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"This isn't fair," I said, to no one in particular. The words didn't feel adequate. It was well beyond unfair. If there was anything resembling karma in the universe, it surely owed me better than this. I'd paid my fucking dues a thousand times over.
Charlie let out a weary sigh. Right now, he looked every bit of his fifty five years. "No, it's not."
"A fucking car." I shook my head. "It doesn't make any sense." This wasn't supposed to happen here. There were no bullets, no IEDs. This was the real world, where people were supposed to be able to walk down the street without thinking twice. It was meant to be safe here. Except now I saw that for the bullshit it was. Death lurked around every corner. Maybe it wouldn't come today, or tomorrow, but it would come. I'd lose her eventually. That was a guarantee.
"She's strong. She'll get through this," said Joy, although I'm not sure if it was for my benefit or hers. I wanted to believe her, but I'd been in this situation too many times before. Hope is a dangerous thing. When the pain came — and it would — it made things so much worse.
What felt like a lifetime later, someone coughed from the doorway. My eyes darted up.
"She's out of theater," the doctor said. He was new, maybe one of the ones who'd actually been in surgery with her. He looked like I felt; skin pale, eyes sunken, fingers trembling. A wreck of a man.
I couldn't even ask the question. My lips wouldn't form the words. I just stared.
Charlie took the reins. "How is she?"
The doctor ran a hand over his face. "We did what we could, relieved the pressure in her head. Her internal injuries were severe, a lot of bleeding, a punctured lung, several broken bones. For now, she's stable. When her body recovers a little, we'll take her back in for more surgery. In the meantime, all we can do is wait."
Hearing that phrase again made something snap inside me. "I've been waiting for hours!" I yelled, shooting to my feet. "Is that really the best you can do? You're doctors, you're meant to have more to offer than that!"
I knew I sounded like an asshole, but it didn't matter. All the emotion bubbling away inside me needed an outlet or it was going to destroy me.
The doctor took my attack with well-practiced tolerance. "I know this is hard, and I'm sorry I don't have better news. Unfortunately, it's a slow process. We can only do so much before we start doing more harm than good. She's young and healthy, and that helps. Now she needs time to heal. Try to stay positive."
I wanted to say more. I wanted to scream and yell and tear him limb from limb, but a solid hand fell on my shoulder and squeezed, and I felt something loosen in my chest.
"We appreciate everything you've done," said Charlie from behind me.
It wasn't this man's fault. He was just trying to help.
I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath. "Can we see her?" I asked.
He nodded. "She's not conscious, but I can take you to her room."
The walk felt impossibly tiring. We were led through a maze of sterile corridors and murmuring voices, until the doctor eventually stopped outside a closed door. "This is it. I should warn you, she's been through a lot. She isn't going to look like herself."
I nodded, words failing me again.
"I have other patients to check in on, but you can call a nurse if you need anything."
I stood by the door for what felt like a lifetime. I didn't want to see this. It made the whole nightmare so real.
Charlie sensed my hesitation. "Maybe we should come back—"
"No." I couldn't break. Grace needed me.
I reached for the handle.
The doctor was right. The girl in the bed barely resembled the Grace I knew. Her body was a terrifying network of gauze, tape and tubes. I stepped closer, struggling to breathe as my eyes tracked across bruised skin, a sickening collage of cuts and purple swelling. She seemed impossibly small. I wanted to scoop her up and pull her against me, but she looked like she might fall apart at the slightest breeze. It was a horrifying sight, but not an unfamiliar one.
I swallowed hard as my mind traveled involuntarily back to Ace. He'd looked like Grace did now: a broken, unnatural shadow of who he used to be. That room could have been a twin of the one I stood in now. Stale light, sparse furniture, a wall of machines whirring and beeping while they fought to keep death at bay. I sat in that room with him for twenty four hours, praying and begging anyone that would listen to save him. But it did no good. He slipped away. They always slip away.
I realized I was shaking. Not just a tremble, but an uncontrollable, body-wracking convulsion. This was a mistake. I couldn't be here. I couldn't do this again. I'd promised myself I wouldn't have to. If it were anyone else, I think maybe I'd have been okay. I could have summoned that comfortable numbness and let it all just wash over me. But I couldn't watch Grace die. Not her. I wouldn't survive that.
In a heartbeat I was through the door and then out onto the street. Joy was yelling something behind me, but it was just noise in the background. Everything inside
me was at war. Guilt surged in my stomach. Leaving was a betrayal. It was the worst thing I'd ever done. I tried to will my legs to stop, but they wouldn't.
I wasn't strong enough to be there for her, just like I hadn't been strong enough to reject her, and now we were both going to pay the price.
