Back to You(52)

“No need for sorrys, Mike. You know you can always count on me.”
Michael looked down and chewed on his bottom lip. The more his brother spoke, the more unsettled he became. Something about his voice wasn’t right. Maybe he should call the doctor?
“Hey,” his brother said suddenly, leaning over to turn Michael’s face over his"> shoulder toward him. His expression was serious. “I’d do anything for you. You know that, right?”
Michael nodded slowly, and Aaron smiled, letting go of his face as he turned toward the road. His brother had uttered those words to him hundreds of times, but tonight, they sounded so wrong on his lips.
“Okay,” Aaron said to no one in particular, shaking his head quickly, and he shifted the car into drive and stepped on the gas. They lurched forward slightly, the right wheel going up on the curb before he righted the car. Michael flinched as a few branches slapped against the passenger window.
“Whoops,” Aaron said. “Sorry.” He blinked a few times and widened his eyes, gripping the wheel and leaning toward the windshield. “Just…be quiet, okay? I have to think.”
“Okay,” Michael said softly, squeezing his pillow against his chest and closing his eyes. He just wanted to be back in his house, where his brother could lie down and take some medicine and feel better.
Michael kept his eyes closed, aware that the ride seemed exceptionally bumpy, that they stopped more often than they should have.
Then suddenly, too suddenly, it felt like they picked up speed. “Shit. Shit!” he heard his brother shout, and Michael whipped his head up and opened his eyes just as Aaron cut the wheel sharply to the left.
Michael felt himself fly across the seat toward his brother, and instinctively his hands reached out for something to grab onto, something to steady himself. He clutched frantically, his hands finding no purchase. Things were flying by the windows, colors and lights, and then he heard a horrible sound, like metal crunching.
“Aaron!” he yelled, but a loud screech drowned out the word, followed by the sound of glass shattering. Michael barely registered the feeling of little pinpricks dancing across his cheeks and his hands before there was a thunderous bang and the car jerked violently to the other side, ripping him away from his brother and throwing him back toward the passenger door.
His right side slammed against something hard. It felt like someone had punched him, and he knew he must have cried out, although he didn’t hear it. The pain in his side was excruciating, the intensity of it doubling and tripling until he was sure he was being ripped in half. He opened his mouth to scream, and then miraculously, as suddenly as the pain began, it stopped. Just like that. Like someone had hit a switch and turned it off.
As soon as the pain ceased, so did the sounds around him. It was deathly quiet, although they were still moving. He could see that. He could see the world outside the window in blurs and flashes, and he was vaguely aware that it shouldn’t be as quiet as it was. He should have been thankful—the silence was such a relief from the horrible sounds that filled his ears before—but instead, it terrified him.
They were going one way, and then another, before there was another violent jerk. His head slammed against something hard, bringing little fuzzy stars into his vision.
And then the movement stopped.
Slowly the silence was replaced with an empty, buzzing sound. His eyes were wet, he didn’t know with what, and the more he blinked and swiped at them, the worse his vision got until finally he didn’t know if his eyes were opened or closed.
He knew his mouth was moving. He knew he was saying his brother’s name over and over, although he still couldn’t hear anything but a soft humming.
And then everything went black.
as he pressed his lips to hersg leEventually, the blackness was broken up here and there with random things, flashes of images and sounds. Everything seemed blurry and unfocused: a white room. A soft beeping sound. Unfamiliar faces. Some of them looked sad. Some of them were smiling softly, saying words he couldn’t hear. Sometimes there was agonizing pain, and other times there was a peaceful dizziness that felt like floating. He didn’t know what was a dream or what was real, and he was just too tired to try to figure it out.
The first time he consciously opened his eyes, the first time he recognized that he was awake and what he was seeing was real and tangible, it was four days later.
There was a woman in his room, dressed in Daffy Duck scrubs. She smiled warmly at him, told him her name was Renee, and that she would take good care of him.
She gave him some water, rubbed his hair, and answered the questions he was too weak to ask; she told him that he was hurt, but he was going to get better. She explained that he had two broken ribs and a bruised lung. He had broken his arm, but the doctors fixed it by putting pins in it. She told him he was just like a robot now, and Michael was pretty sure he smiled at that. The brace around his neck was because he had severely pulled muscles in his neck and back. The bandage on his head was protecting his stitches. She told him he had a concussion, and she assured him that was just a fancy word for banging your head really hard and that a little rest would make it all better.