Thousand Year Switch

Chapter 2

"Lucas?"

I blinked. The light was agony, the face above me was blurry and whatever I was lying on was really hard. If this was heaven it really sucked.

"Oh praise God, you're awake!"

I blinked again, wincing. The blurry face wavered and became clear. My mother's gray shot brown curls were greasy, her glasses had slid down the end of her nose and there was a smudge on the left lens. The frown lines around her mouth seemed like giant crevasses, and her eyes were puffy. Dad was there too, his salt and pepper hair standing on end, like he'd been running his hands through it. He still had his name tagged pinned to his immaculately pressed suit. He'd obviously come straight off the car lot. It was really strange to see them standing together, since I'm pretty sure they hadn't talked since the divorce.

"My body hurts." My voice was a harsh croak, it hurt my throat.

"Oh Lucas." Mom leaned forward and grabbed my hand tightly. "Thank the Lord he spared you, I don't think I could have stood another..." She trailed off, squeezing my hand so hard I could almost feel the bones creak.

What, Mom? Couldn't stand another dead child? Couldn't stand another horrible accident?

She would never say it out loud. That would mean admitting it had actually happened, that Sara was truly gone. I ignored her slip up and glanced around the starchy looking room. The hospital had a thing for white, I guess. White sheets, white furniture, white curtains. Would a floral pattern kill them? A curtain cut the room in half, but it was drawn back and the other bed was empty. Something pinched my arms when I moved. Tubes taped to both arms, needles vanishing into my skin. 

I clamped my eyes shut. Yuck.

"I'm so glad you're okay." Dad reached out and squeezed my arm gently, he gave me a wide grin. "My son, the hulk. You came out of that with hardly a scratch."

Mom shot him a cross look. "I would hardly call a concussion a scratch, Steven. We're blessed that he wasn't killed on the spot."

"You're always so negative," Dad said, "he's fine. He just needs some rest and recovery, right Lucas?"

"Sure," I mumbled, fairly certain it didn't make a difference what I said. It was obvious they were headed for another argument. I'm surprised they'd saved it till I was awake. I wished they hadn't.

"I'm negative," Mom was saying, "no, I'm realistic. That's the difference between you and I. Your head is always in the clouds. No, more like it's in the dealership still. I can tell by the look on your face. You're thinking about the next car you're going to sell."

"That's not true." Dad's protest was weak, probably because she was right.

"I can't believe you." She glowered at him. "You're so selfish."

"Now is not the time to sling names around," Dad said angrily. "Our son was just hit by a bus. Why can't you just get over yourself and think about him?"

"Are you kidding me? I was about to say the exact same thing to you."

I shut my eyes and tried to block out the fighting. It should have been easy, I spent enough time doing that before the divorce. But my head was pounding, and I could feel my stress levels reaching spectacular heights. I wondered if the heart monitor would start going faster soon. To my immense relief the door clicked open, stopping my parents mid argument. A man in a white coat smiled down at me. He had light blue eyes, a disarming smile and a clip board tucked under one arm. "Hi Lucas, I'm doctor Cameron. How are we feeling?"