I woke up and immediately tried to sit up only to be pulled back down by straps. “The hell?” I heard myself mumble and felt a strange but soothing hand on my shoulder.
“It’s okay, sweetie. Can you tell me your name?” Asked the hot EMT.
I suddenly remembered what happened and reflexively answered him, “Liliahna Rose Tchaikovsky. 301 Maple Street, Shiloh, Illinois. Adopted daughter of Molly Tchaikovsky – 301-9226 – and Pytor Tchaikovsky – 301-9227.” Telling the EMT – a complete stranger – about my adoptive parents caused me to gasp. “My sister. Maci. Where’s Maci? She was with me. Where’s Maci?! Ohhh, man. She must be wigging out. Wh –”
“Miss, I’m gonna need you to calm down.”
I grabbed his shirt and glared into that pretty little face. “Don’t tell me to calm down, damn it. I want to know. Where. The hell. My sister is!”
“Okay, okay. Calm down.” I let go of his shirt. “She’s riding with your friend. Sh –”
“What. Friend?” We didn’t go with a friend. Who the hell is with my sister?!
“The one who called us. I believe his name was Chadwick.”
“Son of a bitch. That little –”
“Ma’am. I’m sorry, but I have to do my job. Now, you passed out from exhaustion. Before we administer any technique, we need to know if you’re allergic to anything. We noticed the penicillin bracelet you’re wearing. Do you have any other allergies we need to be aware of?”
“Well, as long as you don’t feed me grass, mold, smoke, nickel, stainless steel, blue Dawn, or cat hair, we should be fine.”
He half laughed and pulled a bottle of water (A/N: that’s une bouteille d’eau minerale, en français) out of… somewhere I couldn’t see and turned it to the “ingredients” list. “Hmm… Nope. None of those in here. Do you want to sit up and drink a little bit?” (A/N: sorry, but I just have to say that would sound really bad without the “of water” part.)
I took the bottle and sat up once he unbuckled the strap across my chest – taking a little too long, I might add. Just as I was about to take a sip, we hit a speed bump and the water splashed all over me.
Before I could even say, “Oh shit!” the EMT was dabbing at my shirt with a towlette.
First: Where the hell is he getting all this shit? Second: Watch the hands, asshole! I’m 14, and you’re – what? – 26? I know a ton of people who would kick your ass if they knew about this. Third: I’m 14 fucking years old! I can dry my own damn shirt, dickhead!
We came to a stop and he stopped dabbing. (Thank God.) The back doors flew open and people reached for the gurney I was on. “Just unbuckle me. I can walk.”
I hate being babied.
(I really don’t care if I sound like a bitch. I am a bitch. And if anyone has anything to say to me, just remember what I said earlier: you can kiss me arse and kiss my imaginary dick.)
The pervo EMT and somebody else helped me out of the truck and walked me into the E.R.
“I don’t need to go to the E.R. I just need water and a granola bar. Why don’t you go help someone who actually needs help? Like that kid over there who’s head is bleeding.” I motioned to said kid. “Or that lady who’s about to drop her baby on your floor.” As if on cue, the pregnant lady in the corner screamed.
“It’s coming! Oh, God! Someone!”
A nurse rushed over to her. “Hold on, ma’am. We’ll just –”
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Music to My Ears
FanfictionWhat does befriending Justin Bieber get you? A room full of celebrities. Sounds great, right? Hah. You weren't there. It's not all rainbows and peaches. Sometimes you just gotta roll your eyes and laugh. Other times you have to smack Drew Chadwick o...
