want, princess, I promise you. Then you can sleep all you want."
I was aware that the truck driver, the total stranger that had temporarily ruined my life, watched me intently, watched me cradle Hitomi and whisper nothingnesses, reassurances, to her as we waited impatiently for the ambulance, for our rescue. Those at the base called my name frenetically over the radio, and yet I didn't care. I refused to leave Hitomi's side, even as her eyes began to wander and fade. I just kept talking to her, as time passed slowly, so slowly, until, in the distance, I heard the sirens of hope.
Even when the medics arrived, it took them what seemed like forever and a day to enter the bus, hampered by the smallness of the emergency door. Upon seeing the state of Hitomi, five people, three adorned in the garb of medics and two firefighters, entered. One of the medics focused their attention on me, while the other four began the careful process of getting Hitomi off the bus and into the ambulance.
"I need you to come off the bus with me," said the medic.
I felt dizzy again, but nevertheless, I replied. "Please, go take care of the girl."
"We will. But we need to look at you, too. Looks to me like you have your own score of wounds," she said, as if joking about the situation that I found devoid of all amusement.
"I'm coming, in a second," I said. "I have to answer the radio call."
"Go," said the medic.
I picked up the mic. "629 to base. Do you copy? Over."
"Van!" came the relieved reply. "Where are you? What happened? Why haven't you been responding?"
"Accident," was all I murmured, listening to the sounds and voices of turmoil around me, reaching out to Hitomi with my heart.
"Where? Where are you?"
"I really messed up this time," I said, beginning to cry.
oOo
They asked me all sorts of questions, about myself and Hitomi, as they examined me in the ambulance, in our mad dash for the hospital. Certain questions I could not answer specifically about Hitomi, like the phone number of a relative; instead, I gave them Yukari's number, for I felt sure that Yukari would know the Kanzaki's number, and would break the news of this tragedy to them. But these questions, they were all trivial, as I sat in a different ambulance than Hitomi, our speed hampered by the blizzard.
They confirmed that I had a concussion, a severe one, and indeed, I could feel the affects more and more as I could do less and less for Hitomi due to our separation. Upon asking me if I had any relation to the girl, they seemed surprised when I said she was my fiancée, but they let it pass without comment. Instead, they diligently cleaned and bandaged whatever cuts I had, examining me, telling me what to do about my concussion.
When we reached the hospital at last, they unloaded Hitomi first, rushing her to the emergency room in a mad scramble; I merely saw her stretcher taken away. Afterwards, they rolled me in at a leisurely pace, taking me to a hospital room, getting me out of my cold, wet clothes, making me lie in a bed, and giving me medicine, even as I pleaded to know Hitomi's condition. I needed to know. I needed to know what was happening to her; but I couldn't make the headache go away.
As I threatened to get up and find Hitomi myself, a nurse finally said, "She is in critical condition. The doctors are doing what they can to save her. There's nothing you can do for her."
There's nothing you can do. The nurse's words repeated over and over in my scrambled mind; and, sadly, I knew she was right. There was absolutely nothing I could do to help Hitomi, the one I wanted to help the most, the one I would give my life for, and yet couldn't. There was absolutely nothing I could do. I felt more worthless than I had in all my life.
"Please," I pleaded. "Please update me on her condition. Please tell me if she's okay."
"You need to rest . . ." the nurse began.
"Please!" I cried, tears of remorse and fear welling up in my eyes.
"We will. Just rest," was her terse reply.
But how could I rest? My mind was in chaos. I began to play the 'what if' game with myself. What if, what if, what if . . .
What if Hitomi died? No! I had already established that Hitomi couldn't die. Yes. Yes.
What if, what if, what if . . .
It seemed as though hours passed, but in reality it was only minutes, minutes upon minutes upon minutes, a half hour, forty five minutes, maybe, before someone came into my room again. I asked them about Hitomi, but they knew nothing; they had only come to check on me. More minutes upon minutes upon minutes. An hour. An hour and fifteen. An hour and a half. An hour and forty five.
Until a doctor finally came with the news.
oOo
AN: Don't kill me. I'd prefer not to die for my evil cliffhanger! I know it's evil, see? That's part of good story telling, right? I'm not gonna lie, my heart is racing right now. I get so caught up in this story, in being . . . well, in being Van. (now that I've begun to read these notes, I'm kinda distancing myself from his character, though . . .) Yes, my heart aches for Van, as I hope yours does. And Hitomi.
So, I'm sorry this update was so late, but . . . I dunno . . . I began working on it awhile ago, and I was just like "I'm not feeling it." And I tried again, and again, and again; I just never felt it. The beginning of the chapter took me most of the months; which is the exact opposite of what I expected. I expected the crash to be the hard scene to write; and yet, like I said, I got caught up in being Van, got so caught up in his turmoil, that the words just flew onto the computer screen before I could even think it all the way through (of course, I went back and edited so his jumbled thoughts actually make semi-sense :D). I finally felt it, felt my inspiration flow back into me, this past week or so. I've been pretty dead lately. Everything just seems so . . . boring. But I guess I'm all better now; except I know that, as soon as I post this, I'll have to get back into serious school mode, and I'll have to practice my violin so much, and I have hockey tournaments and playoffs, and I have to take the SAT on March 10th and probably get like a 540 on the math section (because that's what I ALWAYS get on the PSAT for the math section . . .). Hey wow, I can get feel my life crashing down around me.
But anyway, before I get back to all that, the question now lingers: will Hitomi live or will Hitomi die? Only I, and a select few, know the answer:D All will be revealed in the last chapter of LS!
Whenever the hell I write that o.O
-Spirit0