My left ankle throbbed. A stress headache threatened to pound my brain into mush regardless of the 10ccs of Tylenol the nurse administered via my IV an hour earlier. An analog clock hung over the door of the drab, beige ER cubicle. It didn't matter anyway; my vision was swimming too much to read the numbers.
What a fucking mess, I thought. If someone told me that the object of my lustful fantasies would be the reason I'd end up in the ER on Christmas Day, I would've laughed until I cried. "Bruise by Bella" was the fake business name Eric Yorkie and Tyler Crowley coined during lunch sophomore year of high school. I'd given Eric yet another welt when the badminton birdie flew sideways instead of over the net—my intended target. Tyler and Eric ignored my bright red face, debating if my clientele should pay for the privilege of bruising, like a dominatrix, or should I pay my unwitting victims in the form of kisses. They'd gotten as far as listing what type of kiss covered which form of bruising when Siobhan Michael kicked Eric in the shin, telling him to shut the fuck up before she told the principal who was really responsible for burning the word "shitass" into the visitor side of the football field the night before the Forks vs Port Angeles football game. Eric and Tyler had mumbled quick apologies before slinking off to wherever high school boys go when embarrassed. I'm certain they finished the conversation; over the years, I'd hear a sly "that's worth a Frenchie" muttered under their breath when my bad aim coordinated with their exposed flesh.
"How are you feeling, Bella?" My overly cheerful nurse bustled into my room. A dead ringer for Anna Kendrick, if she were twenty years older and forty pounds heavier, her name tag read "Jessica Stanley".
"Not too bad." Throbbing ankle and citrus-juicer headache aside.
"Great! The doctor wants to monitor you a bit longer, so I need you to sit tight for a while yet. If you're ready, there's a police officer here, waiting to get your statement. But only if you're ready." She gave me a sharp look as she entered my vitals into the electronic chart.
"Umm," I started to ask, swallowing hard. "Umm, can you tell me what happened to the gentleman who was with me?" Nurse Jessica's face was sympathetic when she replied.
"I'm sorry," she said gently, "It's against hospital policy to discuss a patient without their consent."
"Oh." I'd known hospitals were tightlipped about patient privacy. Charlie had to sign forms at every specialist's office, nearly at every visit, authorizing me to remain in the room and participate in conversations about his prognosis and care. If the shoe was on the other foot, I wouldn't want any Joe Schmoe waltzing in and getting updates on how I was feeling. The pain of not knowing dropped heavily in my gut. I took a shaky breath, then another as I tried to box up my unease about Greek god.
"Bella?" Fear and panic set in as the last of the day's adrenaline drained from my body. Sobs racked my frame. I gasped for air as I tried, and failed, to regain control over my emotions. Nurse Jessica hovered by my side. "Bella, what's wrong?"
"I was going to marry that man," I choked out. It appeared my deepest, innermost wishes filter washed out to sea at the same time my emotional breaker crumbled into sand.
~o0o~
Saint Jessica. Sainted Nurse Jessica. Her Holiness. Goddess Divine. Her Eminence. She'd pulled a few strings, called in a favor that delivered me to Greek god's muted ICU bedside. A friendly, upbeat transporter named Garrett wheeled me and my IV from the emergency room on the first floor up in an elevator to the hospital's fourth floor. A raven-haired nurse met Garrett at the ICU's doors.
"Here you go, Maria," Garrett said as he latched the wheelchair's brakes into place.
"Thanks, Garrett," Maria responded, her heavy Texas accent shining through the two words. Maria released the brakes, pushing me through the double doors and into a dimly lit hallway. "I need to prepare you, Ms. Swan, for seeing your fiancé. He lost quite a bit of blood during the attack. Coupled with hitting his head when he fell onto the tracks, his body had quite a bit of trauma. The doctor will be in shortly to explain what steps we've taken to stabilize him for now and what future treatment entails."
