Dancing With The Devil

The piercing sirens that rang, electrifying the veins extending through my body, stung and stabbed my ears. Despite this, I concentrated on the magnetic noise near me solely because I couldn't bare the thought of where I was. The cold cement underneath me scratched at my open skin and wounds, yet moments ago it felt so welcoming. I concentrated on the high pitched noise because I didn't wish to concentrate on my immobile fingers. I concentrated on the noise because concentrating on the open gash pulsating on my thigh haunted my mere thoughts. I concentrated on the sirens because concentrating on what just occurred was far too painfully shocking to even comprehend.

My eyes were barely open; Or maybe they were. I couldn't tell. All I could see was the dark, wet cement beneath my eyes, laughing at me. I could tell, however, when the noise drew closer due to the red flashing and lucid lights. The contrast between the dark and the flashes caused my head to stir, aching and trembling on it's very own.

I could hear the tires screeching; A sound so familiar to me now. The trucks came to an abrupt stop close to me, yet at this point, I barely flinched. I laid on the ground, unmovable and never more frightened. Before I could count to three, I found a man at my side, his gentle hand on my shoulder. He was saying something, but I couldn't recall what it was exactly. My eyes were tired, and my mouth was dry. Just as I was about to lay my head on the ground for a rest, the man shook me lightly, now talking louder and much more grander. I still couldn't make it out correctly.

As painful as it was, I looked at the man. The bright, silver badge on his chest caught my attention up until I could make out another scene some distance behind him. Placing my palms on the ground, I hoisted my chest up, hoping to get a view of it.

It was then where I heard the officer for the first time, "Hold up there, girl. You gotta take it easy."

Sucking in a tired breath, I shook my head stiffly and the best I could. I scooted up, dragging my body against the pavement, causing me to groan in pain at the small rocks underneath me chaffing my cut. Still, I did what I felt was right.

I could finally get a good look at what was going on about twenty feet away. Every single split second of the event rushed back into my memory without hesitation. I slowly licked my dry lips as I got a good look at the boy on the ground, limp and lifeless, paramedics surrounding him and shouting at each other.

It wasn't until now that the most agonizing and excruciating pain took place. Just my simple look, and my entire heart and chest dropped terrifyingly. Beyond dreadful.

I hadn't even realized the officer was still trying to have a conversation with me, "Hun, I need you to say something."

I didn't reply; I simply stared in horror at the boy I was in a car with only five minutes ago.

Once the officer noticed the amount of the blood dripping from my leg and onto the ground, his head popped up, "I need someone over here now! Get a stretcher!" He called out.

"It's my fault." I finally muttered.

He hadn't heard me. He was still calling people over.

"It's my fault." I said it a little louder this time.

No response.

Two paramedics found a seat next to me. One, a female, I think, leaned down and close next to me, "We're gonna have to put you on your back, sweetheart. This may hurt."

On the count of three, they took hold of my body and brought me onto my back. I cringed at the soreness in my arms and the stinging on my thigh. It was then that I remembered my fingers. I started to try to extend them but had no luck. I stared down at them in disbelief. They had to work. They couldn't not work.

The officer, who was on my right, placed two fingers behind my ear, feeling another open gash that I was unaware of. He let out a surprised, yet subtle gasp, pulling his fingers away. He looked up at the paramedics who were getting the stretcher ready. "She's got a huge cut on the side of her head, here. It's pretty deep."

The women paramedic who spoke to me before, nodded her head. "She'll get some stitches for that. The one on her leg is the real concern."

The officer shook his head, "No, look at this. I think it's a lot worse. Stitches ain't gonna solve this one."

The women came to my right and tilted my head over to the left. She examined the cut that I was unaware of for several moments, and then, without any comment, got up and went back to the stretcher.

"It's my fault." I tried again, my voice cracking.

He heard my voice but not my words. "Tell me your name." He ordered, gently.

Just as I was about to repeat myself, four sets of hands took hold of my body and hoisted me up. I was placed on the stretcher and strapped in safely. The officer stayed by my side, despite his eyes traveling over to the boy. I followed the trail his eyes took, staring in agony at the scene.

