Tiny fractures, p.50
Tiny Fractures, page 50
I grab my bag, sling it over my shoulder, and wave to my mom, who remains seated on my bed. She’s worried about me—I can see it in her face—so I give her a small smile. “I’m going to the hospital after class, okay?” I ask. Of course it’s okay; she would never deny me that request.
Outside, Vada is checking her phone as I make my way toward her. She looks up and I see the dark circles under her eyes. She’s been sleeping about as poorly as I have. Ronan is one of her best friends and I know she’s worried sick. She hooks her arm under mine and we walk, silently, until my phone buzzes in my back pocket.
“Have you heard anything yet this morning?” Shane asks as soon as I answer his call. He sounds tired. The collective stress we’re all under is palpable.
“No, you?”
“Nothing,” he sighs. “I just tried Steve a few minutes ago, but he didn’t answer his phone. I think I’m going to head to the hospital in a little while; I can’t sit around at home. You guys coming after class?”
He asks this every day, and my answer is always the same—that I’ll be there as soon as I can get out of school.
At school, Vada and I split up. I have Advanced Placement History, which always makes me think of Ronan because he told me the secret to acing this class. “If you have time, stay a few minutes after class lets out and ask Ms. Jennison some random questions about whatever it is you guys are studying. She’ll think you’re super interested. And make sure to pretend to really listen to her, like you’ve never heard anything more riveting in your life. You’ll get an A, no questions asked,” he told me with a chuckle a couple of weeks ago.
“Is that how you aced the class?” I asked him with a giggle.
“One hundred percent,” he said with a mischievous grin.
But I have a hard time paying attention to Ms. Jennison’s ramblings about the War of 1812 today. Pre-calculus passes equally slowly, as does my English class. By lunchtime I’m already ready for the school day to be over, and I seriously contemplate asking my mom to let me leave early so I can get Steve or Shane to come and take me to the hospital with them.
I wander out to the courtyard where I see Vada sitting in our usual spot under the large shady tree with Zack, Summer, Tori, and Cheyenne, all eating their lunches in silence. I join them, dropping my bag into the grass and sitting cross-legged next to Vada. I’m still not hungry but figure I should at least eat my apple, lest I collapse from lack of nutrition. I pull out the apple and my phone, turning it on. My heart stops when I see that I have five missed calls from Steve and two missed calls from Shane.
“Have you heard anything?” I ask the group as I frantically check to see if I have a text message or voicemail. We’re not supposed to use our phones on campus and my hands are sweating as I swipe around on my screen. There’s no message from either Shane or Steve.
“No, why? What’s wrong?” Tori asks as the others stare.
“I don’t know. I have a bunch of missed calls from Steve and Shane.” I look at Vada, who shakes her head. “Screw it,” I mutter and dial Steve’s number, looking around to make sure no teachers are around to confiscate my phone.
“Put it on speaker,” Vada practically begs.
I comply. Everyone is silent as the phone rings.
Steve picks up on the third ring. “Hey! Hold on a second.” His voice is quiet, almost a whisper. I hear his shoes scuff against linoleum floor and a door slide open, then shut.
“What happened?” I ask, staring at the grass in front of me, feeling my friends’ eyes on me as they listen intently, too.
Steve lets out a quiet chuckle, sounding elated. “He woke up. Ran woke up.”
My eyes snap to Vada’s as I drop my phone into my lap. I’m overwhelmed with relief, and judging by the looks on everyone’s faces, they feel the same way.
“When?” Vada says loudly so Steve can hear her through my phone.
“Last night, around two. My dad said the nurse came in to place a new IV line and she asked Ran to squeeze her hand, like she usually does. And this time, he finally did.” Steve’s voice is giddy as I hear him pace back and forth in the hospital corridor. “And then my dad kept talking to him, asking him to open his eyes. It took him a while to come out of it, but he did. He’s back.” Steve chokes back a sob as he tries hard to rein in his emotions.
“How is he?” I ask, desperately.