I nodded. I wasn't sure my vocal cords would work even if I'd wanted to say something. Maria wheeled me into the third room on the right. Illuminated only by a set of wall sconces, the lights created a ring around the patient lying in bed and pushed the heavy medical equipment into a gray periphery where they existed but didn't dominate.
"Would you like a chair, sugar? It'd let you sit closer than the wheelchair would." I nodded. Maria situated an armless chair next to Greek god's bed and helped me transfer from the wheelchair to the chair. After helping me settle into the chair, Maria pulled a blanket out of a cabinet and tucked it around my legs. "Talk to him, sugar. He can hear you. It'll do him good to hear your voice." Patting my arm, Maria left the room with nary a squeak from the well-oiled door hinges.
Alone, I took my first good look at Greek god. His head and forehead were swathed in white bandages, albeit for a dollar-sized rust red spot staining the wrappings along his left temple. He'd been fitted with an oxygen cannula, and a IV bag of pain meds was attached to the bag of saline dripping through his IV. With his eyes closed and body motionless, Greek god looked like a shell of the man he was in real life. I took his right hand in mine. Bowing my head, I pressed his knuckles into my forehead.
"I'm so sorry," I cried. Sorry for what I wasn't sure; sorry for not anticipating what would happen. Sorry for not being large enough to break up the fight. Sorry for not paying attention when he spoke to me at the train station and losing my one chance to go out with him on a date. Sorry for lying accidentally, turning our barely acquaintance relationship into something deeper and more profound. Mainly, I was sorry that I barely saved his life in time.
~o0o~
"Guys, I don't have anything you want. Take my wallet; it's got $300 cash inside," Greek god said as he continued backing farther down the platform. His eyes moved in a triangle: man, man, down. Man, man, down.
Tall One matched Greek god's movements step-for-step, hand swish for hand swish. "His Majesty sends a message—stay away and leave it alone."
"No." Greek god's voice was low and controlled. "It" was important. "It" was worth getting into a fight with two strange men over. "It" turned Greek god into a bear, ready to defend his territory. Tall One shrugged, flicking his left hand down and away. "Your funeral," he said, moving closer to Greek god.
Greek god looked directly at me. "Run, Bella, run! He has a knife!"
~o0o~
I spent weeks crying into Greek god's hand. Or maybe, it was only moments. Possibly hours; I'm not sure. What I did know was that my terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day got worse.
The soft click of the door latch compressing brought me back to the present. Nurse Maria entered the room followed by two people, a man and a woman. The couple from the newspaper article. Greek god's parents. Fuck.
"Ms. Swan, your fiancé's parents are here." Oh shit. Oh, no. Oh, fuck. No, no, no, no, no. I stood quickly, turning to face them. The blanket Maria had so thoughtfully tucked around me tangled around my legs, forcing my balance off center. I wobbled for a moment, stepping backward with my left leg to catch myself. My brain, never helpful and usually inappropriate, chose that moment to start singing the toddler song, Dem Bones.
The hip bone's connected to the thigh bone.
The thigh bone's connected to the knee bone.
The knee bone is connected to the shin bone.
The shin bone's connected to the ankle bone.
The ankle bone's connected to the foot bone.
Now shake dem skeleton bones!
I let out a roar of pain as an audibly loud "pop" filled the silence as I set my foot on the floor. I fell sidewise back into the chair, clutching my shin to my chest. When I'd first gotten to the ER, I was asked to change into a gown. Nurse Jessica assured me it was procedure and reminded me that I'd be there for several hours while I waited for X-rays and evaluated for a concussion. I'd dutifully changed into the mint-green gown. Inwardly, I berated myself for not lugging my laundry to the laundromat earlier in the week. Down to the dredges of available clean clothes, I'd worn a pair of period undies, granny panties stained with old period blood and slightly frayed leg elastic. Underwear that was now on full display to my not-a-fiancé's parents.
