Killing Me Softly(A Broken Souls Series)

***

“Good morning, Holland, I’m Dr. Dewitt. We’ve met a couple of times before, how are you feeling.”

Feeling? I feel like shit. “I feel stiff and I have a throbbing headache,” I say with no inflection in my voice. My heart weighs heavily in my chest at the thought of my dad being gone. No matter how difficult he made my life, I never wanted him to be out of it.

“I bet. The headache is from the trauma you suffered and from being in one position for so long. Has anyone discussed the extent of your injuries?”

My injuries aren’t physical. “Not really.”

The doctor pulls a small chair over and opens up my chart. Even though he sounds like a game-show host, he’s young, possibly in his twenties but probably in his thirties. He has short blond hair and a pleasant face but nothing about him is unique or striking. “You’ve had quite an accident. I was working the evening you were brought in on the helicopter. If anyone has a guardian angel, it’s you. After hearing from the rescue crew, it’s amazing you survived such a horrific accident. You broke your right collarbone from your seatbelt and had a straight break in your left wrist, probably from grabbing the dash and the airbag going off at the same time. The break in your pelvis has been healing very well. We won’t know how well until we can get you up and walking once the leg heals. You had an infection but it is getting better. Your white cell count is back to normal, so that’s good. If you’ve had to cough, your ribs might still be tender from being broken. Your last two injuries were your collapsed lung and your traumatic brain injury. Do you understand? Ask me any questions?”

“What happened to my dad? Did they pull him from the car?” Was he charred so bad he wasn’t pulled away before the flames were put out?

Dr. Dewitt nods his head up and down and nervously clicks his ink pen over and over. “Yes, he was pulled from the car. He suffered burns to about three quarters of his body. Along with his other injuries, his body couldn’t take it and he passed away shortly after he arrived here in the burn center. Both of you had a life-flight and were brought here within forty minutes of the accident. I know this is a lot to digest at one time, I’ll let you be for a while. The police have asked for me to contact them when you’re awake so they can get a statement from you. Will it be okay to have them come out tomorrow?”

I must have been holding my breath, because I let out a long sigh. I don’t want to talk to the police. I don’t want to talk to anyone. “That will be fine.”

“You’re a fighter, and I’m glad to see you awake and alert,” Dr. Dewitt says as he walks through the door.

Within minutes a nurse comes in the room and takes my vitals before making an adjustment to the pain pump. She hands me two Tylenol for my headache and puts my bed in a sitting position. Within a minute another woman enters as she carries a tray of hospital grade food. My stomach growls at the smell. I could use a nice strong cup of coffee and something sweet.

Someone is tapping on the door and I tell them to come in. The sun from the small window shines across the room at him, giving him a glow all around. Suddenly I want nothing more than to curl up in his arms and fall asleep. There’s something about his embrace that makes me feel safe and secure. It’s a feeling I haven’t ever experienced before I met him. I never even felt safe in my home after my mom disappeared. When we moved to the hood, we took away the sanctuary of our fancy neighborhood with its homeowner association and community watch program. Now we live in one of the poorest areas with the largest crime rate. I wonder if Aunt Laney has checked the house since I’ve been here. George is probably belly up in middle of his fishbowl.

“Hey beautiful, look at you sitting up and eating,” he smiles at me and sits down in the chair.

Regardless how bad I feel, and sick I am over what has happened, my brain can’t get over the fact that he hasn’t given up on me. He’s waited for me all these weeks. The nurses told me that he’s been here every single day before and after work. He’s sat and read Harry Potter to me and other books I told him I loved. One of the nurses said he would sit for hours and strum music on his guitar and sing me songs. They would gather by the door to listen to him sing to me and have all called dibs on him if we break up.

“Hey Tater,” I use the childhood nickname he had hoped to escape. It’s my way of flirting with him.

“I never thought I’d say this, but that is music to my ears. I’ve prayed for me to hear you call me Tater just once. Now that you’ve said it, once is enough.” He winks at me and sets a grocery bag down next to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Honestly, I don’t feel too bad except when I cough. I have a headache but they brought me some medicine for it so I should be good before too long. Have you really been coming up here before and after work every day? What about school?”

“Summer break, remember?” He eyes me cautiously.

“Oh yeah. How’s my Aunt Laney? I haven’t seen her yet. How’s she taking my dad’s death?” I’ve worried about her all night. They weren’t on great terms, but she loved him nonetheless, he was her brother.

“She hasn’t said much about him, she’s been worried sick about you. We worked out a schedule so you had someone with you during the days and evenings. The first week was so touch and go with you that both of us slept here at the hospital. She’s a great lady and loves you like her own child,” Tate says. I can tell by the way he’s fidgeting that he’s keeping something from me.

“She is great and has been there for me throughout everything with my dad. Her son, my cousin, drowned when he was fourteen. He was her everything. I was ten when it happened and I remember how sad everyone was at the funeral. He and I were typical cousins before he was a teenager. I’m sure the stress has aggravated her fibromyalgia. When she’s under a lot of stress or gets sick, she’ll have a flair up that can last from days to weeks. Do you know when she’ll be here today?” I adjust the bed and try to slide a pillow behind my back. That simple task shoots pain throughout my body. Tate stands up and helps adjust the bedding. As pain ripples through me, all I can think about is how close he is to me. He smells clean like soap with a hint of his cologne. I relax back into the pillows with a silly grin on my face. I’m probably going to go to hell for thinking about him in that way when we’re talking about the worst day of my aunt’s life. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Next time, you should push the button on your pain pump. We weren’t allowed to push the button for you while you were out. It automatically administers the medicine, but when you have break-through pain you can push the little red button. They said it was a way of monitoring how bad you hurt, if you’re in horrible pain, you would push the button. I think it’s ridiculous, considering if you’re in a coma, you can’t push a button.” Tate’s face grimaces at the memory.

“Wow, that’s dumb. That whiteboard over there says it’s July 24, that would mean I’ve been in here since July first. That’s three weeks!” I cough and another wave of pain hits me.

Tate nods his head up and down. “Yeah, three weeks. Did the doctor give you any indication how long you’ll need to stay here?”