I can’t do this. I can’t lose Belle.Thank God nobody seems to be in this part of the parking garage right now because I can’t handle someone checking on me to make sure I’m OK.
No, I’m not fucking OK.
Turning on my seat so the bottom half of my body faces outside the door, I wipe my face with my t-shirt and try to take a deep breath. My stomach is hollow, my throat stings, and my mouth tastes like eggs and stomach bile. Lovely.
I’m starting to hyperventilate from crying. And, dammit, I can’t control my bladder when I puke.Fuck my life.Tears, vomit, and piss. A trifecta.
A few minutes later the sobbing subsides and I’m able to calm myself enough to breathe normally.In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four.
Righting myself in my car, I reach into my purse and pull out my phone, turning it on for the first time since I arrived at the hospital last night. Skye’s probably freaking out that she couldn’t get ahold of me after I left her house. It’s not that I didn’t want to keep herupdated; I just knew feeling my phone vibrate every five minutes would stress me out even more than I already was.
Sure enough, as soon as my phone receives signal it goes off about twenty times.
Skye, 8:12 p.m.: Did you make it to the hospital?
Skye, 8:15 p.m.: Are they OK?
Skye, 8:16 p.m.: I tried calling and it went straight to voicemail. Do you not have signal in the hospital?
Skye, 9:04 p.m.: OMG the accident is on the nine o’clock news.
Skye, 9:04 p.m.: Holy fuck the cars are smashed.
Skye, 9:05 p.m.: The man that hit them was drunk?! What the hell?!
Skye, 9:05 p.m.: The driver died at the scene. Did you know that? OMG the accident was bad enough to kill people.
Skye, 9:05 p.m.: ARE THEY OK?!!!!
Skye, 9:43 p.m.: I’m wondering if I should come up to the hospital and sit with you.
Skye, 9:45 p.m.: I’m assuming since you aren’t answering me that you aren’t reading my texts and if I showed up at the hospital without invitation you wouldn’t be happy about it.
Skye, 9:46 p.m.: I hope they are OK. I hope you are OK.
Skye, 9:46 p.m.: I love you.
Skye, 11:22 p.m.: Are you still at the hospital? Or are you asleep? Or are you asleep at the hospital?
Skye, 11:24 p.m.: Alis I’m worried sick and you aren’t answering my texts!
Skye, 11:24 p.m.: Sorry. Typed before I thought. I’m sorry.
Skye, 11:25 p.m.: Call me in the morning. PLEASE.
Skye, 11:25 p.m.: I love you.
Yep. I’m glad I turned off my phone. Skye is amazing, but I couldn’t have handled her extroverted rapid-fire texting last night.
I open my contacts and tap Skye’s name in my favorites list.
“OH MY GOD ALIS IS EVERYTHING OK?!”
Did the phone even ring? Cheese and rice, she’s loud.
“Hey. Sorry my phone was off.”
“YOU TURNED OFF YOUR PHONE?! WHILE I WAS HERE FRE?—”