Underneath my frantic mental discourse, I could hear Grandma Higgenbothom's voice. "Always wear clean panties. You never know who's going to see them." I've never known Grandma to be wrong, but I never thought she'd be right either.
Esme reached me first. "Are you okay, dear?" she asked.
A masculine voice joined hers, gently urging me to breathe. "Deep breath. Deep breath; there now. Nurse Maria is calling for a doctor." Warm, strong hands touched my calf, guiding it away from my chest toward the floor. "We'll wait for the doctor to arrive," Carlisle said quietly. "I'm afraid my speciality is in cardiology not orthopedics medicine."
Esme peered into my eyes, concern written over every inch of her face. Not even thirty seconds in the same room with their grievously injured son and I'd managed to make it all about me. Her eyes, and Carlisle's too for that matter, haven't so much as flickered at their son.
"I'm sorry," I choke out. "I'm so, so sorry." I'm sorry my selfishness has taken priority over their son's injuries.
Esme rubbed my knee. "It's okay," she murmured. "It's okay now." She continued rubbing my knee when Nurse Maria returned, followed by a slightly portly man with thinning white hair, wearing a doctor's white lab coat.
"Ms. Swan?" he asked, his voice commanding and soothing all at once. I nodded, this time knowing if I opened my mouth it'd change my crying from the slightly proud tears streaking down my face to the completely undignified open-mouthed sobbing. "Ms. Swan, I'm Doctor Gerandy. I'd like to examine your foot and leg; Nurse Hernandez told me your injury occurred when you placed weight on it."
Carlisle stood, creating space for Dr. Gerandy by the chair. He tapped Esme gently on the shoulder, tilting his head toward the door. "We'll wait outside," Carlisle said.
"No!" I shouted. I wiped my eyes, breathing deeply. "No, stay. You haven't even seen—" I broke off, a sob threatening to break through as I looked at Greek god lying immobile beside me. Esme took my hand in hers, squeezing lightly.
"He'd want our first priority to be you, dear," she said. "We'll be right outside the door." I gripped her hand tighter.
When Nurse Jessica asked earlier if I wanted to call anyone, I declined the offer of the phone; Angela was celebrating her first Christmas with her new husband, Jake and Billy had flown all the way from Forks to spend the rare opportunity to celebrate with Rebecca, the middle Black child. I didn't want to disrupt their day of laughter, smiles, and family for an unremarkable, cheerless ER room. Now that a warm hand cupped mine, I didn't want to let go.
"Stay. Please," I whispered. Esme nodded, shifting to my side. Carlisle leaned against the ICU's window, his eyes subtly scrutinizing the meds and bags attached to his son's IV pole. Fucking selfish, my brain screamed as I studied Carlisle. You're a big girl. Pull up those granny panties and find a way to get out of here. Let his parents fuss over him, not you.
A trio of soft knocks on the ICU door interrupted my thoughts. A blue-capped uniformed officer stepped into the room. "Ms. Swan?" he inquired. "I'm here to take your statement, if you're ready."
I stared at him, uncertain how to reply. Charlie instilled the importance of cooperating with police. "Tell 'em the truth and let 'em get back to work. It takes more time and effort to tease apart half-truths and lies and distracts from getting to the bottom of the issue." Carlisle spoke before I compiled my ramblings into a coherent statement.
"Is this necessary? My daughter-in-law has had a traumatic day."
"I'm sorry, sir; she was the only person, besides your son, who saw the assailants up close."
"Well," Dr. Grandey interjected. "Nothing is happening now. Wait in the lobby and someone will let you know when Ms. Swan is available." The officer's toe crossed the threshold of the doorway when he turned and faced Carlisle.
"You've got a helluva daughter-in-law. I know my wife loves me, but I'm not sure she would've jumped on the tracks with a train coming to save my hide."
Author's Note:
A huge thank you to Alice's White Rabbit for beta-ing and Maplestyle for pre-reading.