“He’s asleep right now; they have him doped up on painkillers, keeping him pretty sedated, but I did talk to him for a few minutes earlier this morning. He’s sort of in and out of it; you can tell he doesn’t have a lot of strength right now. He’ll be awake for a few minutes, but then he drifts off again pretty quickly.” There’s a pause before Steve continues. “He asked about you, Cat.”
My heart skips a beat, and I smile as my eyes water. “I want to come see him right now,” I say, my voice thick. I look at Vada, who nods eagerly, ready to skip out on our afternoon classes.
“Take your time; they just gave him some pain meds thirty minutes ago. He’s out cold right now and probably will be for a few hours, so no rush. Shane, my dad, and I are here with him.”
We agree that we’ll be heading to the hospital as soon as classes let out, and Steve hangs up to head back into Ronan’s room.
***
The next few hours pass with excruciating slowness, and by the time the final bell rings I have my bag packed and am the first one out of the room. I speed walk down the corridor, out the front doors, and to the parking lot. Tori had agreed to drive since Vada and I walked to school this morning, and I meet her and Vada by her Corolla three minutes later. Zack and Summer are going to meet us at the hospital.
Cheyenne declined to tag along, telling me, privately, that she was sorry for how she had acted toward me, that she could tell how much I cared about Ronan and him for me, and that she wanted to give us some space, but that she would visit him once he was released from the hospital. We ended up hugging before we headed to our classes.
“Is there always this much traffic?” I ask, tapping my foot on the floorboard of the passenger seat of Tori’s car. It’s slow moving, and I keep checking the clock on my phone every thirty seconds.
“We should be there in fifteen minutes, Kitty Cat.” Vada rests her hands on my shoulders from the backseat, giving them a painful rub. She’s obviously anxious, too.
It feels a lot longer than fifteen minutes, but we finally reach the hospital where Tori manages to find a parking spot close to the main entrance. We basically sprint through the automatic doors until the security guard gives us a disapproving look and we slow down to a quick walk. Knowing the drill well by now, we beeline it to the registrar’s desk, give our names and who we’re here to see, stick the visitor badges to our shirts, and quickly walk to the elevators that take us up to the ICU.
I rub my clammy hands on my jeans. “Why am I so freaking nervous?” I mutter more to myself than Tori or Vada.
“Probably because you’re not sure what Ran is going to be like when you see him again,” Vada says knowingly. “I mean, he’s had something really bad happen to him, right? Something so bad that it changes people. And, I think, maybe you’re worried about which version of him you’re going to get. I know I am…” She trails off, her brown eyes wide.
I stare at her. This was not what I had expected, but I think she’s spot-on.
She takes my hands into hers, stopping my fidgeting. “Don’t worry, Kitty Cat. It’ll be alright!”
I nod at her and take a deep breath. The elevator doors open and we march to the double doors, requesting entrance to the ICU through the com system.
My heart is absolutely pounding when we reach Ronan’s room. The curtains are drawn, limiting our ability to see in through the floor-to-ceiling glass walls and door. Ronan’s usual day nurse, Krista, is at the nurse’s station, and when she spots us she motions for us to go into the room.
Tori quietly slides the door open and pulls back the curtain, holding it for Vada and me to slip past her into the room. The shades of the window to the outside are partially drawn, dimming the brightness in the room. I’m vaguely aware of Steve and Shane, who are both sitting on the small sofa by the window and Ronan’s dad sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. The three of them are chatting quietly, their voices subdued.
As we enter, the conversation abruptly comes to an end.
“Hey guys,” Frank greets us quietly while Steve and Shane get up and move toward Vada and Tori.
I, on the other hand, immediately move to Ronan’s bedside, where I sit down in the empty chair and take his right hand into both of mine.
His hand radiates warmth as opposed to the coolness from the last week, but he no longer feels feverish. He feels… like Ronan. I search his face and immediately notice a difference. Aside from the bruises, which have finally begun to fade, Ronan isn’t as pale; some color has returned to his cheeks. He looks like he’s sleeping now—his face turned slightly to his right, less injured side—whereas before he looked lifeless, like his body was only a shell.
