Pain shot through my skull when I flopped back onto the pillow, making me wince. I reached up, tentatively fingering the bandage at my temple. I’d hit my head on the driver’s side window, which must have caused it to shatter.
The doctor seemed surprised my skull could break the glass, but then I told him my car’s age, and he seemed a lot more convinced. My Toyota was well over twenty years old, and coupling that with the fact I’d also slammed into a guardrail, well, the glass in my head made a lot more sense.
The entire left side of my body ached from the hit and I knew there were bruises, but I didn’t bother looking. My right hand was also sliced open, but they’d managed to close it with some kind of glue instead of having to stitch me up.
The clock hanging on the wall across the room told me I’d been here for four hours already. One of which I’d spent unconscious.
I’d woken in this room with an IV in my arm, stitches in my head, and a splitting headache. The doctor informed me I had a concussion but no brain bleed, which they’d confirmed with an MRI. Something else I did not have the money to pay for.
Which was exactly why I needed to get out of there. Immediately. Every minute in the place was putting me further and further into debt.
I tried to leave the second I was awake, but the doctor and nurses stopped me, saying unless I had someone to care for me at home, I would need to stay overnight for observation. I tried to argue, but even on a good day, I’m barely able to have a polite conversation with people I don’t know, let alone argue. Plus, shouldn’t I be grateful? I mean, they did stitch me up and make sure I was okay.
The anxiety of the massive hospital bill accumulating by the second sat on my chest, though, and made it very hard to breathe. Or maybe that was the stuff I’d inhaled when my airbag deployed.
Either way, I couldn’t breathe, and it was severe enough to send me onto the H2H app to see if I could find someone nearby.
We all know how that went. So that left me with only one option.
Sneaking out.
Technically, I could sign myself out. I was an adult. But that kind of confrontation? Telling a doctor and his fleet of nurses I was going against their advice and better judgment and leaving the hospital with a concussion was enough to spin me into an anxiety attack. That wouldn’t be good for a head injury either, so you see why I had to be sneaky.
I could practically feel their stern glares and hear thetsk, tsk, tskof disapproval.*shudder*
With that decision made, I tossed back the thin blanket and flung my legs over the side of the bed. Cool air brushed over my bare toes, making them curl in, but I remained dedicated to my plan. I scooted forward, hissing in pain when I bumped my cut hand and then drew it into my chest.
Who the heck were these beds made for anyway? Giants? I mean, sure, I was only about five feet five, but the long way down from the mattress to the floor seemed a bit ridiculous. Using my uninjured hand, I pushed off, dropping onto the cold linoleum floor.
My legs folded under me like I was a newborn giraffe (a short one, okay?), and I tumbled onto the vinyl with a splat.
A sharp tug and pain erupted in my arm, and I let out a whimper and looked down.
Clearly, I hadn’t thought this through. Because if I had, I would have gotten out of bed on the other side. You know, the side where my IV pump sat.
Guess it didn’t matter now because I’d just inadvertently ripped it out of my arm. I stared as the needle flopped around, still stuck to the tape that was partially ripped off the inside of my elbow. Droplets of blood splattered the tape and my arm and began oozing out of the place the needle had been.
The entire area stung, but I tried to ignore the bleeding wound as I ripped the tape the rest of the way off and dropped it on the side of the bed.
Legs wobbling, I pushed to my feet, gripping the rail near the head of the bed as blood trickled down my forearm.
I knew a piercing and overwhelming moment of defeat when the world seemed to crash down upon my shoulders, pressing so heavily on me that I wanted to collapse again. I knew life wasn’t fair. I accepted that. But sometimes it would be nice to have a break.
Refusing to let those thoughts cling, I grabbed a tissue from the bedside and swiped at the blood streaming down my arm, then pressed it against the open wound.
“Is everything okay over there?”
My head whipped up, the sudden movement causing a tsunami of vertigo to crash over me. I sagged against the bed, white-knuckling the railing to stay upright.
The curtain dividing the room in half scraped back, the sound like nails on a chalkboard. Goose bumps raced across my arms and legs as I suppressed a shudder.
A dark head appeared from around the now partially open curtain, along with a pair of curious dark eyes.
My eyes widened, the action causing pain to splinter across my temple. “Who are you?” I squeaked.
“Your roommate,” he said, pushing the curtain back even farther to reveal a bed identical to mine.
“I-I d-didn’t know anyone was over there.”
