To Have It All(13)

Walking up to her, I pulled the folded bills from my pocket, but as I started counting them out, intending to put a few in her cup, she shrieked, “Murderer!”

I stumbled back as she pushed herself slowly off the ground, continuing to yell, “You left him to die you animal!”

“I—”

“He saved your life!” she went on, jabbing my chest with her finger hard enough to make me step back. Her eyes were wide with rage and her body shook. She was talking about me. Or rather, talking about Max and how he left me for dead. All I’d wanted to do was give my friend some money, but I’d forgotten one huge thing—she’d watched me die. And not just watched me die but watched me save Max’s life and watched Max get up and leave me dying on the street without a second thought. She continued to yell at me, pushing me, tears streaming down her dirty face. People passing by swerved around us, glancing our way, but no one seemed to care enough to stop and listen to her.

“Pearl,” I said loudly, grabbing her wrist, stopping her from shoving me. “You don’t understand.”

“He’s on life support, you asshole!” she bellowed, slamming her fisted free hand against my chest. “The doctors say he probably won’t make it!” Then, so overcome with emotion, she fell into me, collapsing against me. I pulled her up and helped her to the wall where she slid down it until she was sitting on the sidewalk before she covered her face with her hands. I watched her for a moment, my eyes wide, my heart pounding.

I wasn’t dead.

I mean, I existed inside of Max’s body, but my body was still alive, albeit barely according to Pearl. How did this happen? As one thought connected to another, my knees buckled. I slid down the wall and sat next to Pearl as she moaned, her face still covered. If I was in Max’s body, did that mean that Max was trapped in my body? Could Max really be inside my body, comatose?

I wanted to try and explain to Pearl what had happened; tell her even though she was looking at Max—the man that left her friend for dead—that it was me, Liam. But how could I? How could I explain? The answer to that question was I couldn’t. Not without sounding insane, and given that she was a pretty mad hatter herself, it was impossible. No person in their right mind would believe me. Concluding that my presence, or rather the sight of Max was upsetting her, I decided it was best I leave. Before I stood, I shoved the folded bills in her cup and stood.

“I don’t want a damn dime from you,” she hissed, pulling the money from her cup and tossing it at me. A few of the bills flew away, but with some quick shuffling, I managed to get most of them.

With the cash balled up in my hand, I bent down to her and begged, “Please take it. You could get a hotel room tonight.”

“Get away from me,” she growled, turning her body sideways. “You killed Murry.”

My head dropped. She was mixing me up with Murry, the infamous missing black cat, now. I needed to get her some help, soon.

I let out a long defeated breath. Shoving the money wad in my pocket I rushed off, feeling ashamed for some reason. I know Pearl was mad at Max, not me, but having someone you respect and care for so much despise you felt like shit. Two of the first three people I’d seen as Max hated him. Waverly was definitely not his biggest fan. And now Pearl. I doubted Braxton was a big fan either. Would it be this way with everyone?

Pulling out Max’s iPhone I’d brought with me, I googled the nearest hospitals. Luckily, since I was in Max’s body, his thumbprint allowed me access to his phone. I called three hospitals and finally found where they’d taken me. I hailed a cab, no longer caring about trying to be conservative with the money I’d taken from Max’s drawer. Max was an asshole. His body was perfect and healthy while mine was most likely mangled, barely hanging on to life.

They’d taken me—or my body rather—to one of the lower-end hospitals. Makes sense. I was a homeless man without insurance. I was lucky I could even get medical attention. After speaking to the front desk and getting the room number where my body was, I trudged the halls slowly. I wanted to see what happened to me; what I looked like, but then again . . . I didn’t. How could I watch myself die from Max’s body? And what happened if I did die? There’s no way they could keep me on life support very long; my sister wouldn’t be able to afford it. How ironic was it that I was trapped in the body of the man whose life I’d saved and who left me for dead?

When I finally reached the room, I peeked through the small rectangular window on the door and stopped breathing as I felt the blood drain from my face.

I knew seeing my body in such a state would be difficult, but nothing could have prepared me for this. Tubes were coming in and out of me everywhere, and I was on a ventilator. Quietly opening the door, I walked in, staring at my still body, my heart pounding in my chest with disbelief.

“Damn,” I mumbled under my breath. “You look like shit.”

My body looked like a hollowed-out carcass covered in tattoos. My face was bruised and swollen, dark circles hung under my eyes, my skin looked sickly and pale. Getting hit by a bus certainly didn’t do me any favors looks wise, but this was more than that. This was a man that had been hungry and homeless . . . A man that had been hit by the bus of life, dragging him with it like a rag doll after it ran him over. With that thought, shame lodged in my throat as the limp, lifeless shell before me gave me a real visual of just how far I’d fallen.