A/N- My shot at an intense scene!
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So, I've been stuck on this amazing story, "Amazing Grace" by Baybie, check it out!
The paramedic that I've come to know as, Joe shakes his head and busies himself with finding a good vein in Punk's forearm so he can attach the blood bag.
Hearing his comment made all my tears evaporate and a frown found its way onto my face, "Really? You could be bleeding to death and you're trying to be the funny guy?", I snatch my hand away and cross my arms.
Phil lets out a shaky sigh, "Yes. Yes, it's the only thing that'll keep my mind off the excruciating pain I'm in."
The man smirks but I see right through it; Phil was always one to never say whether he was hurting, and that really worried me, "Well, say so then…I'm not psychic! I can tell Joe, here, to give you a shot of morphine; as a matter of fact..." Phil's hand latches on to my forearm.
"NO!", he shouts. I look at him like he just lost his marbles, "No…I don't take drugs."
"That's ridiculous…it's motherfuckin' MORPHINE, you know a pain med?", I tell him.
He chuckles lightly and then winces, "Stop making me laugh…it hurts—"
"With more reason!", I try to pull out of his grip but fail, "Let go…you're in pain!"
"I said I don't want any pain meds…they go against my being Straight-Edge…"
Huffing, "If this is you trynna be macho-man then it's not cute.", I pull out his grip and sit back down, "Suit yourself."
I tried to pass off as indifferent and tried to disregard the grunts of pain Phil let escape from his throat, but I couldn't. I couldn't disregard him…his pain is my pain. Fuck you, feelings. Fuck you. As soon as I saw him start shivering and sweating I went into action, "Phil…Phil, what's wrong? Does it hurt?", he isn't responding and his breathing became shallower with each second, "C'MON PHIL, TELL ME WHERE IT HURTS."
Joe sees this and starts yelling orders to the paramedic who's driving, telling him to floor it.
His trembling hand grabs mine and he begins to talk in between breaths, "I ever tell…you…how beau-beautiful you are?", hell?, "Only get more…with age…I never stopped loving those…eyes...ever since we were…in highschool…always been in lo-love…", he goes into a fit of labored coughs and tears rise in those lazy olive-green eyes. What's he saying?, "with them…Always…with you…", my breath is lost somewhere in my lungs, my eyes open wide…Did he just?, "Couldn't stay mad…no, never…", he closes his eyes, he hold my hand in death grip…it's starting to turn pale just like him and I'm worried.
People always give these life-changing speeches before they die…DIE?, "JOE, WHAT'S WRONG WITH HIM?"
Before Joe can reply, "Marleene, I-I'm…in love with…you…always have been…", Phil opens his eyes and they search mine. My eyes are wide with surprise and worry. Tears run down my cheeks from all this new info…He's delirious! His eyes roll to the back of his head and that's when I see that blood is quickly drenching the stretcher. I screech in horror.
"Ma'm I have to ask you to stay away…he's starting to bleed out and I need all the space I can get.", inquires Joe.
Hyperventilating, "IS HE GONNA DIE? OH FUCK…OH FUCKING JESUS!"
Joe has shut me off. He flips Phil over and I see just to what extent his wound has worsened. Joe takes a pair of scissors and cuts off the gauze quickly. He puts on new sterilized gloves and plucks out all the cotton balls. As soon as the last one is plucked out, a spring of blood gushes out. Cover my mouth to keep from screaming. My eyes roam and see that the wound is slowly but progressively turning a different color.
"Joe…JOE, what does that mean? Is he bleeding out?"
"I'm not certain but he has an infection…we need to get him to the damned hospital quickly."
"I'M NOT CERTAIN? REALLY?", I ask aggravated by the fact that he doesn't know for sure.
My right shoulder pulsates and a sharp pain courses throughout. From all this anger, tension, and worry the quick stitches done on my own would rip apart. I yelp from the searing pain and feel warm liquid run down. Pain is so intense that I find myself getting woozier and woozier by the second. Joe is too focused getting Punk's wound cleaned to notice me going down.
Man down! Man down! Man dow-. My vision blurs and then I swim into the waters of unconsciousness.
