Pain pulsesthrough my skull like a heartbeat, each throb bringing consciousness in angry flashes. I taste ash and copper on my tongue, while fragments of memory crash against the shores of my mind—pieces of a puzzle I'm not ready to solve.
Hospital machines create their own heartbeat—monitors keeping time with my struggling pulse, IV drips counting moments I can't recall. Faces drift through my vision like ghosts in the fluorescent haze, while antiseptic burns my nose, marking this space between breathing and not.
And then—him.
Those eyes I've memorized since childhood, now darkened to forest shadows with raw fear. Tears carve rivers through the grime on his face, each track telling a story of terror I wasn't conscious to witness. Gasoline and smoke cling to his skin, a reminder of whatever nightmare brought us here. Even now, his devastation is beautiful—that carefully controlled mask shattered to reveal the boy I've always known lives beneath.
I want to reach for him, to smooth away the worry etched between his brows, to whisper that I'm still here. But darkness pulls me under like a riptide, and I carry only the echo of his face into the void.
Consciousness returns in waves, each one carrying Jake's voice—warm honey cutting through static. His words float just beyond reach, but his presence anchors me: the gentle press of his palm against my forehead, fingers woven through mine. I try to squeeze back, to signal I'm here, but my body feels disconnected from my mind.
Sleep claims me again, soft as a lullaby.
When I finally surface formore than a couple of minutes, a nurse moves beside my bed, her motions a practiced dance with the machines. I take inventory like counting war wounds: ribs screaming with each breath, head stuffed with fog, pain hovering at the edges where morphine can't quite reach. Trying to sit up feels like swimming through concrete, and I collapse with a sound I barely recognize as mine.
"Whoa, easy there, Miss Wells." The voice chimes soft as wind through leaves. A woman appears beside me, dark hair in a messy bun, lips painted sunset pink.
"I'm Stella, one of your nurses." Her smile carries warmth, but there's something careful in how she adjusts my blankets—the gentleness reserved for broken things.
"What happened?" My voice scrapes past cracked lips, foreign to my own ears.
She offers water through a straw, patience incarnate as I sip. "You're in the hospital. Do you remember anything?"
I close my eyes, diving into the fog. Memories surface slowly.
The gala.
My phone heavy with his unanswered calls.
Jake's frustrated face outside.
Then—blinding light.
Metal screaming.
Rubber burning.
A voice calling my name like a prayer in Hell.
My eyes snap open, heart thundering against broken ribs. "An accident," I whisper, fear coating my tongue. "Another car came towards me and…"
Stella nods, something dark flickering behind her gentle expression. "It was a pretty serious accident, but you're stable now. Fractured ribs, concussion, bruising—we're monitoring everything closely."
I catch her hesitation, the slight fidget of her hands. "What aren't you telling me?"
"You've been here a while. Do you remember anything after the accident?"
I search the murk. Headlights. Glass everywhere. A man and woman's voices, then nothing but void.
"No," I admit.
"That's okay. Memory takes its time returning. Don't force it—healing comes first."
"How long?" The question feels like tempting fate.
Her eyes flood with sympathy. "Three weeks."
The words hit like another crash. Three weeks of life continued without me, of memories I may never recover. Time becomes physical, crushing my chest with all I've lost.