Just as the paramedics began to push me away, my weak arm reached out. My fingers, suddenly regaining feeling, gripped the officer's arm weakly. Either way, he still turned around, his eyes wide. This time he listened to me.

"It's my fault."

*****************************

I glided my weak hand over the rough sheets settled on top of me. After a moment, I stopped and examined the paleness and lack of color my skin possessed. It was discomforting that the tan, Arizona sun-kissed color that once washed over me had faded dramatically. It seemed now as if the one thing that kept me from being completely altered had now vanished.

My eyes flickered up to catch my mother and father sitting in the corner of the hospital room. My father sat with a book in his hands, while my mother's frantic eyes searched anywhere in the room for something other than me. I was happy when her eyes didn't land on me; every time that they did, they would soften and then a glazed curtain would wash over them. I couldn't stand the look.

I lifted my good arm to feel the bald spot behind my right ear. The smooth skin never ceased to make me jump. Hair was suppose to be in that spot.

I traced my finger along the smooth skin, making careless circles around the bandage that covered the wound. I then felt the presence of eyes. I looked over to find my mother watching me. My hand dropped and I focused on the sheets again.

My family only had to endure another rocky five minutes of silence. My nurse, a woman named Margo, who was in her mid-thirties with red lips and short, chocolate brown hair, walked into the room like she did everyday with her trusty clipboard. She gabbed a chair from the end of my bed and brought it to my side. She gave me a friendly smile, the most friendly smiles at this hospital were only from her, and settled the clipboard in her lap.

"How are you feeling today?" She asked, slightly leaning forward.

"All right." I responded.

"Good, good." She nodded, glancing over the clip board. What I liked most about her was that she never wrote anything on the paper in front of me. She was attentive to me and gave me looks of true concern unlike the other doctors.

I opened my mouth to ask the question that had been nagging me for days. Inevitably, my mother got a word in first, interrupting me. "How much longer do you think she'll be here for?"

Nurse Margo set the clipboard back in it's signature spot and sucked in a breath. "That's actually what I came in here to talk about."

My father peered up from behind his book. He raised his eyebrows, waiting, "Well?"

My stomach churned inside of me. My parents couldn't be polite to anyone.

"Your daughter has been experiencing a lot of post-dramatic stress that Doctor Vincent is particularly worried about. Although she has been making a healthy recovery physically, we're afraid due to some of the experiences brought about since the accident, that she may not be suited for her regular environment."

You know that strained feeling your eyes get when you've been staring at something for so long? That tired pain glossed over your pupils? I felt that as I stared at Nurse Margo. I didn't even care what she was saying. I certainly knew they weren't going to let me go after yesterday's fiasco. She was right; I wasn't suitable. I wasn't normal. I wouldn't be normal anymore.

"Okay...." My mother began, not saying anything for a moment, "What do you suggest then?"

The nurse sucked in a deep breath, "You're daughter's situation is different, but she has shown clear beginning signs of depression and severe anxiety. We have a ward for teenagers on the third floor where she can stay for some time until we-"

My father cut her off, "Are you telling me that you want to put my daughter in a mental ward?"

She shook her head, "No, sir. This particular area is strictly for young adult patients who have difficulty moving back into reality. She can talk to a psychiatrist every day along with other teenagers that have been through similar situations. It will be a home away from home just until she is feeling better."

'This is absolutely ridiculous," My mother snapped, "What provoked you to even suggest this?"

Nurse Margo swallowed and glanced over at me, "Charlotte has refused multiple times to cooperate with our doctors in taking medication. The first full day she spent here she ran down the hallway searching for another patient. She has been very disrespectful to Doctor Vincent. Like I said before, she has also demonstrated clear signs of extreme anxiety and early stages of depression."

"What about her schoolwork? School starts next week for her." My father asked.

"We can provide a tutor who will work with her teachers at her high school."

"My daughter is not a mental patient." My mother's eyes narrowed in on Margo.

"I am not saying she is, Mrs. Wood. We are only doing this to help her." Nurse Margo turned to me once more and offered me a smile, "I will personally be there to check up on you every day if that makes this any more bearable."