Shortly after waking up like 2hrs ago, I realized that we'd been brought to the same hospital where I'd just been not even a day ago. Some doctor cleaned out my wound, stitched me up, and gave me a prescription for the pain. An elderly nurse on duty gave me a shirt, socks, and sweats to wear since my borrowed dress was soaked with blood. I found my signed flyers, numbers, and money intact so I was happy. Then, my cranky-self was sent to the billing shit…you know, where they ask for you info, insurance, and all that good stuff.
Since I have no insurance, Medicaid, or none of that government funded bullshit, I'm stuck filling out paperwork. Paperwork sucks. Bills fucking suck. THIS HOSPITAL SUCKS! I'm being billed 800 HUNDRED FUCKING BUCKS, dude. What I look like? Does it look like I shit money? 300 for the E.R room, which was just a fucking section of a room, and utilities used; the rest for what I imagine the doc's pay. FUCKING RIDICULOUS!
The sound of a crying unstable teen girl threw my concentration out the window. My eyes conspicuously travel over to the E.R door where she stood with two policemen. Her hair is disheveled, up in every which way. Her make-up is smeared and 3 long gashes can be seen on her face—they seem fresh. Her clothes consist of a ripped, tattered, over-sized plaid shirt and ripped faded blue jeans with blood at the crotch area. I know what she's here for, it's obvious. She's a rape case, shaky legs and all. I pity her because she seems too young to even know what rape is. Day, weeks, months, years will pass by and she'll live with that trauma…probably scrubbing herself raw to get rid of those invisible germs, that dirty feeling—just like I used to do every night after fucking a client. So young…
Rotating my head, I fill in some more blanks in the forms. My mind travels to the incident leading to this. All the hair on my arms rise, so do goosebumps. I'd been so close to death and it didn't cease to scare me. How did Noah know my location? Did he stalk me? So many thoughts and questions run through my mind, but only one image sticks: the look in his eyes. I shiver and tremble just remembering. His life had probably gone downhill prior to the events. His state of mind showed it; his appearance too. Thinking of my crazed ex made my heart's pace quickly and wound pulsate. One minute he's hitting me across the face, the next declaring his love, and lastly stabbing me. I shiver and wipe the tear that slides down my cheek. The pen I put atop the bill clipboard rattles and I notice that I'm trembling violently. Is this how I'm gonna be? Scared and traumatized? Which brings on the question: what would've happened if Phil and Maria hadn't come out when they did? It hits me like a freight train, had shit taken a different turn…I'd probably be in emergency surgery or worse. I'd be in Phil's place…
Those very same words echo in my head over and over, I'm in love with you…always have been. Took all these people to tell me but yet I never believed a syllable…not until he told me himself. Even now, sitting in this damned chair I ponder.
Ponder, why? That night at the bus station I promised that I'd wait for him, that no other would take his place. He leaves for awhile and I let my loneliness get to me and what do I do? Fuck his brother the one who betrayed him…the same brother who stole from him and like the money he took his girl.
October comes around and I meet somebody new. Graduation comes around and I'm in love thinking that the man, Noah, too loved me. Lies, lies, lies and fake promises…this was the man I believed to be my first love because my real first love was washed away through bottles upon bottles of cheap liquor and blurry nights. One night when I've had enough of Noah's bullshit and actually stand up for myself…I'm pushed down, physically and beaten senseless. This is my "first love".
A mysterious superhero swoops me in his arms and saves me. His identity revealed as Micks's brother, my washed away real first love…forgotten, pushed away in the depths of my brain. We spend a day or two together: laughing, joking, talking, and passing by all the places we used to go…I don't realize. I overhear his conversation with his sister and yet have no clue. My savior leaves wanting to kiss me. Leaves me the keys to his home and still claims me to be nothing but a stranger he can't remember. In the time in between, I go and give myself to others like the first time he left me; this time for money. Pages and pages of journals I've read and this all seems new. Friends and sister confirmed it. Hell, even he did with his actions way before he uttered his love.
