Thirty Eight
Darcy
Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!
I groan, rolling over in bed, my blanket winding around me like a cocoon. My hand slaps around vigorously in an attempt to silence my alarm, but it flies past my nightstand, crashing into my bedframe.
“Ow.”
Sunlight floods my vision as my eyes flutter open. Rubbing them, I try to sit up, but the chrysalis of blankets traps me against the bed. My chest aches, a strange, tender feeling like ropes are pulling my arms apart, stretching me wide until something’s about to split. As my sight clears, my bedroom comes into view.
It smells sterile. The illustrated posters of Middle Earth and the Isle of Berk are gone, replaced by abstract, shape-blocked paintings on beige walls. My bookshelf has vanished too. In its place sits a sleek mid-century modern armchair that doesn’t looklike it belongs here… or to me, for that matter. And where my nightstand once stood, a vitals monitor now beeps steadily, its wires trailing down into me.
Wait. This isn’t my bedroom.
“Oh! You’re awake!” a gentle voice coaxes.
My eyes drift toward a tall, slender woman, her curly blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail that sways as she moves. She’s wearing black scrubs dotted with glittering green shamrocks, and little rainbow clippies in her hair. As I try to grasp my surroundings, she lifts a clipboard from the foot of my bed, approaching my left.
With a shimmering pink Truffula-Tree-looking pen, she jots down notes, studying the waves on the monitor. “I’m Nurse Eva,” she introduces with a soft smile. “I’m just going to take your vitals, okay?”
I open my mouth to respond. A weak“oh-kay,”slips out, ragged and scratchy. I lift a shaky hand to my throat, attempting to clear it, but it sends a deep, tender ache through my chest when I cough.
Eva lowers her clipboard, peering at me with careful eyes. “Don’t move too much,” she warns. “You’ve got a chest tube.”
My heart rate begins to quicken, hammering relentlessly, which is obvious not just from the jittery thudding in my chest, but from the beeps on the monitor, now speeding up. The green spikes on the screen inch closer together, stretching taller with each beat.
A chest tube? What the fuck happened?
Eva glances at the monitor, then back at me, her expression softening. “It’s okay,” she says. “You’re okay. Dr. Hughes will be here soon. In the meantime, let’s take some deep breaths.”
Eva’s eyes catch mine and she brings a hand up, breathing in slow and steady, showing me how. I try to match her, but my chest pangs with each one.
In.Wince.
Out.Wince.
In.Wince.
Ou—
“Where’s my mom?” I croak.
Eva pushes her sleeve up, checking the time on her sparkly watch. “She ran down to the cafeteria a little bit ago. She should be back any minute.”
I nod, calming just a bit, when a soft knock at the door draws both of our attention.
“Hi, Darcy,” the woman greets kindly. She’s curvy and small, even smaller than Peyton, with short, coily hair and a saccharine smile. She approaches the bed, holding her hand out for the clipboard, which Eva promptly hands her.
“Hi,” I manage.
“Thanks Eva,” Dr. Hughes murmurs, flipping through the chart. Eva’s pager starts beeping and she gives me a little wave before walking out.
Dr. Hughes studies the papers, then looks up at me, raising her brows over her round metal glasses. “How are you feeling?”
I huff what’s supposed to be a sarcastic laugh, but the contraction of my muscles makes it feel as though a crowbar is wedged between each side of my ribs, leveraging painfully against me.
“Like shit.”
