Matching Leather Jackets

Sleep.

        "Can you talk?" Blake's voice drones. I can only see his eyes, that's it. "Ma'am is there any way..." His voice begins to fade out with my unconsciousness.

        My vision is switching back and forth from blochy to sharp, back and forth. I try to keep my eyes open, but I can't control my actions. I feel so tired, I feel like my body is shutting down.

        Blake yells and momentarily shocks me from my unconscious state. At least my eyes are open again. The horrid expression on Blake's face hurts me more than the dull pain in my leg.

        I wonder what was going through his mind when he found me. I wonder if he saw the guy who hurt me. I wonder what would happen if he hadn't come back for me.

        I'd be dead, right? Let's face it, I might not even stay alive if professional help doesn't come soon.

        My eyes begin to close again, ignoring my will for them to stay wide. I can feel the soft skin of Blake's hands caressing my cheeks. I open my eyes again but I can't see. I touch his face, I think, and murmur, "Thank you." I can't see his reaction because the sensation of being yanked away from reality takes over the remainder of my consciousness. I slip away...

        Falling.

        Falling.

        Falling.

***

        I don't even have to open my eyes to see the light streaming in through my bedroom window. My room smells weird, however, like stale food, plastic and medicine.

        I keep my eyes closed and review the horrible dream I had. I had been mugged and stabbed, the whole sha-bang. I remember feeling like I was falling into a never ending pit if darkness.

        To say the least, it was terrible.

        When I open my eyes to find that this white walled, machine filled, tiled floored room is not mine, I can swear I feel my jaw drop. The blue chair on the side of the room is empty, yet food sits on the tiny fold out table in front of it.

        What the hell?

        I glance down at myself and I see my left leg wrapped in medical tape, along with some type of metal brace resembling a rib cage extending from my knee to my upper thigh. Everything else seems fine.

        Until I reach to scratch my head, that is. Both of my hands fly up to the top of my skull. There's a giant cap shaped helmet attached to my head, curving just above my hairline.

        Suddenly, I feel like I've been thrown into freezing cold water. My dreams weren't dreams; they were reality. Memories.

        It all comes rushing back. The bar, the highway, sunset, my head, my throat, my leg, a revving engine, pain, sharp and silver, a man's voice. Blake.

        Darkness.

        I try to get off of the bed but my leg won't bend and my head feels too heavy for my to even try to keep my balance. Slowly, I go back to resting position and put my hands on my chest.

        As lay here, the silence gets louder and louder. No sound but the soft, rhythmic humming of the heart monitor.

        I stare down at my leg. I wonder if any major damage was done. I wonder if I can ever walk with both of my legs.

        Maybe I'm exaggerating.

        After sitting here for another five minutes, I can feel my eyelids get heavy again. The IV drip that has a tube with a needle taped to my arm definately looks lower in content than it did before.