Filthy Foreign Exchange(55)

A long, silent pause stretches between us, unspoken words being shared until I’m able to find my voice.

“Thank you, Mom. I’ll try.” This smile is genuine. “And just for the record, I like to think I’m a lot like you, too.”

~~~~~

“There you are! Can you tell me your name?”

I blink, my sleepy eyes blinded by bright, invading lights.

“What?” I croak out the word, clearing my groggy throat.

“Your name. Can you tell me it?” the man asks again, hovering over me.

Um, no. You’re a stranger—an annoying one, who’s talking way too loudly and looking way too real for a dream.

“No, no, stay with me. Come on, open those eyes again,” he says, shaking my arm. “BP’s spiking, respiration’s twenty-eight! Run the cars over, man, just get there!”

The strange, screaming guy in my nightmare puts something over my mouth and nose. That wakes me up.

“Just breathe, nice and slow.” His voice is lower now, in what I suspect is an attempt at trying to soothe me. “Work with the medicine…calm, deep breaths. You’re in an ambulance, but you’re going to be okay. We’re almost to the hospital.”

Did he say ambulance? He’s insane. I’m in my bed, reading a book, waiting on my brother or Kingston to call or text.

I try to sit up, which turns out to be a bad idea. This pain and constraints feel very real.

Oh shit.

I look around, terrified and confused by what I see. I really am in an ambulance, and I can’t sit up because I’m strapped down to a stiff board. And something tight around my neck is threatening to choke me.

I wiggle my legs as much as my restraints allow, then close my eyes in relief. Thank God I can feel them. I can also feel that there’s something very wrong with my left arm; the pain is almost unbearable. And my head? It throbs like it may have taken on a wrecking ball.

I open my eyes again, and my vision is better, albeit fuzzy. Frantically, I search this speeding, scary box I’m trapped inside with just this bossy guy. Where are my mom and dad? Do they know where I am? What the hell happened?

“You did good. Real good. We’re gonna unload you now.” My rescue man smiles. “Your family’s on their way.”

Next thing I know, I’m being pushed quickly down a hall lined with what must be 200-watt lightbulbs overhead. People begin to surround and run alongside us, rattling off numbers and letters that sound like military code everyone but me seems to understand.

“Seventeen-year-old female, fell down the stairs in her home. Mother found her unconscious and called it in. Came to en route. Disoriented, limited responses, BP 142 over 90. Family’s on the way.”

I catch some of that—enough to start piecing the puzzle together, at least. I fell asleep, didn’t drink my tea, took down the bell, was so upset…

I bite back the guilt when I think of what I must’ve put my mother through, finding me like she did.

I’m pulled from my somber thoughts when we reach a room and two new strangers grab the board under me, the jostling sending my pain level soaring.

“On my count,” one of them says before counting to three. Then, I’m suddenly being lifted from the board and adjusted onto a bed.

After that, there’s a horrifying buzz of continuous activity all around me: lights shining right in my eyes, hands kneading my stomach, needles being poked in my veins. How many people are going to ask me my name, and whether I know where I am? And for the love of God, someone hang up a f*cking calendar and circle my birthday, because every soul in this room has asked me to recite the date! I better get a parade every year now.

“It hurts,” I groan. I reach over to rub my arm, but someone stops me.

“We know,” is the only answer I receive—or maybe it’s the only one I hear, because I’m growing rapidly sleepier. I think the meds they gave me are finally kicking in. Heavenly.

My eyes rest, head pounding less than before. Words like “X-ray” and “fracture” swirl around me as I’m pushed down another hallway, though not quite as fast this time…I think.

The last thing I remember is the sadistic doctor from hell tugging and maneuvering my arm roughly—like it isn’t already broken and killing me, despite the meds. The fright, and obviously very low threshold for pain I’m newly aware I suffer from, has my eyes rolling back in my head.

And once again, everything fades to black.





Chapter 22


“Oh, Echo.”

I wake up to my mom worrying over me, her face tear-stained and puffy.

“Hi, honey. Welcome back, my darling girl.”

“Water,” I grate. It’s literally the most painful word ever to have clawed up my throat.

“I’ll get it!”

Sammy springs out of a chair in the corner, where I hadn’t even noticed him sitting, and rushes over with a cup and straw. “Small sips, Echo,” he instructs me. “Slow.”

Hmm, my little magic man might grow up to be a doctor. Seems he’s been memorizing every instruction the staff’s given, and I must say, he has an excellent bedside manner. The cold water’s not only soothing, but aids in my ability to muster up a grateful smile.

“Very good job,” my mom praises him as tears stream down her cheeks.