Crashed

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

                “I can’t believe you almost killed Chris Daughtry.”

                Azalee was sitting on a hospital bed, a nurse standing in front of her, dabbing at the cut on her forehead, which the doctor had just finished stitching, with alcohol. She furrowed her brow and then winced.

                “I told you, it’s not funny, Mackenzie.” The girl next to her laughed again and peeked into the next room.

                “Well, he seems to be awake now, anyway. You said that he just passed out? Like just smashed his face into the ground?” Azalee waited for the nurse to put a large bandage over the five stitches.

                “Well, yeah. I think I would have too. He was all over the place. I think he must have hit his head pretty hard.” The nurse chuckled and looked at Azalee.

                “The doctor says that Mr. Daughtry has a grade three concussion.” Azalee pulled a face.

                “God, I feel so awful.” Mackenzie laughed again, sitting down in a chair beside the hospital bed. The nurse looked at Azalee.

                “I would like the doctor to come back in and take look at your head, too. You were complaining of a headache and that’s a sign of a concussion.” Mackenzie snickered. Azalee glared at her.

                “All right,” she told the nurse, who nodded and left the room to get a doctor. Azalee sighed and put her hands to the bandage on her forehead, pressing on it to make sure it was secure. She leaned to the side, peeking out the door of her room, and glanced at where Chris was laying on his bed, looking morose. She felt the strongest twinge of guilt yet. She’d wrecked his car and probably put him out of a week’s worth of concerts that he’d been planning to play. He looked up and suddenly glanced at her. She gave him a small, half-hearted, guilty sort of smirk and saw him smile back in earnest. She didn’t deserve that. How hard had he hit his head that he wasn’t mad at her for ruining his gorgeous car? She sighed and leaned back to her full height. A doctor came bustling into the room.

                “Well, your nurse says that you’ve been complaining of a headache,” he told her. She looked up at him. “I want you to take it easy for a couple of days. You didn’t lose consciousness, but it’s still a little bit of a risk to let you sleep for more than three hours at a time. Do you have someone that can wake you up every so often to make sure you’re all right?” He glanced over at Mackenzie. She smiled.

                “I’m the woman for the job!” The doctor smiled, obviously satisfied that she’d volunteered; Azalee, however, knew that Mackenzie would use this as her opportunity to wake her up in the most annoying ways possible. She smiled ruefully. She was in for a long night.

                “You’re all set,” the doctor smiled at her and handed her discharge papers with her strict instructions to wake every three hours, drink plenty of water, and return to the emergency room if there was anything that didn’t seem right. She climbed down off the tall hospital bed and grabbed the sweatshirt she’d had on before the accident. She stepped out of the room and stared at Chris’ door, contemplating it for a moment. She finally popped her head inside.

                “Hey,” she said quietly. He looked up at her curiously. “I’m really sorry…again.” He shook his head and smirked.

                “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing that can’t be fixed. I’m just happy that neither of us got hurt more than we did.” She nodded and looked at the floor.

                “Okay, well….bye,” she murmured and turned to walk away.

                “Wait,” Chris called. She stepped backward and looked back at him through the door.

                “Can I get your information?” he asked her. She looked at him, confused. She was under the impression he was married and he was asking for her number?

                “We never exchanged insurance information,” he answered her inquiring look. She nodded.

                “Right,” she said. She looked around for a piece of paper. The nurse at his bedside handed her a small pad of paper and a pen. She took it and scribble down her details, handing the pad of paper to him. He wrote down his information, tore the bottom of the page off, and handed it to her. She smiled.

                “Thanks,” she said pocketing the paper. He read the paper in his hands carefully.

                “Azalee Griffin,” he read it aloud, “Pretty nice name. Not something you hear every day.”  He smiled up at her. She smirked.

                “Well, I don’t like it much. My friends just call me Az.” He nodded.

                “Well, Az, I’ll be in touch,” he told her. She nodded and waved at him.                  

                “Bye,” she said and then walked away from the hospital room.