Living With Regret (2 page)

After a few minutes, I open my eyes to the light again. The stale white and baby blue walls confirm my worst fear. The uncomfortable rock I’ve been lying on is nothing but a hospital bed. The room’s cold and smells of antiseptic; and strange, plastic machines surround me, one making that sound that has held my sanity hostage for God knows how long.

Scanning the room even further, I see Mom sitting in an old, mauve-colored waiting room chair not far from my bed. Her usual perfectly-in-place blond bob is a mess, and it’s the first time I’ve seen her out of the house without make-up. And sweats. She’s wearing a pair of black sweatpants and a gray sweatshirt.

Her head rests on her arm, her eyes tightly closed. Even sleeping, she looks tired.

“Mom,” I whisper, feeling the painful burn in my throat. It’s like someone took a knife and scratched along its edges, but when she doesn’t move, I know I have to try again no matter how much it hurts. “Mom!”

Her eyelids lift just enough to get a glimpse of me. She straightens quickly, resting one hand on my arm and the other against my cheek. They’re so cold, but it feels good. Yet another sign that I’m still here. That this is something real and not part of a dream.

“How are you feeling?” She looks at me with the saddest eyes.

“Water,” I reply, “Please.”

She nods, running the backs of her fingers along my forehead. “Let me get the nurse.”

While I wait for her, I glance around the room. There are flower arrangements on the windowsill and the small table next to the bed. Most of them are full of my favorite: Gerbera daisies. Usually they lift my mood, bringing cheerfulness to the worst of days, but I’m too locked in a state of confusion to feel the brightness that would normally be radiating within me.

Maybe I should be screaming for answers. The reason for being here, the reason for the excruciating pain that runs down the entire length of my body, but I’m pretty sure—based on everything I see before me—I don’t want to know.

Ignorance isn’t always bliss, though, and somehow, this all needs to make sense.

The door swings open, and a nurse in green hospital scrubs enters followed closely by my mom. “You’re awake,” the nurse says, checking the fluid in my IV. I follow the line down to the top of my bruised hand. “I can’t give you any water until the doctor gets here, but would you like some ice chips?”

I nod slightly, willing to take whatever she’ll give me. This is worse than any sore throat I’ve ever had in my twenty years.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.”

She starts to walk away, but I’m not done with her yet.

“Wait.” My voice is lost, like the morning after cheering at a football game. I’m convinced I swallowed shards of glass at some point. “Can you turn that machine off? The one that keeps beeping.”

A sad smile curves her lips. “I wish I could, but we have to keep them on for at least a few more days,” she says in a soothing tone. That’s not exactly what I wanted to hear, but at least it’s just a few more days.

After the door shuts behind her, I turn back to Mom. There’s so much I need to know, but I don’t know if I’m necessarily ready to hear it. Waking up in a hospital without any memory of how you got there isn’t something that happens every day.

“Why am I here?” Those four little words are almost impossible for me to say, but the answer is so important.

“Get some rest. We can talk when you’re feeling better,” she answers, her voice like a soft lullaby. The back of her fingers slide across my cheek, smoothing a few strands of hair off my face. It’s comforting, but it doesn’t take away my curiosity. There’s no way I’m going back to sleep without some answers.

“No. Tell me now.”

She closes her eyes and slowly shakes her head before looking back down at me, defeated. “There was an accident.” The last word leaves me with a sinking feeling, and the fact that she’s having trouble looking me in the eye says a lot.

“What kind of accident?”

She swallows visibly, moving her eyes to mine. She hesitates, reaching her fingers up to touch my cheek yet again. Mom is never like this—showing me this much affection—and it’s scaring the hell out of me.

“Car.” Her voice is so low, it’s almost as if she didn’t intend for me to hear her.

“What? What happened?” Tears well in my eyes. There’s something she’s not telling me; it’s written on her face in large print.

“You were driving and went down an embankment. You hit a tree head on.” She stops, tears now spilling over. Her fingers brush my hair, carefully tucking it behind my ear. “We’re lucky to have you back, baby.”

Closing my eyes tightly, I try to remember. How could I not remember crashing into a tree? How is it possible to go through something like that and not remember a single thing? Then it hits me like a thousand bricks … Cory. Rarely do I do anything without Cory. Sometimes I go out with the girls, or hang out at home when he has plans, but it’s rare for us to be apart. For almost five years, he’s been my heartbeat … the one thing that keeps me going.

“Mom, where’s Cory?” My voice cracks as the sinking feeling takes over. If he knew I was here, he’d be by my side. I know he wouldn’t leave me alone. He’s not perfect, but he loves me.

“Rachel, maybe you should get some rest. Your body’s been through a lot.” Her tone could wilt a flower. So much is being said without actually saying the words.

I shake my head, trying my best to push down the feelings inside, but it hurts so freaking much. It’s like someone took my skull and repeatedly banged it against the wall. Between that and not knowing why the hell I’m here, I’d almost prefer to go back to sleep again. Lying here, anticipating the worst, isn’t helping. Why won’t she just tell me where Cory is? I need her to tell me the truth, even if it sends me into a world of all-consuming misery. “Where’s Cory?” I pause, trying hard to catch my breath. “Tell me … please.”

She falls forward onto the bed, resting her elbows against the edge and gripping my hand between hers. Her warm lips touch my knuckles before she looks up at me again. The pain shows like a dark cloud in her eyes as she opens her mouth then closes it. “He didn’t make it,” she cries, touching her lips to my skin again. “I’m so, so sorry, baby girl.”

Everything stops. My heart included.

“What?” I choke, not even sure if the word actually came out.

Mom closes her eyes tightly, slowly shaking her head. “Cory didn’t survive the crash … I’m sorry.”

