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~17~
“... should’ve listened to all those PSAs ...”
“Water.”
She didn’t know if there was anyone to hear her, but she figured it was worth a shot. She licked her lips and heard movement next to her. She managed to crack open an eyelid.
A nurse was leaning down, filling a cup with water. She smiled at Paige, welcomed her to UCSD Medical Center, and then explained that she was going to go get Paige’s doctor.
I have a doctor?
Paige struggled to sit up and tried to remember what was going on. Her last clear memories were of the fight she had with Parker in the motel in San Diego.
Speaking of, wherewasParker? She then had fuzzy memories about going to a party, at Trent’s. The memories got fuzzier and patchier, but she thought she could remember getting into a fight with Trent. No wait, he'd touched her. They'd gotten into a fight, arealfight, breaking stuff, hitting each other. She could barely remember, it was like a movie cutting in and out. She thought she could remember being in a car with Parker, but then it was just fog.
Where is Parker?
A doctor came in, smiling at her. Paige didn't smile back. She knew it was ridiculous, but most of her life, she'd been told that any societal services were bad. Her distrust of police and hospitals ran deep. But then he explained her various injuries to her, and she was glad someone had brought her to a hospital. Mom's homemade tinctures wouldn't cure this shit.
She had some superficial wounds on her right palm that had just needed cleaning and would heal up with only bandages, but she'd needed five stitches for a small but deep laceration on her head, right beside her right eye. It was hard to notice, though, because the right side of her face and under her hairline had been badly bruised – her ear looked a little like a plum. Her left foot had needed stitches, as well, for a deep gash she got when a piece of metal had gotten shoved through her sole.
Metal?
Sensing her confusion, the doctor explained that she'd been in a massive car accident. She was shocked. He went on to tell her that her right foot had been broken, but he assured her it was a clean break, straight through her outermost metatarsal – basically the bone that connected her pinky toe and ran the length of her foot – and that it should heal pretty fast.
The real problem had been her head. Apparently, according to the police report, her head had gotten banged up before the car accident – the doctor was sure that had been the start of her problems, she'd gotten in the car with a pretty bad concussion. Then during the accident, she'd hit her head so hard that her brain had swelled. It had even caused her heart to stop – they'd had to shock her in the ambulance to get it going again.
When she’d arrived at the hospital, they had to drill into the back of her skull to relieve the pressure. This had really shocked her and she reached a hand to the back of her head. Sure enough, a large swatch of hair had been shaved, an almost circular pattern from the back of her right ear to the back middle of her skull.
She'd been unconscious for four days – the doctor had kept her medically sedated for two of them – and she was recovering remarkably well. Her head had given them all a scare at first, but it was his professional opinion that she was going to be just fine. Other than that, she hadn’t suffered any other internal injuries or any other broken bones. He told her it was really a miracle, considering the severity of the accident. Told her that really, she should be paralyzed, or dead. He told her to thank whatever guardian angel she had looking out for her.
“Where's my friend?” she asked, her voice still hoarse.
“Who?” he asked, checking out her monitors and comparing them to something on the chart in his hands.
“My friend, I think he was in the car with me. Is he alright?” she asked, gripping the doctor’s jacket. He smiled down at her.
“Oh, Mr. Carrington. Yes, he kind of is your guardian angel, I suppose. He’s probably somewhere in the hospital, would you like me to get him?” the doctor asked. She shook her head vigorously, which made her a dizzy.
By the time Parker walked into the room, she'd composed herself a little, managed to sit up straight with the pillows propped up behind her. She didn’t really know what to expect, but he walked in smiling broadly at her, holding a cup of coffee in his left hand. Same old Parker, except that his right arm was in a sling. He sat in a chair next to her bed.
“Sleeping Beauty! She awakes! How are you feeling?” he asked, sitting his cup on her night stand. She shrugged.
“Pretty good, I guess. But I think they have me on morphine, so I could be on fire and I wouldn’t know,” she replied and he laughed.
“Glad to know that knock to the head didn’t affect your sparkling personality,” he told her and she laughed, which quickly turned into a groan.
“Oh my god. My chest, my stomach – what is that?” she moaned, running a hand across her sore body. He grimaced.
