Pretty Little Dreams (3 page)

“Yeah, I’m not surprised either.”

At a loss for words, I just stand there like an idiot. I force myself to take in the details around me because I’m not ready to confront the reason I’m here yet. My eyes travel to the front of the room and I take in the dark cherry casket, still refusing to look towards the top. It’s pretty, and shines in the light. The front has roses carved into it as well as a bible and cross. There are so many flowers draped over the casket as well as surrounding it, I know she would love them. My eyes keep traveling up and I stop at her hands. They look so delicate; clasped together as if patiently waiting for something. Those hands represent so many things to me, comfort, love, nurturing, kindness…to see them lying there dormant, is painful.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and look back to see Pyper has returned.
Tears are running down her face, and the sadness there makes tears fill my own eyes. I look away, back towards the casket, and move my eyes from her hands, and take in her red dress, it makes my throat close. I don’t know shit about fashion, but I do know that the color red, today of all days, is fitting. Everyone knows black is the typical color of mourning, but that wouldn’t suit her. The red, it’s her, and it makes me proud.

I find myself walking away from Pyper, and stepping towards her.
I know she would not have wanted everyone to be carrying on and wallowing over her death, but it’s hard. I finally make myself look at her face, and the tears in my eyes double, making my vision blurry. I’m not ashamed. She’s deserving of these tears and many more.

She looks beautiful and peaceful, even in death, like she’s sleeping.
I want to rant and rage over the fact that she was taken so soon. I want to scream at God and demand to know why life is so unfair. Why do bad things happen to good people? She should still have years of her life to look forward to. There are so many things she didn’t get to do, things I know she looked forward to, wanted, and craved.

The hardest part for me in all of this is going to be to let go of the anger and guilt.
I know she’s in a better place and all that stuff everyone tells you at times like these, but it doesn’t keep the selfish thoughts from surfacing anyway. The fact is that while it may have been God’s time, it sure as hell isn’t mine.
I
want more time with her. Another chance to tell her how I feel; how much she matters. The complete lack of control we have in life and death is frustrating. I walk to where I placed the pink roses, take one from the vase, and bring it back to lay next to her.

“Luke!”

I snap my head towards Pyper, the tone in her voice setting me on edge. She looks as if she was talking to someone, and is now rushing towards me with a phone in her hand, waving it in the air. At the same time, I begin to feel a buzzing from my phone in my jacket pocket. My brows furrow in confusion, and I pull the phone from my pocket glancing at a number I don’t recognize.

“Luke, oh my God!”
Tears are pouring down Pyper’s face and I run to her, meeting her half way. I feel my father at my back.

“What happened?
What’s wrong?”

“There’s news,” Pyper almost wails, “About Olivia.”

My heart stops and fear runs through me as I can’t decipher anything from the look on Pyper’s face.
I grab her shoulders trying not to squeeze them too hard in my fear. “Tell me.”

She manages to choke out, “She’s alive.”

My breath catches in my throat and I feel elation. I immediately start making my way to the door and then stop in my tracks as I remember where I am and what today is. I look back at my father, an apology ready on my lips. He doesn’t hesitate, “Go, son. Go. Don’t even think twice about it. She would understand - she would want you to go.”

With one last look towards my mother lying in her red dress, I squeeze my dad in a tight hug, “Thank you for understanding.
I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Then, without another word, I run to my car with Pyper trying to keep up.

3
.

IT ONLY HURTS WHEN I BREATHE

Olivia

E
verything hurts. My
body feels stiff and sore, and there is an insistent slapping on the side of my face. I proceed to roll over and feel a sharp pain in my leg that is so intense; it makes me see nothing but white and feels so excruciating, I’m afraid I’ll vomit. “No! Don’t move goddammit! Don’t fucking move.” I realize the slapping is Deacon smacking me. Why do I have a feeling he’s enjoying it, the prick. “Your leg is broken. I can’t believe you fucking did this! Ronnie! Pull the goddamn car around, there’s a bone sticking out of her fucking leg!”