The one part of my future I felt sure of is gone. With the words ‘
He didn’t make it,
’
the movie of my life has been put on pause … and I don’t see any reason to finish it.

Not without him.

Lost, I stare up at the white ceiling tiles trying to breathe air into my weighted chest. My body shakes, and my throat isn’t the cause of my pain anymore. The excruciating ache in my heart overrides everything else. It’s like someone took a pitchfork and pierced through it, over and over again, until it was filled with open wounds. Then, because that wasn’t enough, salt was poured right over top. Unyielding, it’s the worst pain I’ve ever felt. The worst pain I think anyone could ever feel.

My hands and jaw tingle, and the room spins. Nothing feels right with the world anymore.

This can’t be happening.

Why him and not me?

I want to remember something—anything—about what happened, but I can’t. Things like this aren’t supposed to happen to people like me. It’s as if I’m stuck watching one of those movies where something so horrible happens that you say to yourself there’s no way that would happen in real life. This is my life, and it’s so fucking real right now that I wish I could just un-live it.

Warm tears slide down my face, but I don’t bother to wipe them away. My mind is spinning so quickly, but nothing really matters anymore.

How did I end up here? The only thing I recall is studying for my college statistics exam with him on the couch. I don’t remember going to class, much less getting into a car. This would be easier to believe if it made even an ounce of sense.

“I don’t get it,” I cry, “I was on my way to class.”

She shakes her head, sympathetic eyes narrowing in on me. “No, you got home from school that afternoon. The police mentioned that you were on your way home from a party when it happened.”

There’s so much I’m missing. So much I don’t remember. Closing my eyes, I try, but there’s nothing.

“How long?” I whisper, swallowing hard.

“How long what?”

“Have I been here?”

“Seventeen Days.”

The darkness was a much better place. Sometimes it’s better not to know … I want to fall back into naivety, but it’s too late. What’s done can’t be undone.

SINCE MY MOM LEFT TO
shower a few minutes ago, my eyes have been locked on the door. I thought that, after a while, I’d wake up and find out this has all been a bad dream … the worst kind of nightmare that digs itself deep into the skin until the line between reality and imagination is blurred.

I’m shut inside an empty, sterile room, devoid of any soul. There are floors of rooms in this hospital that look exactly like this. It’s a place where people are left to heal their wounded or weakened bodies, but the atmosphere is doing little for my mangled, torn heart. The machines I’m hooked up to ensure that it’s beating, but it can’t detect the large, hollow hole that’s now in the center.

This isn’t my life. This isn’t what I had planned. Cory and I had been together since we were freshmen in high school. We were supposed to get married after college and move back to our small town to live happily ever after. He was my future … all I could see when I opened my eyes every morning. All I could think about when I closed my eyes every night.

Now, all I have are memories. He’ll never be here smiling down at me. I will never be able to wrap my arms around him or press my lips to his again. Never again will he grab my hand in his or whisper things that shouldn’t be said out loud in my ear.

As much as I hate it, this is my new life. A sick, twisted version of hell that no one really deserves.

I think back to the day Cory first asked me out. He was that guy … the one who girls have in mind when they get dressed for school in the morning. The one you can’t help but smile at when you walk past, but you tuck your hair behind your ear casually, hoping he doesn’t notice that you’re staring.

I’d gone to the first high school party with my friend, Madison. It was a night I’d never forget.

“Will you quit pulling at your skirt already? It’s supposed to be that short,” Madison says, pushing my hand from the hem I’d been tugging at since we walked into the packed house.

“I can’t believe you made me wear this.”

She rolls her eyes. “You shouldn’t hide your body … especially those legs.”

Shaking my head, I follow behind her as we weave our way through the crowd. The good thing about growing up in a small town is I pretty much know everyone here, but it’s still a who’s who of our high school. I don’t think we should even be here.

I spot Sam, my next-door neighbor across the room and start toward him. “Where are you going?” Madison asks, wrapping her hand around my forearm.

“I’m going to go talk to Sam.”

“Seriously, Rachel. You shouldn’t be hanging around him.”

“Why?” I ask, waving in his direction.

“You don’t want to be the girl who’s seen with him. People will talk. They’ll make assumptions.”

Sam’s quiet and has an aura of darkness that follows him wherever he goes. It might be the black leather jacket he wears or the classic car he drives. Whatever it is, most of the girls in our high school find it irresistible, and while some have had their shot with him, it never goes beyond a night in the backseat of his Camaro. I asked him about it once, and he told me life’s simpler if you don’t let yourself get too attached to anyone. It seemed honest because I’m the only person he’s really ever attached himself to.

People in town talk about him like he’s a destined felon, simply because his dad went down that path when he was younger. It didn’t matter that it was almost twenty years ago when his dad had one minor theft conviction and way before they even moved here. I guess, in their minds, crime is a genetic, chronic disease but they don’t know Sam like I do. Over the last seven years, I’ve spent more time with him than I have anyone in this crowded house—Madison included.

Before I have a chance to argue with her, I feel a hand squeeze my shoulder, and I spin around. Cory Connors stands behind me with a cocky grin spread across his handsome face. His eyes are even bluer than I’d thought, and his light brown hair is sun-kissed from spending hours outside this summer. He’s the definition of perfect.

“Hey, it’s Rachel, right?” he says in his deep, masculine voice. It floats through my mind like sugar, coating every part of me in happiness.

“Yeah,” I say, trying to pry my eyes from his full pink lips. They’re hard to look at without imagining what they’d feel like on mine. Not that I’d really know what that feels like since I’ve never been kissed. I think about it a lot, though. A whole lot.