The nurse must have taken off the bandages last night because Ronan’s left eye is no longer covered by the sterile white gauze and tape. If I leaned in close enough, I would probably be able to count the stitches it took to sew up the laceration that stretches across Ronan’s left eyebrow and continues under his left eye. I wonder if this wound was inflicted with the hockey stick I saw, fractured and broken—like Ronan’s body—on the living room floor. For a second, images of Ronan’s mother crashing Ronan’s hockey stick into his face flicker across my mind’s eye, but I push the thoughts out of my head.
He’s still hooked up to an IV that slowly drips a clear liquid into his veins, and machines monitor his heartbeat, oxygen levels, and blood pressure, all of which have increased since I saw him yesterday evening. His chest rises and falls steadily, calmly as he breathes in and out, and it’s so comforting to watch. His left hand is still bandaged; his right knee, covered by the blanket along with the rest of the lower part of his body, remains immobile. His chest is exposed, and I notice that the bandages that previously covered the surgical incisions on his ribs and stomach were also removed. I can now see the inches-long incision on his left rib cage where they pieced his ribs back together and the smaller one on his stomach where they removed his spleen. His ribs are still severely bruised, and there are still cuts all over his body, but they’re healing well.
“How long has he been asleep?” Vada asks into the room, watching me watch Ronan.
“He’s been sleeping since I talked to you guys,” Steve replies, and kisses Vada’s forehead. Steve looks happy, as do Shane and Frank. All three have more color in their faces and their eyes are bright. I realize how much the last seven days—the uncertainty and worry for Ronan—have worn on everyone.
Franks stands up, stretches his legs, then moves to the other side of Ronan’s bed. He smiles at me before his eyes move to the monitors flashing Ronan’s vital signs. “The doctor came in about twenty minutes ago and she’s really pleased with Ran’s stats. If we can successfully manage his pain here over the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours, they’ll move him out of the ICU,” Frank says, sounding less tired than he has the past few days. It’s obvious that his youngest son’s health improvement has had an invigorating effect on him. He looks younger, too, his face shaved and no longer scruffy; he’s wearing fresh clothes and his brown hair is kempt.
“When do they think he’ll be able to go home?” I gaze at Ronan and those bruises, especially the one that basically took over the left side of his face. Though it’s beginning to change color a little from deep, dark blue to more of a green, it’s still prominent and startling. But his left eye is no longer completely swollen shut, and the cuts on his upper and lower lips are healing. I can finally recognize his handsome features again, and his full lips are enticing and as kissable as ever. I find myself yearning for him to wake up and kiss me.
“Not sure. I think he still has a long way to go before we can bring him home. His knee alone makes it almost impossible for him to move around. He’s going to be non-weightbearing for a while,” Frank says with a heavy sigh. “Listen guys, I’m going to go run out for a couple of hours to take care of some things. I’ll bring back some food for everyone. Will you guys stick around until I get back? Shouldn’t be later than maybe five-thirty or six.”
We all nod, and Frank gives us the thumbs-up before he quietly leaves the room. I turn my attention back to Ronan while the others chat.
“Man, I had no idea Ran had woken up until I got to the hospital with Shane this morning. If I had known, I would have called you guys immediately,” Steve tells us.
“We could tell something was different when we walked in,” Shane says. “Obviously, he’s not all bandaged up anymore, and for a second I thought that was it, but it’s also just the way he looks versus yesterday, you know. He’s in a slightly different position. He looks… more alive.”
“And then my dad just went, ‘Ran woke up.’ I thought he was trying to be funny for a second. Fuck, when Ran opened his eyes a little while later…” Steve trails off.
“Steve started to cry,” Shane continues, patting Steve’s back.
“I’m so fucking relieved,” Steve says, his voice cracking.
I nod because I completely share the sentiment. We all do.