I hurt too much to even care about the fact that Deacon’s voice is the one I hear, or that he is being a complete dick.
I just want to close my eyes again and escape the pain resonating through my entire body. I’m burning. My whole body feels like it’s on fire. It’s debilitating, and the hair on my whole body is standing on end. I’m clenching my muscles and gritting my teeth, my breath coming out in pants between them, just trying to stay conscious, and not throw up. I’m ignoring the black dots at the edge of my vision. I know what will happen if I give into them. When Deacon scoops me into his arms, I scream.

“Shit, you have a huge gash in your arm too.
I said stop moving! I have no choice but to take you to the hospital. Your injuries are too much – I can’t fix them myself. You are so fucking lucky these bushes broke your fall, or that you didn’t fall on your head. What the fuck am I going to do with you?”

My whole body is jostled as he runs to the car, causing me to scream out in pain again.
I mentally try and take an inventory of my injuries. My left side is hurting, my arm, my leg. My leg hurts so much, that when Deacon accidentally knocks it against the side of the car, I scream yet again. I almost black out from the pain, and can feel something hot and wet dripping down my leg. I taste blood in my mouth; suddenly I realize I’m having difficulty seeing out of one of my eyes.

“Screw… you… Deacon.”
Every word is painful and takes effort to say, but it’s worth every single syllable.

“I hope you are hurting!
You deserve it, you ungrateful bitch. All I wanted was for us to be happy. I wanted us to get away, and start over – to have a fresh start. Instead, you go and pull a dumbass stunt like this. Is the thought of being with me so bad you had to do something like this? FUCK!” He shakes me with each of his words, but I refuse to acknowledge the pain his acts are causing me. I’m biting my lips so damn hard, it’s bleeding. Does he really think I wanted to do this? Asshole. He keeps talking as he places me down in the backseat of the car, but I just tune him out. I hear the doors close, and the engine start, making the seat underneath me vibrate.

I open my good eye to a slit, and see Deacon sitting next to me with my legs in his lap.
Looking down I see his hands are covered in blood and he’s holding something against my leg that is also covered in blood. I refuse to investigate further, as just that sight makes me even more woosy – if that’s possible. He sees me looking at him, “Hear me right now, Olivia, I have no fucking choice but to leave you at the hospital because of your injuries, but listen to me closely, THIS IS NOT OVER! I will find a way, and I will be back for you. I promise you that.”

Before I can form the question on the tip of my tongue, or even find it within myself to care, the black spots surrounding the edge of my vision take over.
My whole world turns completely dark.

“Ma’am?
Ma’am?”

There’s a persistent pest screaming in my ear.

“Ma’am can you hear me?” I can hear him. Why is he shouting? “Ma’am if you can hear me, please, open your eyes.”

I can tell I’m batting my eyelashes in an effort to get my eyes open.
How is it that just that tiny motion requires so much effort? Finally, I succeed and I take in the man trying to rouse me. His face is very close to mine, he has blonde hair, green eyes and glasses sitting on a rather large nose that is currently so close I’m afraid it will poke me. His brow is furrowed and he’s patting my shoulder. “There you are, hi there. Can you tell me your name?” I just stare at him. “What is your name?” he repeats again, but much slower this time.

“Olivia.”

“Great, that’s great, Olivia. You’re going to be fine. My name is Daniel. Can you tell me your last name? What’s your last name, Olivia?”

He’s talking so loud; I really want to punch him in the throat.
My head is aching. Why the hell is he asking what my name is? “Olivia? Olivia? What is your last name?” he repeats.

“Brooks.”

“Okay, Olivia Brooks. Good job. Olivia, you are at Trinity Memorial Hospital, can you tell me what happened to you?”

I swallow.
My throat feels so dry.

“Olivia?
Can you please look at me?”

I do as he requests and he shines a light in my eyes.
I flinch. That light is bright, asshole. It makes my head hurt more.

“It appears she has a concussion, her eyes are fully dilated.
We need to get her into trauma room B and assess the extent of the damage.”

I’m so cold.
I feel cold air on my body and I realize I’m lying down and am being moved. My body breaks out into goosebumps all over and I shiver.

“Olivia?
Do you understand where you are?”

