Three Times is Enemy Action (NaNoWriMo 2013)

Ch 2: You Killed Veyron!

Ch 2: You Killed Veyron!

I felt the impact: I felt the car crunch and I felt my bones rattle, I felt Sebastian’s strong arm trying to press me into my seat, I felt my body contort and I felt the hot blood drip down my face, I felt our car get pushed forward, and then I felt the truck reverse, and speed away and then, I felt nothing.

Unknown amount of time later:

Sirens.

Lights.

Voices yelling.

Tires squealing.

Consciousness.

Pain.

This was my existence.

I felt myself get pulled from my position half in and half out of the car. I was jostled into an ambulance, as I drifted in and out of consciousness. I was forgetting something, someone, “Sebastian!” I tried to yell. One of the people surrounding me, must have heard my dejected cry, “Your boyfriend is in the next ambulance, he is in…” and then I blacked out.

 Unknown amount of time later:

I rose out of unconsciousness the same way that a person rises out of water: calmly, quietly,  and with an instinct. I must say that while drowsy, I felt fantastic: must be the drugs. The first sense that came back to me was hearing. I heard the gentle Beep Beep of the heart rate monitor, and I heard it speed up as I regained consciousness. I soon felt the crisp sheets under my hands and heads, and the cool gown covering my body, along with a wrappy thing over my left shoulder. I wiggled my fingers and toes, trying to make sure that I wasn’t a paraplegic, or missing an arm, how else would I play my oboe. The next thing to come back to me was my mind, or at least semi-coherent thought, like why was I in the hospital? Let’s retrace my thoughts...the hospital, the car ride, the ambulance, the pain, Sebastian. And with that, I opened my eyes.

 The harsh white light of a hospital room met me, accompanied by the welcoming smell of sterility. The din of voices met my ears. I slowly turned my head to the left, and there was my mom, dad, and Lana. My mom and Lana were in tears, and my dad’s face had the stoic look he’s had years to hone, and that he only puts on when he doesn’t want to give any sort of emotion away. I tried to call their attention, “Guys” I croaked. They all whipped their heads towards me, my mom’s hair actually smacking Lana in the face. I burst into laughter, and then into coughs. Every sound that came out of my mouth seemed to be sending daggers down my throat. “Water,” I wheezed, and my mom immediately turned to scuttle around the small room, trying to get me what I wanted. I guess it only takes a trip to the hospital to get my parents to be at my beck-and-call, who would’ve thought. As my mom was walking back, water in hand, I tried to sit up, and failed. My dad, seeing my struggle, walked close to me, and helped me sit up; his calloused hand on my back felt like a forgotten comfort, like something I experienced as a child, and something he hasn’t done in a long time.

 My father spent eight years with the army, and could only come home for weeks at a time. My mom and I treasured every moment we had with him in those times, my mom even taking the time he was home off work, to spend more time with him. My mom is a nurse at the very hospital that I am stuck in. She got her degree when I was five, and my dad was still a mechanic. When the shop my dad worked at went under a couple years later, he enlisted, partly for the money, and partly because his father and grandfather had also served.

 After I was sat up, and I finished the water that my mom brought me, the questions started. “Aria, what were you doing in the middle of that road?” “Aria, how are you feeling?” “Aria, who was That Boy with you?” I answered them in the order that they were asked, “I was in the middle of the road because the car stalled, I feel super crappy, thanks for asking, and Sebastian, not The Boy, saw me stall, and was trying to help.” I saw the impatience in their faces, they weren’t pleased with my answers, but oh well, I was the one with the injuries. Speaking of, “what’s my diagnosis?” my mom opens her mouth to answer, but my dad puts his hand on her small shoulder, and says,  “We’ll go alert the doctor that you’re awake, and have them send someone to tell you what’s wrong with you.” My parents gingerly exit the room, leaving me with a sobbing Lana.