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I sigh. The pent-up frustration leaves my chest. My chin quivers, and my throat tightens, keeping me mute.
“I understand if you don’t want to see him. I just thought you should know,” he finally says. I don’t say anything. I just listen, my breathing becoming deep and harsh. “He’s at Cedars-Sinai. This is my number. Just call me if you decide to visit. I’ll make sure you see him.”
The line goes silent.
THIRTY-SIX
RHYLAN
“Dr. Park to O.R., Dr. Park to O.R.”
The voice echoing through the PA system jolts me awake. And then I feel pain. Searing physical pain.What the hell happened?
Clear tubes come out from my hand, as if they’re an extension of me, leading up to a bulbous bag hanging from a metal pole. To look up, down, or even side to side is painful. Like every extremity of my body isn’t meant to rotate and pivot as joints do. Everything feels so dry and calloused. Even the blankets lying on top of me feel rough and rigid.
It’s so fucking bright in here. And cold. I wince, but I don’t know if it’s from the pain or the brightness. There’s a curtain that surrounds me, partitioning me from the rest of the room.
God, that pain.It’s unbearable.
A woman who doesn’t look a day over twenty-four wearing a white lab coat pulls the curtain back. “Mr. Matthews. It’s good to see you’re awake.”
“Where am I?” I ask. But it doesn’t sound like my own voice. It sounds foreign. Like it hadn’t been used in days. The coarseness that surrounds me is in my throat too.
“You’re at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. You were brought in very early yesterday morning by your friends,” she answers.
I try to remember what even happened yesterday.What day is it today?I feel so disoriented. “Am I okay?”
“You have a couple of broken ribs, and we had to stitch your jaw up right here,” she says, pointing to the gauze bandage taped to the left side of my jaw. “And your blood alcohol level was very high. Any higher and the alcohol poisoning could have become lethal.”
I sigh. My hands rub my face, trying to wipe away the fog that has taken residence in my brain. My breath catches, wincing from the pain when my fingers touch my eye.
“We’ll get you some ice for the eye. It’s going to be swollen for a while, but the ice should help. In the meantime, call the nurses if you need anything.”
She turns on her heels and leaves the room.
God, I feel like shit. I feel like retching, dry heaving. Something, anything so this sickening knot settled into the pit of my stomach can go away. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this shitty in my life.
A nurse comes in following the doctor’s exit, asking me if I want pain meds. I give a perfunctory nod as she pushes a syringe into a small port running alongside the tube at my side. As the medication kicks in, I’m lulled into a dreamless sleep. The only things I remember are flashes of Ellie’s face. All of it fading into nothingness.
* * *
I spend the better part of the next twenty-four hours in and out of sleep, chasing the waves of pain with meds that seem to come around the clock. Just as a fresh wave of sharp, biting pain hits all the parts that are purple and blue, I hear clamoring echoing off the walls outside of my room followed by the pitter-patter of feet. It inches louder and louder with a harsh knock.
“Rhylan!” I look up and see Levi followed closely by Shana. She’s at his heels, pushing past him to reach me first.
“Rhylan! Oh my God. Look at you!” Shana cries. She’s not physically crying, but her voice is full of concern. She reaches her hand towards me but stops when I recoil from the pain that still keeps wavering in and out.
Levi and Shana both start to speak over each other. Jumbled words of false claims from every news syndicate about how drugs were involved, pressing charges against whoever attacked me, even the unspoken word that we’ve tried to avoid up until now:rehab. It doesn’t look good. I ended up here because my drinking got out of hand. I wanted to dull the pain and used the only commodity at my disposal. I hadn’t hurt anyone, thankfully, but it could have ended so much more badly than it did. What if next time I hurt someone? What if next time, I don’t make it out alive?
They both stop talking, taking a moment to breathe before accidentally saying the wrong words. Shana smooths the coarse blanket at the foot of my bed and perches herself there. “Rhy, I’ll take care of everything. You just need to worry about getting better.”
“I can’t believe this fucking happened! I mean, what the hell were you thinking?!” Levi booms. His stress level is inching higher and higher. I’m worried he might actually have a stroke.
“Look, guys. I’m sorry this happened. Things just got out of control, and I made some really bad choices,” I say. Images of that night start to come back to me in short flashes, forcing me to remember them. To recount them. I remember Bella, kissing her and then, just as quickly, losing sight of her. I remember all the alcohol I consumed as if it were going to waste. I also remember driving completely shit-faced and recklessly. And then the pain takes over the rest of my memories, making them fuzzy and unintelligible. I sit up, the pain in my side hitting me with a sharp ache that’s still fresh and lingering, causing me to silently groan in an effort to hide my discomfort.
Shana watches me, her brows stitched together and lips in a firm, straight line. Usually, she’s more assertive, more stern and strict. She’s the voice of reason. Always telling me when things get out of hand and to watch my image. But now, all of that’s gone. It’s all been replaced by a face of what-ifs.
She leans forward, placing her hand on my knee and gently squeezing it. It’s as if she’s touching me to make sure I’m actually here, alive. The simple gesture reminds me of my mom, always nurturing and concerned, judgment the last thing on the agenda.
