Pulling Daises: The Accident

The lines of the road blur in and out of focus as the Mercedes speeds down the fog draped road, a metallic tang filling the air. Her hand pounds on the steering wheel, she watches as a river of blood flows from the open wounds on either side of one hand, scorching pain racking up her arm. Screams of agony mixed with frustrated groans echo off the metal walls as the car swerves violently, the slick of blood making it impossible to grip the steering wheel. Panting, she wipes her eyes with the back of her uninjured hand to clear her vision feeling the stickiness of blood as it clings to her lashes. “Almost, there” she whispers her voice panicked as she pulls the car around a turn she has made hundreds of times. The car weaves from one side of the road to the other then, with a sudden jolt, she is weightless. The sound of glass braking, the smell of blood and burning rubber; her eyes focus on the ancient trees and night blackened hills as they flip end over end. Realization dawns too late as metal twists and tears through flesh and bones crack.  There is no sensation, no pain as darkness eclipses her vison only bright blue eyes beckoning to her.   

The putrid smell of antiseptic stings my nose turning my stomach instantly as I sit up pressing my hands against cold metal before I open my eyes. The hospital waiting room buzzes with activity as the recollection of the eventful night seep through my mind. Her car, twisted in a mangled wreck in a gully 2 kilometers from my home, from safety.  I shake my head trying to erase the image from my mind like an etch-a-sketch. Craning my neck to look out of the floor to ceiling plate glass window, I see the sun is low on the horizon. The predawn light painting the sky in oranges and blues as it slowly erase the inky black of night. The clock on the far wall confirms what I already know. I do some quick calculations, Nyx has been in surgery for five hours, that can't be right. The accident could not have been that bad. Another memory flashes in my mind, her arms cut to shreds from the glass, her left-hand bleeding from a much larger cut , her legs bent at an unnatural angle. Bile rises in my throat; I have to get some answers.  I stand pressing my hands into the cold steel arm of the chair harder than I need to, scanning the room for someone official. My eyes lock with the receptionist at the nurse's station a sheepish smile spreads across her tan face as she squares her shoulders for the interaction.  In a few strides I am standing in front of her with the kindest smile my tired face can muster.  "Good morning, I'm looking for some information?" My voice is horse as if I have been screaming all night. She smiles back sweetly pulling her chair closer to her desk, hands hovering over her keyboard posed to type "Alright, can I have the patients name?" Her accent is thick and I smile in spite of myself, she is Jamaican just like my girl.  I file the information in my mind to tell Nyx when I see her.  "Oh, her name is Ny..." I stop as a voice i recognize booms through the waiting room.  My stomach drops so hard I have to brace myself on the counter. Dierdre stands in the middle of the entrance hands on her hips, hair a mass of wild, untamed curls.  "Who works here!?" Her voice reverberates around the expanse of the room.  "Miss, this is a hospital you need to keep your voice down." An elderly nurse scolds her firmly, pulling Dierdre towards the nurse's station. "I'm looking for my fiancé. She was brought here last night, names Nyx Murdock." What did she say?  "Well now" the elderly nurse leans down as she types on her computer. I lean in closer to hear their conversation forgetting for a moment to that I am trying to hide from Dierdre.  "Sir?" The Jamaican nurse's lilting voice calls to me. "I need a name to look up." I pull attention away from the older nurse who is still searching for Nyx's name no doubt distracted my Dierdre's fingers drumming loudly on the counter, and smile half-heartedly to my nurse.  "Right" I try to keep my voice low as I lean in closer to her.  "Nyx Murdock. She was pulled into surgery about 5 hours ago." The nurse gives me a sympathetic look before returning to her own screen. The seconds tick by agonizingly as I watch her search as the other nurse did.  "Grand, so Ms. Murdock was out of surgery an hour ago" A rush of emotions flood my system; an hour, why didn't anyone tell me. My eyes widen as I silently beg for more Information.  The nurse looks at me startled before continuing in a rush.  "She hasn't woken up yet so they had nothing to report. I'm sure the doctor will come to talk to you soon."  I pull myself to full height not to intimidate but to release the tension in my shoulders before thanking her and turning on my heels.  I am met with Deirdre's ice-cold stare as she stalks towards me; the last thing I need is her wrath right now.   She opens her mouth to speak but I cut her off with a sweet “Good Mornin’ Dierdre.  Are ye well?”  Her glare softens for a moment as she weighs how to react to my kindness and I take the opportunity to walk back to my seat.  “What are you doing here?” she spits, the heat of her breath warming the back of my neck as she storms after me.   “Same thing you are I suspect, checking on Nyx” The chair is uncomfortable and cold as I slide into it scanning past the five-foot-tall Irish woman screaming in my face. Dierdre's face contorts into a grimace as she realizes I am not paying attention to her.  With a reluctant humph her plops into the seat beside me.  “How did you know she was here” I shoot her a glance before answering, I can tell by her tone she already knows the answer.  “I brought her in. Her car crashed near my house.”  The pain etched on Dierdre's face send a shiver up my spine.  Watching for a moment I see the bubbly light that Nyx loves in her friend dim to an ember and I reach out to hold her hand.  “I’m sure she was just out clearing her head and my house was on the way.” I whisper hoping she can hear the sincerity in my voice even at this low volume.  Dierdre nods turning away a single tear running down her face. “Mr. Mackey” a tall man in scrubs calls to me in a thick Cork accent. Worry is suppressed by amusement as I clock the accent shooting Dierdre a look as we both begin to giggle, another tidbit to tell Nyx. “Ms. Murdock is out of surgery, but she’s in a bad way.” the doctor continues, a wave panic narrowing my vison to a pinhole.  “We got her patched up but she still hasn’t woken up. You can see her” his glance darts from me to Dierdre.  “One of you can see her” his tone stern.  Dierdre grabs my wrist firmly “Tell her I’ll see her later, ya.” Before I can respond she has pushed past me heading towards the exit. I watch her until the heavy automatic door slides shut behind her before I sprint to see my girl.   