***
I’m still holding Ronan’s right hand, tracing the lines on his knuckles, when his hand suddenly moves in mine, startling me. My eyes flit to his face and my heart leaps when I find him looking at me. The white of his left eye is blood-red, and although it’s alarming, the sheer fact that he’s finally awake floods me with relief.
“Hi,” I choke, tears spilling unhindered from my eyes.
Ronan lifts his right hand, and my eyes flutter shut as his thumb gently glides across my left cheek, wiping away my tears. I have missed his touch so incredibly much.
“Hey baby,” he says, his tired voice barely audible. It’s raspy and hoarse, I assume from the strain the intubation put on his vocal cords and from not speaking for almost a week. But that doesn’t matter. None of it does. He’s awake and talking to me right now, and it’s everything.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his eyes searching mine, and I laugh through my tears. He’s the one in the ICU, but he’s asking me if I’m okay.
“I’m a lot better now. I’ve been so worried about you,” I say, holding his hand against my cheek, relishing his warmth against my skin. “Are you in a lot of pain?”
He considers my question for a few seconds and then gives me a minuscule shake of his head. “Not too bad right now. Just don’t make me cough or take a deep breath, because that shit hurts,” he says, and I lower both of our hands, letting his rest on the bed.
Vada and Tori join us on the other side of the bed. Ronan slowly turns his head to face them, wincing when he tries to shift his weight, hugging his broken hand to his battered chest.
“Easy!” Steve says, approaching from behind Vada and Tori, and Shane joins a moment later. Together, the two guys help Ronan adjust, slowly, allowing him to sit up more. He needs a minute to breathe through the pain that came with the change in positions. His eyes are shut tightly, brows furrowed and teeth gritted as he tries to manage the pain. Finally, he’s able to release the tension and he opens his eyes, trying to smile.
My heart breaks seeing him like this; I wish I could take all the pain away.
Ronan
I heard my dad’s voice. It was distant, like listening to someone when you’re under water. He was telling me to open my eyes, over and over again. And man, I had to fight like hell to come out of it. It felt like I was stuck in quicksand or mud; I don’t even know. But finally, I opened my eyes to near-total darkness and a ton of pain.
I had no idea where I was, no idea how I got here, no idea what was going on. I felt completely out of it. Thoughts of Cat and our night together clung to my consciousness, and at first I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what happened after I left her warm bed to head home. But then I became aware of the beeping and clicking of machines around me, the IV stuck in my right hand dripping some clear liquid into my veins, and then my dad, who was sitting next to me, holding my hand, talking to me. It confused me because I didn’t remember him being home. There was a nurse by the foot of my bed, and slowly it dawned on me that I was in the hospital—and why.
The memories came rushing back as though a fucking dam broke, and for a second I wished to be pulled into unconsciousness again. But then the doctor came and told me I had been out for six days. He rattled off my injuries, which certainly explained all the pain and why it felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest. He kept talking to my dad, then asked me some questions, like whether I knew what had happened—of course I did—and what level my pain was on a scale of one to ten.
I tried to pay attention, but my brain felt foggy, and even though I had been out for close to a week I had never felt more exhausted in my entire life. Honestly, my body felt like I got hit by a freight train. Only a few minutes later the nurse gave me a pretty good cocktail of what I assume were pain meds, because I passed out pretty quickly again.
They’ve continued giving me strong pain meds through the IV in my right hand and I’ve been in and out of it for the past twelve hours, my brain foggy and slow. I’m barely able to keep my eyes open for more than about ten minutes before drowsiness overtakes me. I wake up here and there, wishing to shift my position, but the pain quickly reminds me that I’m completely immobile. I try to take advantage of the few, short awake phases and ask my dad questions, but he treads lightly in his answers. I can tell he doesn’t want to upset me, but I need to know.
“Where’s Mom?” I asked my dad at some point before sunrise. I wasn't sure if he knew why I was in the hospital, why I was so damn hurt, why I had been unconscious for six days. In case he didn't, I better watched what I disclosed.
