Present

6.2

Audrey

When I awoke again, there was no darkness above me. There was only blinding white: white ceiling, white walls, white lights.

My eyes ached as they tried to focus. My head felt fuzzy and too heavy for my body. I managed to turn my head to the side to see a window overlooking a parking lot, the sun was just beginning to brighten the room, making it even more unbearable to keep my eyes open. In front of the window was a bench made to look as close to a couch as possible, though the thin layer of padding and ugly pattern did little to hide the truth.

On that bench sat a familiar face.

Two familiar faces.

"She's awake, oh my God, she's awake," one of them said.

I shut my eyes as tight as a cook, succumbing to the throbbing that filled my head with every noise. Why was I so tired? How long had I slept? Not long enough. I just needed them to be quiet so I could just rest. I could hear shuffling around and muttered words, despite my best efforts to block it all out. A few feet away, I could hear the swish of a door opening, and the click as it closed. A pair of footsteps made their way to my bed.

"Audrey, how are you feeling?" The new man's voice said.

I opened my eyes stubbornly. "Awful," I muttered.

"Do you know where you are?" The voice asked more gently.

I shook my head. I felt a soft hand grasp mine and turned my face back toward the bench. A concerned face looked at me. My mother. Her dark hair had slight wisps of gray scattered throughout and her brows were creased, creating an 11 in the skin between her eyebrows.

"Audrey, you were in a wreck last night, with Gwen." My mother whispered. Beside her, my father's brown eyes were glued to the floor as if looking at me would shatter him. I lifted my hand to my head and brushed my fingers along the back of it. The size of the knot made me wince. Panic filled me, causing my chest to tighten.

"Where is Gwen?" I managed to say, much louder than I meant to. "She told me she was trying to get us home in one peice, I want to see her."

The man on the other side of my bed cleared his throat. He was wearing a light blue button up shirt that was no longer tucked into his pants, making him look disheveled. How long had he been here? All night?

"I'm afraid," he began. No. "That's not possible."

As he spoke I could feel the bile climbing up my throat, burning my insides.

My dad spoke up. His eyes still glued to the speckled tile on the floor. "You were hit - T-boned," Dad whispered, "On the driver's side."

"Let me see her," my words were inaudible. Mom squeezed my hand, as if she were trying to lend me some kind of support. My face grew hot and a sweat erupted on my brow.

"She didn't make it, I'm so sorry." The doctor said as if it were a line he had delivered a thousand times.

The bile crawling up my esophagus made its escape all over the specked floor. Tears stung my eyes as my body rejected the news. Spots of my stomach acid landed on the doctor's expensive shoes. He was polite enough to pretend otherwise. The doctor silently nodded to my parents and made his exit as the tears rolled down my cheeks. I was suffocating, my lungs constricting.

Mom scooted me over and crawled into the small hospital bed with me. She pulled me to her and cradled me as I buried my face in her neck. It was as if I were a child and stubbed my toe on the door frame. But this pain would not be as easily forgotten.