I shiver as I press my palm to the door of room 250 afraid to open it. My heart leaping erratically as I think of Nyx. The doctor could be wrong, she could be awake now, bandaged but smiling, flicking through channels trying to find anything in Irish to watch on television. The thought bringing a smile to my face.  Taking a deep breath, I push the door then crumple to the floor as my worst fear becomes a reality.   My poor girl lays motionless on the bed bandaged from neck to toe. I gulp, panting forgetting to release the breath I took before I opened the door.  I stand taking her in, her legs are both casted in bright white heavy bandages one leg elevated slightly, silver pins sticking through the cast into her leg.  A flash of her legs bent at unnatural angles comes to my mind and I swallow the bile in my throat.  A thick bandage wraps tight around her torso while her left arm is badged from the base of her fingers to the top of her shoulder. Her right arm is only badged from wrist to elbow; I take a minute to take in the mocha skin of her right hand miraculously completely unblemished.  I track my eyes up her right side afraid to look at her left. Wires thread under her gown connected to a heart monitor that beeps rhythmically to the beat of her heart.  I sigh watching the line jump and fall with every beat. Closing my eyes, I let the sound rush over me etching it on every sense.  She's alive. That sound means her heart is working and she is alive.   I open my eyes looking at her face finally.  The right side is bruised from the window slamming into it at speed. The left side bears a badged cut from shrapnel.  A breathing mask cover her nose and mouth fogged up with air from the respiratory. I slam into the chair next to her bed, my body finally giving up the ghost as my muscles grow limp.  I scan her again; she looks like an angel to me.  "Hey, darlin'" I whisper not knowing if she can hear me.   The words dry in my throat, and I cough.  What do I say to her, you'll be alright seems cruel in her current condition and you look great is a flat out lie. ‘You feckin’ eejit what the hell where you thinking driving so fast on Irish roads at night’ seems harsh.  I take a deep breath listening to the steady beep, beep, beep of the heart monitor before I lean close to her pressing my bearded cheek to her unbandaged hand so she can feel my words, my warmth, and begin telling her the story of the magical land of Tir na Nog.