Page 8 of Cerulean Truth
“You can’t kill me,” he whispered. “They’d take away your Leadership.”
I raised a brow. “You’re willing to bet your life on that?”
He hesitated, before he shook his head in defeat.
“Get the fuck out of my face AJ.”
AJ clenched his fists, visibly frustrated. “Fine, I’ll talk to Matthew. But this won’t be forgotten, James.”
“I’m shaking in my boots, AJ,” I replied dryly, leaving him standing there as I continued striding toward the upper level.
A few minutes later, I found myself in the empty training room, and quickly translated myself some heavy bags and a pair of leather gloves.
The rhythmic drumbeat of my punches on the heavy bag mirrored my solid grit and within seconds, AJ and his comments had faded into nothing more than a distant memory.
THREE
EMMA
I woke up on the sidewalk with a crowd of people surrounding me. There was a lot of noise, bright lights, and concerned voices asking if I was okay. I wasn’t. My head was throbbing with pain, and my entire body ached. I had no idea what had happened, but I couldn’t find the strength to voice my confusion.
Hearing sirens in the distance, I closed my eyes again, hoping to drown out all the racket. The blond guy in the gray suit with his shocked pale face and open mouth flashed before my eyes. He’d looked so scared for me.
Within minutes I was brought into an ambulance, where I must’ve lost consciousness. Next thing I knew, I woke up in a hospital with nurses asking me questions to check my vitals.
It was all pretty much a blur from there on—doctors in white coats and my parents with tear-streaked cheeks. There was something about a full-body scan while my dad was barking orders at every doctor and nurse within earshot. Meanwhile, my mom was clutching my hand tightly and making urgent phone calls to international specialists, putting them on standby for whatever the scans would show.
The headache had grown ten times worse but honestly, I couldn’t tell if it was due to the accident or to all the commotionaround me. I was practically relieved when they took me away to get pre-operation scans.
I had a nice nurse taking me there, Brian something. “Don’t worry, Emma,” he said soothingly to me on the way to radiology. “You are in very capable hands. In a few minutes we’ll arrive at the scan room, you will have to lie very still, afterward we’ll take you to the operating room and fix whatever needs fixing. You’ll be as good as new.”
I attempted to nod back, though I worried my head might detach itself in protest. I knew it was awfully vain of me, but my concern lay primarily with my face. Not that it boasted the most striking features, but I rather liked my face. Hence, I hoped it hadn't been transformed into a Picasso-esque masterpiece.For heaven’s sake, why weren’t there any mirrors?
After what felt like an eternity, we were finally done with the scans and blood draws. Brian wheeled me back to my parents, who, of course, couldn't resist launching into a sermon about the importance of following traffic rules. I would've rolled my eyes at them if I hadn't been so afraid they might roll right out of my head.
When the doctor entered to discuss the results, he scratched his neck before addressing my parents. I felt a twinge of annoyance towards this doctor, blatantly excluding me from the conversation. Sure, I was half-conscious on a bed, possibly even sporting a slight drooling condition, but nevertheless, I wasn't a child anymore—I was twenty-three years old. He should have addressed me directly.
I attempted to sit up and tune in to what the doctor was telling them, but his words seemed to jumble together into nonsensical fragments. I caught snippets about "bruises," something about a "miracle," and "going home tomorrow." Surely, I must have been hallucinating. Perhaps these drugs they had me on were more potent than I realized. I watched as myparents embraced each other in relief, and it slowly dawned on me I had been diagnosed as perfectly fine. I tried to muster a smile, but it was lost in a puddle of drool. Well, fine doesn’t necessarily mean sexy…
The doctor dismissed me with a few cliché words, something along the lines of "sleep now, and when you wake up, it will all have been no more than a nightmare," before they sedated me for the night.
The following morning, I regained consciousness, feeling no different than any other day. It seemed that being hit by a car surprisingly suited me. Despite feeling a bit sore as I rose from bed, I brushed off the discomfort and hurried into the bathroom, eager to inspect my face.Finally. I breathed a sigh of relief as I discovered, aside from a few scratches here and there, I had emerged from the ordeal without any true deformation.
Before discharging me later that day, Brian, the nurse, came to check on me again. He was ecstatic about my condition and called it a miracle. I called it luck. My parents called it stupidity.
Although the reality of what could have happened was deeply shocking, I was embarrassed to admit that by noon, my primary concern revolved around completing my report on the “adult entertainment assignment” before Moby could finish his. But when my parents dropped me off at my place, I was so exhausted I went to sleep immediately.
Against all medical—and parental—advice, I got up at four a.m. the next morning, got dressed, went for a short run, showered, got dressed again and left for the office at six a.m. It was like the accident had never happened.
I arrived at Main Street around six-thirty in the morning, all pumped and ready to work again but when I approached the firm, I paused. Standing there in front of this huge building, it started to dawn on me what I had gone through, what I had survived.
Turning around, I squinted at the road where the accident had happened. I could still see the skid marks from the car, and I felt a little queasy looking at them. A shiver rolled off my back and I shook my head in disbelief. Slowly approaching “my landing strip” on the sidewalk, I only then realized how far away the skid marks laid. To think I had “flown,” for lack of a better word, over at least twenty feet… The car must’ve hit me pretty hard. How in gods’ name had I ended up with only a few scratches and bruises?
It was then, when I lifted my eyes from the pavement, I saw him again. The guy in the gray suit and blond hair. He stared straight at me, not like the day before with terror filled eyes, but with a big smile on his face, as if he was pleased to see me back and alive. For some reason, him bearing witness to my accident made me feel sort of close to him. Like he knew something about me not everyone knew, and I nodded in recognition, as to say, “I remember you being scared for me, thank you, but I’m okay.”What’s in a nod.
He was standing too far away for me to see clearly but I sensed him nodding back at me. I waved a sort of awkwardly half wave—cringe—and walked back to the firm.
I passed security half a minute later.