I don’t respond.
I feel confused, everything is a blur. The darkness around my vision is calling me again, luring me with the promise of peace. I don’t fight it.

Pain.
I’m being
jostled and it brings me from darkness to white hot light in a blink. I open my eyes, tears instantly blurring my vision.

“Well, hello there.
My name is Dr. Arnez. Do you know where you are, Olivia?”

My eyes widen and I frantically look around the room.
I hear a constant beeping and note the tubes already connected to my body. I have oxygen around my nose and an IV catheter already lodged into my hand.

“The hospital?”

“Yes, that’s right. You are at Trinity Memorial Hospital. You have been hurt, but you’re going to be okay. Do you remember that?”

“I think so.”
My mind does feel a little fuzzy.

“You have quite a bit of damage to your leg and a large cut on your arm.
We have to take an x-ray to see the extent of the damage to your leg. You will likely need surgery on your leg, and while you are under anesthesia, we will stitch up your arm. We already took a picture of your head – and it does appear that you have suffered a concussion, but there doesn't appear to be any other injuries. Do you remember what happened to you? Can you please tell me?”

Slowly, like a sun breaking through the clouds on a gloomy day, the reality of my situation dawns on me.
I remember tricking Deacon. I remember falling. Most importantly, I remember I’m away from Deacon. I can get help! “Kidnapped. Please…help me,” every word is a struggle and to my own ears, it sounds like I’m slurring each word.

His eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn’t question me further.
He calmly turns to the nurse next to him and says, “Carrie, call the police. Tell them we have an Olivia Brooks here, and she was left at the emergency room. Please tell them she told us she’s a victim of kidnapping. If she isn’t here in this room when they arrive, she will likely be getting an x-ray or we will be in surgery. I don’t want to delay fixing her leg longer than necessary. Thank you, Carrie.” he says dismissing her.

Carrie nods, “I will call them now.”

“You’re going to be okay, Olivia. Did you understand when I told you where you are?”

“Yes… hospital.”

“Yes.
You are at Trinity Memorial. Hospital,” he repeats. “We’re already giving you some morphine for the pain, but I want to make sure it is working well for you. On a scale from one to ten, can you tell me how much pain you’re in?”

I mentally take in my condition.
I can’t feel a thing, except that my head is aching. “Three or four or five? My head just really hurts.”

“Okay.
Very good. Your head likely aches from the concussion.” He turns to another nurse that I just now realize is on the other side of me, holding something against my leg.

Dr. Arnez continues his questioning, but all I want to do is just close my eyes again.
“Do you have any allergies?”

“No – except...de..on..” I smile at myself.
Or I think I do. Good answer I try to tell myself.

“Can you tell me what happened to you?”

“Fell. Off a balcony.”

“Okay, Olivia, try your best to relax.
We are going to take great care of you.” Dr. Arnez turns, as yet another person walks into my room. “Olivia, this is the x-ray technician, Andy. He’s going to take you to get scanned now. We are going to have to move your leg around, and I’m going to be honest with you, it will not be comfortable for you.”

I try to show my understanding by nodding my head, but it hurts to move and I realize my head is trapped in some kind of neck brace and movement is restricted.

Before I know it, I’m being pushed down the hallway again. When we enter a room, the temperature is freezing, and the thin sheet covering me isn’t enough. I break out in goose bumps all over when they lower the sheet, and start cutting the dress from my body. Good riddance, slutty dress.

“Okay Olivia.
We have to move you onto this surface over here for the scan, okay? Just try to relax.” He lowers the bars of my bed, and then turns to the others in the room, “On the count of three… one… two… three.”

The pain is so intense that I don’t hang onto consciousness any longer.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Her leg was severely broken with a protruding bone.
We reset it with pins during surgery. She also had a large and very deep cut on her arm, that nearly severed an artery but we were able to repair it and stitched it closed. There are contusions covering her entire body. She has a scratch over the top of her eyelid, which is causing some swelling around her eye, as well as some other minor abrasions. There are other bruises that look older; but do not appear to have occurred at the same time.”

“Did she say what happened?
Where she was? Who dropped her off here?” I don’t recognize the voice asking the questions.