I looked through her, only asking, "When are the cops coming?"

She swallowed her answer and looked away for a moment, "They won't have to come if you'd give them an answer, Charlotte."

"Where's Nicolas?" I asked wearily, my head getting light.

She pretended not to hear me.

"Please," I begged, "Please. I need to know. It's been two weeks and no one gives me answers. It's the only thing I care about. Please."

Nurse Margo looked at me in the eyes, "He just got out of surgery about two hours ago."

Surgery? Shit.

"How's he doing?" I asked, my forehead crinkling. I leaned forward and looked at Margo intently, knowing that every word she was to day would determine my mood for the day.

"Not so great."

I can't even begin to explain or fathom the feeling in my stomach. The pain floating through every organ in my stomach. The soreness of the gash on my leg acted up. The tapping of the wound behind my ear pounded like a steady drum.

I let in a shaky breath, my eyes stinging. My mother began to say something, but just as I expected, the anger floated up through me, spilling out of my mouth, "Can you both just leave? Just get the fuck out!"

My mother's eyes widened, "What? Charlotte?"

"Leave! Now!"

Nurse Margo encouraged them to leave the room. Once they were gone and far down the outside hallway, she place a hand on my back and rubbed my shoulder gently. "I'm so sorry, honey."

I blinked the tears away as I looked up at her, "What if I tell you? I don't want to tell the cops."

She sucked in a breath, "I'm afraid it doesn't work that way."

I swallowed the knot in my throat, "Can't I at least see Nicolas? I know he's in the room next to me. I'm not an idiot." I sniffled.

She took a caring glance at me, her shoulders falling as she did so. "I'll see what I can do." I watched her back carefully as she left me in the room. Not that I could really follow her or anything. I was attached to so many different IVs that if I were to get up I'd probably get caught in a knot.

I touched the bandaged behind my ear, then the smooth, hairless skin. I closed my eyes as I made gentle circles around it. Magically, it calmed me down. I counted each circle as I nearly drifted off into a slumber.

Unfortunately, I was awoken to the sound of a door slamming and harsh footsteps down the hallway. My eyes flickered open just as a tall figure appeared outside of my doorway. He was muttered several profanities and then proceeded to kick at the floor. He ran two of his hands through his messy, dirty blonde hair and then shouted, "Fuck!"

He crashed into the wall across from my room, staying there for a moment, inhaling and exhaling deep breaths. Eventually, he slid down the wall and curled up where he hugged his knees to his chest. Numerous tears fell uncontrollably from his eyes, but he made no noise. He also made no effort to stop himself from losing complete control in the hallway. He banged his fist against the wall for a moment. His fist slowly opened and fell to the ground next to him.

I watched the man intently, almost as if I was hypnotized. I was normally the one who through fits around here. Yet again, I was a patient. This guy, wearing a cut off jean vest, black jeans and a white t-shirt, was clearly a visitor.

When he looked up my heart went off racing figuring he noticed me watching him. However, he looked towards his left where someone was apparently walking towards him. I listened carefully as he said, "I can't do this," to his acquaintance.

"Bro," The other guys, most likely around the same age, moved into my line of vision, "I know it's hard."

"I don't know how I'm suppose to handle watching him die." He pulled at his hair.

The other guy, who was much shorter with brown hair and some facial hair sat down next to him. "You're not suppose to know how."

"You know, as horrible as it sounds, I really wish he just died instantly. I wish he didn't have to go through all this crap. Watching it is torture. I can't imagining living it."

"It's a reasonable thought."

The guy started to have another breakdown, "I just want a fucking answer. I just want my best friend."

His friend squeezed his shoulder gently, "You will."

He shook his head, "I'm not fucking stupid. I have eyes. He's already gone."

The very next second, the guy's had rested in it's normal position and his eyes fell on me. For the very first time since the accident, I actually felt something stir within me. My stomach churned and I caught my breath. Embarrassed, I looked away and pretended to not notice. In fact, I rolled over onto my side and shut my eyes tightly.

Still, the glassy green eyes that connected with mine were all I saw.