The Reckless Collision

Sam.

~~~

As a child, I always hated hospitals. They had this unmistakable, sterile smell that seemed to cling to the air, making me sneeze at least twice every time I walked through their automatic doors. Hospitals meant something had gone wrong, someone I loved had gotten hurt. The thought of them always made my stomach twist into knots.

But as an adult, I understood the importance of modern medicine. I admired the work doctors put in, the endless hours spent trying to heal people, trying to save lives. Still, I never imagined this would be the place I'd wake up in, in the middle of an October day, feeling like I'd been through a war.

My right shoulder was on fire, a throbbing pain that seemed to radiate down my arm. My body felt stiff, as though it had been frozen in place for hours. I tried to sneeze, the urge building deep in my chest, but instead, I focused on the warmth pressing against my left palm. It was soothing, like gentle heat soaking into my skin. I snuffled, but the sensation didn't quite go away, leaving me with an uncomfortable feeling in my nose.

The beeping around me was relentless, a constant, electronic pulse that grated on my nerves. I tried to open my eyes but they felt heavy, like they didn't belong to me. When I finally managed to pry them open, the harsh white lights above blurred into a foggy yellow, making my vision blur. I blinked three times, trying to clear it, but the spotty afterimage remained for a moment longer.

I shifted my gaze to the right. The room was filled with soft movement—people passing by the glass wall, their shadows fleeting. I turned my head slowly, my neck stiff, and there, next to me, was a familiar figure. The top of a black-haired head caught my eye. I felt a flicker of recognition, and before I could register it fully, I carefully pulled my hand from his grasp.

He looked up at the movement, glancing over at the far side of the room. "Jen, she's awake," his voice was steady, a familiar tone that settled somewhere in the back of my mind.

I followed his gaze and found my mother standing at the edge of my bed. Jennifer. She looked as sharp as always, her short hair perfectly styled and her makeup subtly enhancing her features. She took a step toward me, her heels clicking against the floor, their rhythm louder than the steady beeping in my ear.

"How are you feeling, sweetheart?" she asked, her voice softer than usual, tinted with worry. Her black eyebrows furrowed, a sign I knew all too well that she was anxious.

I opened my mouth to respond, but only a dry, raspy sound came out. My throat felt like sandpaper. "What...?" I tried again, my voice scratchy. "What happened?"

Jennifer glanced over at him, her hazel eyes shifting briefly before she turned back to me, studying my face like I was some puzzle she couldn't quite solve. "You don't remember, honey?" she asked gently, her concern growing.

I tried to shake my head, but the effort felt too heavy. I opened my mouth to say "No," but then it hit me all at once like a flash of memory rushing back through a fog.

I remembered the flight from New York to LA, the cab ride from LAX to my apartment. I had come back to Los Angeles to meet with Ray.

Raymond.

Just the thought of his name made my heart skip a beat. My chest tightened, and the sound of the beeping increased, matching the frantic pulse in my ears. I took a shallow breath, trying to steady myself, but the memories kept flooding in.

Scott.

Scott had shown up at my apartment with a gun. There was shouting. He confessed that he loved me. And then... Ray had come to the apartment too. My eyes squeezed shut as the next memory hit me.