A Thousand Mistakes

Silence. That's the only thing I'm aware of. The front end of my brand-spanking-new Chevy is completely smashed in-- Daddy's gift to me for getting perfect grades. For being a perfect kid. The air bag is squeezing my lungs, suffocating me, but I don't feel it. The only thing I feel is the silence. 

The world zooms around me. Flashing lights, speeding cars, pouring rain. I lift my hand slightly to trace the droplets sliding down the smashed window. My finger catches on a crack in the glass, and I realize the spider-web design embedded into the surface. That's funny. I don't remember how that got there. 

My head begins to throb. Pulsing pain; my skull threatens to explode, or implode. Either one. Maybe that would feel better. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, trying to make it stop. The silence, the pain, the confusion. It doesn't work. Finally, I give up. As I slowly drift away from consciousness, I register one word. 

Dead.

* * * * * * * *

I examine the pink flyer in my hand. Large, white writing, smiley faces, and glitter cover the sheet. "Really?" I ask. I look up at Melissa, my best friend, my other half, suspiciously. "A party?"

"Yeah, Jade," she says casually. "She was passing them out earlier. Kaylee. Isn't it awesome?" I have the fleeting thought that maybe Kaylee wasn't entirely aware that Melissa received a flyer, or maybe she didn't care. Melissa and I aren't the type to be invited to parties. I've never even been to one. 

"Uh," I say softly. "Yeah. Of course. But I can't tonight, Mel. I promised my mom-"

"Are you really saying no to this?" She asks. She bites her lip and looks me in the eyes. "This is the first party we've been invited to all year. And by we, I mean me...but I'm sure you could come with me." I roll my eyes. "Please? Tell your mom you can't. She'll understand. I'm sure she will.  Jade, I can't do this alone, you know I can't. Please, just this once?" 

Her voice is so pitiful, I can't say no. "Fine." I force a half-smile. "But don't leave my side the entire night."

Melissa squeals and hugs me. "Thank you thank you thank you!" she says. "And I promise, I won't."

My closet seems especially small. At the end of the rack are my dresses, all three of them, neatly hanging in a row. The first one is definitely not an option. Frilly, green, velvet. No way. The second and third are halfway decent, but nowhere near good enough for the party. I sigh and grab the third one. It'll have to do.

It takes some work to get it to fit. The last time I remember wearing it is Easter Sunday, two years ago. The dress itself is light green, a soft fabric I don't know the name of. It comes down to just above my knees, with a v-neck at the top. I stand in front of my full-length mirror, closing my eyes for three seconds, counting out loud. One, two, three. Then I open them.

I must have imagined the dress would make me turn into something beautiful, gorgeous even, because when I see my reflection, I heave a large sigh and close my eyes again. It's not like it even matters. No one will notice me at the party. No one notices me anywhere.

I put on some makeup, a little more than usual. My hair decides to cooperate into a messy bun. After one last glance in the mirror, and one last sigh, I head downstairs to wait for Melissa.

"Wow, you look fancy," my mom says jokingly. She's standing in the doorway, drying her hands with a dishtowel. Crap. I never checked with her about the party. 

"Yeah..." I say. "Melissa and I are going to a movie. I just wanted to dress up a bit."

"Oh, well, have fun," she replies. She heads to the kitchen. 

Just then, I get a text from Melissa.

Jade, can we please take your car? Pleaseee? Mine's so, you know, ugly.

I smile slightly and reply with,

Yeah, sure Mel. Be there soon.

I grab my keys from the table by the door and head to my car. My car. My beautiful car. Dad bought it for me a few weeks ago for getting a perfect report card-- straight A+s. Ever since I got my license, I'd been borrowing my mom's minivan. I didn't have a problem with it, but I guess Dad thought I did. Anyway, I'm not complaining. I'm in love with this car.

