Shattered Glass & Broken Hearts

“What do you mean, you need to put her in a medically induced coma?” Max Green snapped at the doctor attending to his sister’s injuries, his hands flying emphatically up in the air, nostrils flared and eyes narrowed in anger just at the thought of that happening to his sister. He knew what comas were; knew that chances were slim for people in them to ever wake up. Hadn’t Emily already gone through enough? She had been in a fucking car accident, for Christ’s sake, she didn’t need to go through a coma too.

“Son, it’s the best thing we can do for her now. Emily has received severe brain trauma as a result of the accident last night. If we shut off the—”

“Mom, Dad, you’re not gonna let them do this, are you?” He cut the doctor off when he turned to face his parents desperately. Right now, they were Emily’s only hope at survival. They wouldn’t put her in a coma like the doctors wanted, would they?

They couldn’t. She’s their kid. They love her too. They—

“Max, they say it’s best for her. They say it’ll help heal her brain. Dr. Hughes says that it’s reversible and that—”

“Doctors lie!” Max hissed at his mother, pulling away from her when he felt her trying to pull her in for a comforting hug. “Fuck you. Fuck this all,” he snapped angrily before he turned to face his sister’s hospital bed.

She didn’t look like his sister anymore.

Emily’s arms were both wrapped up, in bandages because of the scrapes and gouges she’d received as a result of flying headfirst through the windshield after the impact One of them was broken and in a cast as well. If that was the extent of her injuries, Max was sure he could look past it and see the smiling kid sister who’d always adored him, the sister he’d once thought was annoying and was now desperate to save.

But that wasn’t all. The doctors had already removed a fragment of her skull to relieve the swelling of her brain, and though bandages hid it from view, there were horrible gashes and scrapes on her face. The only part of her face that was really visible was her eyes, both shut tightly and bruised black and blue.

“I’m sorry, Em. I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispered as he walked over to her, pushing some of her dark hair out of her face. She gave no signal that he was even there; that she recognized his voice.

If it wasn’t for the machines telling him otherwise, he’d assume she was dead.

“Max, please—” Their mother started, though Max didn’t care to listen to her words as he turned on his heels and stormed out of the hospital room. If they were going to kill his sister, he wasn’t going to sit there like some sick fuck and watch it go down. No, Max thought, he was going to do the best thing he could possibly do for himself right now.

Go home and get fucking wasted.



“Why won’t any of you tell me if Em is okay? Is she dead? Is that why nobody’s telling me a damn thing?” Ronnie Radke snapped at the nurse who was in the hospital room. He knew that she probably had no idea what he was talking about, but it didn’t mean he gave two shits about that. All he wanted was an answer to a fairly fucking easy question.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Radke, but you’re going to have to sit down and relax. I need to check that cut on your arm and the doctor still—”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about the doctor!” Ronnie growled at her, pulling his arm away from her touch before he winced when a sharp jab of pain shot up his arm. Damn, maybe he should have let her check it before he went off like that, he thought to himself.

No. You don’t matter. You should be dead. It’s her you should be worried about. Fucking asshole, getting her into that wreck. If she’s dead because of you… the thought formed in his head. Shit. That couldn’t be good, talking to himself like that. Then again, Ronnie had never exactly been normal like other kids.

“What’s the problem in here, Rosalie?” A male voice asked from the doorway. Ronnie looked up, still holding his arm away from the nurse almost in a childlike temper tantrum to see a man about his father’s age standing there, wearing a white coat and carrying a clipboard in his hand.

“Who are you?” Ronnie glared at the man. “Unless you can tell me anything about the girl I came in here with last night, I don’t want to fucking see you.”

“Rosalie, you can go tend to the other patients now,” the doctor nodded at the nurse, who just frowned and nodded, giving Ronnie a disproving look before she walked out of the room, pulling the door shut behind herself.

The room was silent for several moments before Ronnie spoke, his eyes meeting the doctor’s. “So are you someone who can tell me how she is? Did she…Did she die?” He croaked softly, his eyes darting to the floor in an effort to stop himself from tearing up.

Stop that Don’t you dare fucking cry. Not now. Not when Em needs you, he told himself before the doctor pulled himself out of his thoughts.

“I’m Dr. Hughes,” he introduced himself. “And as far as Ms. Green is concerned, I’m afraid I’m not allowed to disclose any information about her condition. You’re not family.”

“I’m her fucking boyfriend!” Ronnie growled. “How much closer can I be than that? Just tell me if she’s okay. Please,” he added in a desperate whisper. “Please. I just…I need to know, okay? I need to know she didn’t die because of me.”

The doctor didn’t say a word, just frowned as he studied Ronnie. He walked over to him, setting his hand on his shoulder before he cleared his throat.

“Let me see your arm. I want to make sure infection isn’t setting in. It’s a pretty deep cut.”

Ronnie growled, knowing that it was the doctor’s subtle way of telling him he wasn’t going to answer his questions about Emily. For all he knew, the doctor was like every-fucking-body else and blamed him for what had happened the night before.

Though, he couldn’t exactly blame them for blaming him. He blamed himself, too.

He had been the one driving; the one in charge, like he always was. He was the one who’d made the foolish decision to jump into the car drunk and he’d been the one who’d come up with the brilliant fucking idea to see just how fast his car could go on a stretch of abandoned highway outside the city.

He was the one who’d lost control.

He was the one who’d slammed on the breaks.

He was the one who’d subsequently rolled the car four times.

He was the one who’d caused the accident; to cause whatever had happened to Emily.

“Fuck this,” he growled at the doctor, pushing his body off of the bed he’d been sitting on before he stormed out of the hospital room. He couldn’t be there anymore, he told himself. He had better things to do than sit idly by while for all he knew, Emily was dying in a nearby room. He needed to find her. He needed to see with his own eyes that she wasn’t dead because God forbid if she was, he was going to die, too.