FADING (A novel)(16)

Blinking a few more times, I start to focus on the man hovering over me. I keep trying to move, but I can’t get my limbs free.

“Just try and relax,” he says in a soothing voice. “You are strapped down to a backboard and are wearing a neck brace until we can assess your injuries.”

I stare up at the bright white light that is above me in the cab of the ambulance and focus on my breathing.

What just happened? Is this even real?

“Miss, how do you feel? Can you tell me if anything hurts?” he asks.

How do I feel? I don’t know how I feel. I don’t even know what the hell just happened. I feel scared and numb. I feel everything and nothing all at once. I feel like this is a dream—a very, very bad dream that I can’t wake up from. I don’t understand. I’m so confused. Fear and misery rip through me and create a new emotion that I can’t even begin to describe. My heated tears roll continuously down the side of my face as I remain staring at the white light.

“Miss?”

“I don’t know,” is all I can manage to say, my only attempt at a response to his very confusing question.

I move my eyes downward to look at my body, and I am covered in a grey wool blanket. Suddenly, I remember that I am naked beneath this blanket. Embarrassment wells up inside of me, and I begin to sob uncontrollably.

“I want to go home!” I choke out. “I want to go home!!” I barely recognize my own voice. The panic I hear in myself is frightening.

We stop abruptly, and the smell of fresh air envelops the ambulance as the doors to the cab open. As I am rolled out, I watch the white light move up and over the top of my head. I want to cover my face with my hands, but they are still strapped down. I start choking on short breaths between sobs. Where are they taking me? What’s going to happen? I feel completely out of control, and I live for control.

There is a lot of noise and people chattering while I am being wheeled into the hospital. I’m finding it hard to hear what they are saying over my crying and heaving breaths. But the whole world stops moving when I hear that unmistakable word. Don’t say that word. I can’t move. I can’t blink. I can’t do anything. This isn’t me. This can’t be me.

I am wheeled into a private exam room, and there are several nurses moving around and checking the IV that must have been put in place while I was unconscious. My legs and arms are finally unstrapped, but I no longer feel the need to move. I just lie there. Still. One of the nurses stands by me and asks, “Ma’am, my name is Allie. I need to ask you some basic questions. Is that okay?”

I nod my head.

“Can you tell me your name?”

I look at the nurse and she looks to be in her thirties. She’s pretty, with a short blonde bob and almost emerald eyes. Her scrubs are green, which make her eyes appear extremely vibrant. She has flawless makeup, especially her black eyeliner. The stethoscope’s cord that hangs around her neck is hot pink, and I figure that outside of work, she must have a flair for style. I don’t really know, I’m just imagining.

I feel my hand warm, and I look down to see that she is now holding it. I look back up at her green eyes. “Candace,” I whisper.

Taking her hand from mine, she starts writing on the clipboard she is holding.

“Last name?”

“Parker.”

She continues through the questions as she fills out my chart with all of my information. When she finishes, she tells me that she is going to call another nurse who handles cases like mine to come in and talk with me.

“Would you like to call anyone?” she asks me.

I shake my head no. I don’t want to talk to anyone. How would I even begin to explain this?

“Would you like me to call someone for you? Sometimes it’s easier if you have a friend here with you.”

Looking up at Allie, my eyes begin to fill with tears again. I do want my friend here. I want him here so badly, but I am so embarrassed. What will I even say? All I know is that I want Jase here.

“You’ll call for me?” I ask, my voice shaky.

“Of course,” she says softly.

“Jase. You can call Jase,” I say. I give her his number, and she leaves the room.

I am only alone for a few minutes when a doctor wearing a white coat enters my room, along with another nurse who is carrying a white cardboard box. She sets it down on a table, walks over to me, and stands next to the doctor who is holding a steel box clipboard and is looking at it intently. When she looks up at me, she says, “Hello, Ms. Parker, I’m Dr. Langston. I am ordering a CT scan to rule out any evidence of a cerebral hemorrhage and a set of x-rays to be certain you don’t have any fractures or broken bones.”

I hear her words, but nothing makes sense to me. So I just lie there while tears stream down my temples and into my hair.

She sets the clipboard down, walks over to me, and assesses my face. She shines a small flashlight into each of my eyes then steps away as she puts the light back into the pocket on her white coat.

“This is Julia, and she is the Sexual Assault Nurse Examiner for the hospital. She’s going to talk to you while we are waiting to run those scans, okay?” She says this all so matter-of-factly, and I’m not sure how to even react, so I just whisper, “Okay.”

Dr. Langston proceeds to walk out of the room and closes the door behind her.