Crash Into Me (Into Me Series Book One)

Chapter Eighteen - Static

This isn't happening. This can't be happening. I'm dreaming. This is a nightmare, this has to be a nightmare. I'm going to wake up in a few seconds and Jackson is going to be there, holding me and lulling me back to sleep. I'm dreaming. I am dreaming. I have to be dreaming. This isn't real. This is not happening. I refuse to believe that this is happening. Wake up, Jet. Wake up. Wake up!

"Jet!" Caroline screams in my face as she shakes my shoulders.

The world comes flooding back into view. Sound reaches my ears again. I can suddenly feel the pressure of my scrubs against my skin. Everything comes back into crystal clear focus. Dr. Patel pulls the clean white sheet over the dead body in front of me. My stomach churns as it hits me just how small the body is in comparison to the sheet. Caroline physically turns my body around, forcing me to look at Jackson who has sunken to his knees and has his face buried in his hands. He sobs harshly, his body shaking.

Shove your shit down. Take care of him.

I kneel down next to Jackson, removing his hands from his face as I murmur his name. He looks up at me and starts crying harder, falling into me. I stumble back, needing a second to adjust to the sudden impact of his body weight. He grips my scrub top, pulling me closer as I wrap my arms around him. I rest my chin on the top of his head, closing my eyes as I feel his whole body shake.

"I'm here... I'm here..." I tell him as he continues to scream-sob. He keeps his grip on me as he leans farther into me. I think of him promising to always keep me safe, to protect me, to make sure that no one harms me. That's what I want to do for him. I want to protect him from this, but I can't. All I can do now is help him through it.

When I open my eyes, they're sliding the small body into a body bag and pulling it over onto the morgue cart. Hundreds of flashbacks of bodies in body bags on morgue carts or stacked in hallways during the COVID pandemic hit me, making my heart sting. So many fucking people died. So many. I shake the thought from my head.

Two transporters roll the morgue cart out of the room. The housekeeper, Gladys, looks in expectantly but stops in her tracks once she notices me, softening as she takes in the state of Jackson and I.

"It was a bad one, baby?" she asks, her southern drawl comforting me.

Gladys is your stereotypical black grandma that is fiercely protective but will also call you on your shit if you're, and I quote, "acting a fool". Every person in this hospital knows who Gladys is and has a story about her. Her presence just makes you feel like everything is right in the world and that everything is going to be okay. She gives the best advice and always knows what to say. She is the heart and soul of this hospital.

"Yeah, it was a bad one," I tell her, feeling my tears attempting to break free. I blink harshly and will them away. You can cry later once Jackson is taken care of. Keep it together! "I'm sorry, we'll get out of your way, I know you need to get in here," I tell her while trying to peel Jackson away from me. "Jackson, come on, love bug. We need to go."
"It's okay, baby. Take your time," Gladys says, motioning for me to sit back down.
"You'll feel better once you get out of here, I promise," I tell Jackson while standing.

Jackson follows suit, thanking me as he uses my hand to pull himself up to his feet. He has stopped crying, shoving the heels of his hands into his eyesockets to ward off the last of the tears. I wipe the few stragglers with my thumb and move my hand down his face to trace his jawline with my fingertips. His eyes finally settle on mine, bloodshot. His face is flushed. His nose is bright red and running, causing him to sniffle every few seconds. He has blood all over his chest, arms, and hands. Dark circles envelop his eyes, making his amber eyes glow brighter than they usually do.