In Her Wake (Ten Tiny Breaths 0.5)(4)

“Is that why my head hurts so much?” With everything else, I hadn’t noticed the dull throb in the back of my skull until now. It kills.

“Likely. You also had a lot of alcohol in your blood, so some of that may be dehydration. We’ll make sure you get plenty of fluids.” Hanging my chart back at the end of the bed, he pulls out a thin flashlight. My mom is forced to let go of my hand and step back behind the drawn curtain.

“Clavicle fractures can take upward of twelve weeks to heal. I would recommend you wear your sling as long as possible.” He puts the stethoscope against my chest.

“Where are the two guys that came in with me?”

“Try to take a deep breath,” the doctor orders.

I do and groan out. He gives the nurse a nod as he adjusts my bandages. She quickly adjusts something on my drip. “There’s not much we can do for you except make you comfortable. We’re going to up your pain medicine and give you a sedative to help you sleep.”

“You can you tell me where my friends are.”

“I’ll see what I can find out for you, okay?” He whips open the curtain and is strolling out of the room before I can offer a “Thanks, Doc.”

My mom rushes back to her chair, clutching my free hand once again, her other hand pushing strands of my hair off my forehead. “How long before the sedative kicks in?” she asks the nurse.

“Very soon.” The nurse offers me a tight-lipped smile before ducking out of the room, just as my body begins to sink into the mattress, the meds working their magic.

“Dad? Can you find out where Sasha is?” I struggle to form the words, my tongue sluggish. “That doctor probably already forgot.”

Silence meets my question.

I fight against the magnetic pull of my lids as I take in two grief-stricken masks. Tears stream down my mom’s cheeks. My dad dips his head, his own eyes glossy.

Without their uttering a single word, I hear their answer.

A sob escapes me, even as I feel myself drifting off into oblivion.

But not before I realize that life as I’ve known it is over.

Chapter 3

The crushing pain in my chest now has little to do with my injuries.

And it’s suffocating me.

The clock hanging on the wall opposite me read 3:05 when I regained consciousness. I’ve watched the second hand do lap after lap for almost twenty minutes now.

Without saying a single word.

My best friends have been dead for almost thirty-six hours.

At some point while I slept, my mom traded her white sweater for a green one and added tear-stained cheeks to the dark bags under her eyes. “Cole. Please say something,” she pleads. She never was one for long bouts of quiet, preferring to “talk it out.” I took after her in that respect, which probably makes my silence all the more disturbing. My dad, on the other hand, seems quite content to sit on the empty hospital bed behind her, his arms folded across his chest, his face drawn. Mute.

“What happened?”

Mom clears her throat repeatedly. “They were thrown from the truck.” A pause. “I don’t understand why they weren’t wearing their seat belts. We taught you better than that! I just don’t—” She cuts herself off as my dad’s hand reaches out to graze her shoulder. She purses her lips for a moment as if to compose herself, before continuing. “From what we’ve heard so far, they died instantly. At least that’s . . . that’s something.” She covers her mouth just as a sob tears out.

A stabbing knot forms in the base of my throat.

“Madison?”

My mom’s head bobs. “She came by earlier and will be back later tonight. They’re at the apartment, packing up Sasha’s things and making arrangements.”

“How is she?”

“She’s being strong. Cyril said they’ll hold off on the funeral until Saturday. Dr. Stoult thinks you’ll be released by then,” my dad explains, adding, “Derek’s going to be buried on Wednesday.”

Sasha and Derek’s funerals.

This can’t be happening.

“The official police report will be filed shortly but from what they gather, alcohol may have been a fac—”

“No!” I cut him off, clenching my teeth against the pain as I shake my head. “I was drunk. That’s why Sasha drove in the first place.” Sasha wouldn’t drink and drive. He’s a good guy.

Was a good guy.

“So Sasha was driving. They weren’t a hundred percent certain if it was Derek or Sasha.” My dad’s mouth twists. “Regardless, the autopsy reports will confirm how much alcohol was in his blood.”

I close my eyes, thinking back to last Friday. Sasha was fine to drive . . . wasn’t he? He said he was fine, that he had been chugging water. But now that I look back at it, there probably was a beer in his hand most of the night. He could have been nursing it.

Then again, I’ve never known Sasha to nurse a beer.

Fuck. What was I thinking?

After another long, uncomfortable silence, I finally dare ask, “So, what did we hit, a tree?”

My mom’s face pales and I have my answer.

I didn’t think I could feel anything through this numbness.

“They’re saying that you guys collided with an Audi in the oncoming lane.” My dad’s eyes are fixed on the floor by my bed, the look in them telling me he’s miles away in thought. “There were no skid marks on the road.”