The smell. It’s so potent, reminding me of a gas station, that unforgettable smell of gasoline when you pump it into your car. But this is worse. Not something you want to stand there andsniff. It fills my lungs, preventing me from getting a deep enough breath of oxygen in.
I wheeze out another hack, my throat turning into the Sahara-fucking-Desert. I lick my lips, my tongue being the only part of my body that wants to listen to me. A funny taste moves over the tip of it.
Why do I taste blood?
Sirens wail in the distance. It’s like they’re next to me but also miles away.
Finally, after willing them to time and time again, my eyelids peel open, giving me a chance to see my surroundings. Except…I can’t make sense of it.
My head is full of pressure, like when you hang upside down on the monkey bars as a kid. But this is so much more than that. More invading. More crippling. More dizzying.
And then I look down—or am I looking up?—and see red on my clothes.
There’s so much of it. More than I’ve ever seen in my life.
My stomach heaves at the sight of it, acid and bile flowing into my mouth in a disgusting amount, then the blackness comes all over again because that red is blood and it all…
Belongs.
To.
Me.
FORTY-SEVEN
COLSON
I suckin a lungful of air when a gush of oxygen blasts through my body. A flaring pain shoots out over my hand, but it’s nothing compared to the rest of my body.
It’s almost not even there, but then it comes a second time, reminding me of the pricks of torment from when I got the roses and lion’s face tattooed over my forearm. Somehow, this hurts both less and more at the same time. I blink again, bright lights pouring down on me like a rainstorm. I catch a glimpse of a person’s head off to my left and try to turn my head, but of course it doesn’t move when I tell it to. There's something strapped around it, holding it in place.
I’m getting tired of my body giving me a big “fuck you” every time I give it a command.
“Try to stay still,” comes a feminine voice from above me. I wonder for a moment if it’s God playing some weird ass trick on me, but then a head of hair slices into my vision. It’s reddish brown and frizzy with the person’s bangs clipped back. “My name is Sandy. You’re in an ambulance being transported to Harrison General Hospital. You were in a car accident.”
I blink repeatedly as if it’ll clear up the confusion thrumming through my head. A car accident? That isn’t right.
I wasn’t…that didn’t…
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to pinpoint what Sandy is talking about. I was in the grocery store. I picked out a meatloaf and mashed potato combo. The cashier was watching stupid videos on his phone when I walked up to pay.
That pain that came over me before vibrates through me, intensifying when I try to move my leg from its uncomfortable position. When the nick at my hand happens a third time, I try to pull away becausewhat the fuck is that?
“Stay still, dear. I’m trying to get an IV in so we can manage your pain, but your veins are being finicky.”
“I—” I attempt words, but it’s too hard to talk.What is happening to me?
“Ah, there we go,” Sandy says, applying pressure on my hand before letting go.
“Wh—”
Her face comes into view when she says, “Your only job is to rest and trust that you’re in good hands, Colson.” She glances away, and a beeping ensues or maybe it’s been there the entire time. But wait, how does she know my name?
I groan and even that hurts, which is a new development. A line of heat wraps around my arm. It’s in my leg as well, and my head isn’t far off from exploding.
All of this, it’s too?—
“You’re in rough shape, Colson, but I just administered morphine into your IV line. You should have some comfort in a moment.”