Melissa's house is only ten minutes away from mine, in a nice suburban neighborhood. When I pull into the driveway, she runs outside happily and hugs me as I get out of the car.

"This is going to be so great!" she squeals. I force a smile. Yeah. Great.

"Well, we don't want to be late," I say, getting back into the driver's seat and starting the car. Melissa climbs in beside me.

Kaylee's mansion is in a very prestigious neighborhood about a half hour from Mel's. The drive there is quiet, save for a few peppy comments from Melissa and a few equally monotonous ones from me. Finally, Melissa gives up talking and the rest of the way there is silent.

You can hear the party from three blocks away. I guess it's a good thing there aren't any houses for about fifteen acres on either side. The house itself blows me away. At least three stories high, solid brick, beautiful architecture. The driveway has to be a hundred feet long. Cars are parked unevenly in the street and yard. I pull up behind a silver one with a small dent on the right side. Melissa hops out before I've even turned off the car.

By the time I make it over to Melissa's side of the car, she's straightening her dress, smoothing her hair. 

"By the way, Jade, you look fabulous!" I can tell she's just saying it to be nice, but I pretend not to notice.

"Thanks, but you look a thousand times better. Seriously." A smile spreads across her face and she hugs me quickly.  "Let's go, then."

We make our way up the semi-steep hill, which is especially hard in heels. A few people are scattered outside the door, but not many. Dark clouds are barely visible overhead, and the air has turned considerably damp.

We get to the entrance, and I have the sudden impulse to run back to my car and drive home. But I pull myself together and walk in beside Melissa, confidence lower than ever. Luckily, no one seems to notice us. And by luckily, I mean expectedly. 

The house is packed. Beer cans and drink cups litter the floor, people are standing or dancing or making out everywhere, and the music, that terrible music, threatens to destroy my eardrums. Melissa looks at me, smiling slightly apologetically. I shrug. No big deal.

I decide to do my best to forget about my claustrophobia, which I seem to have forgotten about when I agreed to show up at this party. I move a beer can aside with my foot and step into what appears to be the living room. Melissa is already a few feet ahead, petting a small white dog. I feel bad. The dog must be having a terrible night.

"Isn't he adorable, Jade?" she yells over the music. I  scratch the dog on the head.

"Hey, maybe we should get something to eat," I say. I'm getting tired of standing here. 

"Yeah!" she says enthusiastically. We head through a a wide doorway into the kitchen. On the counter sits a few trays of appetizers, chips, and a cooler of beer. Wow, they really like beer here. I grab a handful of chips and eat them individually. Melissa reaches for the cooler.

"Mel! What are you doing?"

"Come on Jade, one beer isn't going to do anything. Here, you take one too." She hands me  an ice cold can and takes one for herself. I stare at it questioningly. Maybe she's right. 

I finish my chips and lead Melissa into the room we first walked into. We dance a bit, trying not to spill our beers. The first sip is awful. I give Melissa a face and she looks at me oddly.

"You don't like it?" she asks, somehow in awe that I could think such a thing.

I smile and say, "No, I love it. It's the best thing I've ever tasted," and take another sip for emphasis. It's not as bad this time. 

I see Kaylee come into the room, in a seriously skimpy outfit and a guy on each arm. I roll my eyes. 

"Ew, who invited the losers?" she says. I laugh until I realize she's talking about Melissa and I. Melissa didn't hear her, so I decide to ignore it. No sense in ruining this night before it even gets good. 

"Maybe we should go into another room," I say, looking at Kaylee and her friends. When I look back at Melissa, she's just finishing her beer. She crushes the can forcefully and throws it down. 

"Yeah!" she exclaims. "Let me just grab another beer."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" I say, but she's already heading to the kitchen. I sigh and take a big gulp of mine, and then another. I think it's beginning to wear in, because my head begins to hurt and I feel a little light-headed. I set down the can on a coffee table and go in after Melissa.

