While You Closed Your Eyes

Chapter 4

I moan for a moment before I make the painful decision to open my eyes.

I squint heavily as I adjust to the light. I stare straight ahead as I realize where I am.

"Leah?" A woman. I instantly recognize the voice to belong to my mother. It's quiet, shaky, cracking, and groggy, which makes me wonder how I knew it was my mothers'.

"Oh dear Lord, Leah," my mom cries. She gently scoops me up into a bear-like hug.

"Why am I in the hospital?" I ask groggily. My voice is not mine. It's weak, quiet, and sounds torturous. This is not my voice.

"Oh, sweet pea," she says softly looking away from me.

"Mom...?" I say. It hurts to talk. "Where's Peter? Why am I in the hospital?"

"The thing is...sweet pea...the both of you were in a collision with an oncoming train, Peter, however, took most of the hit," Mom says softly, tears welling in her eyes.

Well, she obviously didn't sugarcoat anything... Introducing...my mother.

My eyes begin to sting and a painful stab emerges in my gut. "Did he die?"

I snap my eyes closed, preparing myself for the answer I know was coming. I couldn't prepare myself. Nothing could. I just didn't want to think that maybe...I could be possible for the death of my new boyfriend.

"No."

I open my eyes relieved, but then it hits me.

"Then what?" I ask nervously. If he didn't die, and he took most of the collision, than what happened to him?

"He's still in a coma," Mom says, "you just woke up."

"And how long was I in a coma...?" I ask.

Mom looks at me with dry, cold eyes. "Three weeks."

***

Not long after I'd talked with mom, Doctors and nurses flooded in to see me and check up, telling me I was lucky to be alive. The heck does that mean? I don't know if anyone else knows this, but besides a train wreck, I haven't the slightest idea what happened to me and Peter.

"When can I see Peter?" I ask for the third time since I've waken up, but this time, I'm asking doctors.

The doctor, whose name tag reads Dr Chlementine House, gives me a friendly, but stern look. "Did no one fill you in on the current situation?"

Puzzled, I shake my head.

Dr. House looks up and instructs everyone to leave the room, immediate family included.

It takes a minute for everyone to file out, but then she sits on a chair not far from my bed and the seriousness face is pulled out.

"What's going on?" I ask quickly.

"Well, Peter isn't doing as well as you have been," Dr. House says. "And you haven't been doing too great, if that tells you anything.

"So far, Peter has been in a coma for three hours longer than you have, the catch is, we can't for sure tell when he might be waking up, if he ever does. With you, we knew through testing that you would most likely wake up, we just couldn't say when, or how well you would be healthily. Peter isn't like that. Because he absorbed most of the impact, his trauma is far greater than yours."

I take a big gulp.

"And how bad are his physical injuries?" I ask.

"Besides hitting his head, his left arm is broken, two ribs, a fraction of his patella is shattered, and his right ankle is broken, as well. Not to mention the bruising and swelling all over. There is significant swelling on the left side of his face, along with deep cuts from the glass all over his body, which we've dressed and cleaned," Dr. House answers. "Aren't you the slightest bit worried about your own injuries?"

I nod, doing my best to swallow the information, I'm very aware of the years streaming down my face. "Of course I am, but I didn't know about his. Now, what about me?"

"You are quite something," Dr. House replies. "You hit your head on collision and were already in a coma when paramedics came to the scene. You have a large cut across your face from glass," She pauses to trace it lightly, "Your left eye, which you know already, is swollen shut for the time being. Your left wrist is broken, bruised, and scraped. Your knee cap broke into a few pieces when the motor hit you," She gulps and takes a deep breath, "which caused so much damage to your lower left leg that we had to amputate. We did our best to save it, how did you more notice any of this? Your ribs came close to breaking as well due to the position you were sitting in on contact....."

I've stopped listening. I lost my leg? Why the heck did my mom not tell me this three hours ago. That could've been useful information. But of course, with all the drugs I've been on, I hadn't paid much attention to my own injuries because i haven't felt them.

I was supposed to go to state. To hell with that dream, now. What am I supposed to do without my leg? Forget running. Basketball? Not going to happen, and I refuse to become a cheerleader. Volleyball is a distant dream as well. It was nice knowing what being an athlete was about. My life is ruined.

No, ruined is an understatement. My life is gone. GONE. O-V-E-R.

Why does life hate me so much?

"When can I see Peter?" I ask after I realized Dr. House was still talking.

"Well, I don't see why not," Dr. House replies after a moment. "Heather, can you assist Miss Aby into the wheelchair and then take her to see Mister Peter Allen, please and thank you."

With that, she leaves my room and leaves all the dirty work to the nurses, now that the hard stuff is over.

I do the best I can to get into the wheelchair without pain. I don't know if you've ever had a leg chopped off before, but it doesn't feel too pleasant, especially when I can feel the medicine slowly wearing off.

"Mister Allen is a few doors down in the ICU," Heather, the nurse, tells me as we leave my room and down the hall to his room, dragging the IV stand, which also holds other drugs which are doing their best to keep me from pain.

I don't even know where my mom went off to.

When Heather rolls me into Peter's room, his parents aren't there, and neither are any of his siblings. Bright flowers, stuffed animals, and cards are scattered throughout his room as it had been in mine wishing "A fast and speedy recovery", "Many prayers for you and your family", and "Deeply sorry for the outcome".

And in the middle of all the hope is Peter laying unconscious on the hospital bed in one of the same crappy robes as me, covered in a few blankets. Multiple tubes transfer various things from machines to Peter.

"Can you..erm..give me a few minutes?" I ask teary eyed.

Heather looks at me sympathetically, combs through my hair like my mother would, and nods, parking my wheelchair next to Peter's better side before leaving me alone in the room with Peter.

I begin to cry. "I didn't mean for all this to happen."

My head lays on the bed beside Peter's arm. I myself am still weak. It's getting dark outside, which makes me question what time it is. There aren't any clocks in the room. Stupid hospital.

"I just had to go to that 5k didn't I? Now look where that got me? I've lost a leg and probably won't run again, and almost got the both of us killed," I bawl. "Why does life have to be so shitty, sometimes? Why does my luck have to be shit??!"

I close my eyes. "I love you, Peter, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't die or anything."

I open my eyes and place Peter's hand comfortably next to his body and smile weakly at him. It's strange, a week ago, I couldn't imagine saying what I've just said to him, now, it feels like a second nature. I just he'll get to hear me say it.

Before you get these ideas in your head about the type of person you think I am, I don't normally say 'I love you' ever. But I think this situation calls for something drasticly healthy.

After a few minutes in silence, Heather reenters the room. "Ready to go back, kiddo?"

I shrug. "Do I have a choice?"

Heather looks at me with her lips pressed small and says nothing.