That disgust he showed when he found out about my whoring, the look in his eyes as he inched nearer and neared to kiss me on top of the sink, anger and annoyance shown whenever his main man Colt flirted jokingly with me or even simply touched me, those mumbles and whispers, the scenes of anger and disgust back at the cabaret when he thought I could do better that he could support me, his reaction to seeing me with Randy, the glossiness of his eyes during my person, that look…EVERYTHING yelled his feelings; confirmed that he hadn't ever forgotten… me.
"Ma'm? Ma'm?", a nurse brings me back with her soft voice, "Are you okay?"
"What?", I ask confusedly
"You broke the clipboard and you're crying…", she tells me with a look of pity in her face.
Oh…Lookin' down at my hands, I have indeed broken the clipboard in half. My eyes are blurry and puffy from all the crying and my voice is hoarse. Avoiding all eye-contact with the nurse I tell her that I'm fine. Nurse doesn't buy it but doesn't pester me about it. One more look and she leaves.
Wiping my tears furiously, my mind traveled to Punk's girlfriend and her state of distress. The beautiful woman didn't look too good when we were snatched away in the ambulance. What about Wes? Shit! He didn't even know! He'd be freaking out and shit. I rake a hand through my curls and rub my temples.
"Family of Phillip Brooks?", calls out a voice. Cracking my eyes open I notice it's a doctor in his surgical scrubs, "Family of Phillip Brooks!"
Shit. What should I say I am? Think, think, think. "Yes? I'm his…girlfriend!", I answer.
The older doctor strides over with a clipboard in hand. He stops right in front of me and I feel awkward lookin' up at him so I stand. He lifts his mask and pulls out his hand and I shake it, "I'm Dr. Charles Pfeffer, pleasure to meet you."
"Hi, I'm Marleene Soto."
"Well, I've got some good news and bad news…which one do you want to hear first?", he says
Sighing, "Bad."
"You may want to sit down.", I do. My nerves are on edge. Is he dead? BRAIN DEAD?, "Phillip—"
"Phil."
"Ah yes, Phil. He suffered a stab wound to the left shoulder.", No shit, Captain Obvious, "Which is, to an extent, quite dangerous for many nerves and blood vessels are located there including a major vessel that supplies blood to the heart—"
I started to fear the worst and wanted the doctor to get to the point, "Doc…just tell me!"
"Okay. Phil suffered lacerations a major blood vessel…", gasp, "and a couple nerves."
Fresh tears arrive instantly; I hide my face in my hands. What have I done?, "Miss…he's fine. We took care of them. It's just that his left arm will be paralyzed for a day or two.", my head shoots up and ears perked, "He's fine, rest assured. He'll be in a sling for…I want to say, 6wks."
My mood brightens up at the news that Phil's alive, but fury rises at the scare Dr. Pfeffer gave me, "You bastard!", Doc is dumbfounded, "Had me all scared and shit for nothing."
"I'm sorry, Miss. Uh…if you wish to see him come along."
"Of course I wan—"My pupils dilate and his words spring into my mind, "I'll take you up on the offer a lil' later…he needs his rest."
"But he's awa—"
"HE NEEDS REST.", I mutter through my teeth
"Um…okay.", says the doctor and walks back through the out-of-bounds doors.
The hell am I gonna say to Phil? Is he even gonna remember? Were those what he thought his last words? FUCK! My stomach somersaults over and over. My body needs a stress reliever. I make my way outside in hopes of finding any smokers willing to donate a square.
Three nurses are huddled near the entrance laughing and smoking. How ironic. I go up to them and ask; reluctantly one carrot-head does and a brunette lights it up for me. I mumble a thanks and pace away.
"Right in here, Ms. Soto.", announces this cute little Asian nurse.
I smile nervously and thank her; on the inside I want to run away…screaming. Entering the room I find that Phil has a roommate. He's another white-boy with tattoo sleeves and black hair. Kinda attractive but nowhere near Phil's league. I look over him to Phil and he seems to be napping. As I back away the roommate whistles.
"Man, Phil, how does an ugly bastard like you get a woman like that?", says the roommate laughing.
Phil turns over and laughs along, "Ugly? I'm a prettyboy to her!", my knees feel like Jell-O and I wish the damned white-boy would've stayed his ass quiet.