The kitchen has become very crowded. I squeeze past a close-knit group of girls, who look to me as if they've had a little too much to drink. One of them is wearing a short purple dress that barely covers her butt. I shudder. 

I make my way through the length of the kitchen, but can't see Melissa anywhere. 

"Hey," a deep voice says behind me. I whip around, ready for attack. A tall, somewhat attractive guy stands before me. 

"Uh, hi," I say nervously. My experience in talking to people like this is little to none. He doesn't seem to notice my anxiety, or even the fact that I'm the biggest loser in school. He keeps talking.

"You know, you're really cute." Now, this takes me aback. I lean forward a bit and smell the strong stench of alcohol on his breath. That explains it. 

"Oh, well, thanks," I say.

"You should really loosen up," he says in an extremely slurred voice. He starts to lean closer to me, but gets dizzy and has to hold his hand to his head. He recovers quickly and puts his hand on my waist. "God, you're so tense. Have a beer or two. Really."

"I should be getting back to my friend..." I say. I walk away quickly, but he tugs my shoulder back to him.

"No, please," he says. "Stay here." He looks at me with a somewhat serious expression. His eyes are gorgeous, light blue and shiny. Shiny from the alcohol, I assume. Still, it makes me reconsider. How often do guys talk to me? How often do they call me pretty? This is it. This is my chance. 

"Yeah, sure," I say, smiling. I grab another beer from the cooler, pop it open, and take a few big gulps. 

"That's more like it," he says. "So what's your name?"

"Jade." My voice is more confident than I thought it'd be.

"Mmm, Jade. That's a beautiful name." I think telling him I was named after my grandmother wouldn't be a very smart move, so I nod. 

"What's yours?"

"Derek." He smiles. "Derek Lawrence." I gasp quietly. Derek Lawrence? This is him? Derek is a senior at my high school. I hear about him all the time, but I had no idea this was him. He's a huge football star, the quarterback or something. Everyone loves him. "So how come I've never seen you before? Do you go to Lakewood?" 

"Yeah," I say. "I guess you just haven't paid close enough attention." I take another few drinks of my beer. It goes down much smoother now, for some reason.

"I wish I had," he says. He really is charming. Now that I've gotten a closer look at him, he's much cuter than I thought. I have to remind myself constantly that he's drunk, and he doesn't mean any of this. But after a while, I just want to forget. Maybe he does mean it. Maybe I haven't given myself enough credit for my appearance. Who knows? I could be stunning. I am stunning. 

I go to take another drink, and realize the can's empty. The headache I'd developed before is long gone; I just feel a little fuzzy now. But I really like it. It makes talking to Derek much easier.

"Hey, let's go out to the main room," he says, leading me by the hand.

"Let me just grab another beer," I say quickly, reaching for the cooler. I hear Derek say something about how cute I am. One can feels very light in my hand. I grab another, just to be safe.

Derek takes me to the room Melissa and I first came into. Melissa. Where is she? Oh well, I'm sure she's fine. She wouldn't have left me if she wasn't. I open my first can, drinking almost half immediately. I feel dizzy for a moment, but it soon passes. Surprisingly, I find myself dancing to the music. It seems like the right thing to do, since everyone else in the room is doing it.

"Hey, is that for me?" Derek says a bit loudly, motioning to my unopened can. I hug it against myself protectively, then realize how silly that is.

"Of course," I say, handing it over to him, spilling the opened can in the process. Funny, I don't even feel it covering my exposed toes. Derek chugs the whole thing in a few seconds. I begin to clap, then realize I can't with the can in my hand. I quickly finish it off and drop the empty can. I get really worried that I don't have another can, and find an almost full one on a table near us. I chug that one easily, and another. I'm almost done with my third can, when I see something on the floor. A key. Oh, maybe that's my car key. I bend to pick it up, which is a bad idea, because my head begins to throb.

"Ouch," I whisper. Well, maybe it wasn't a whisper, because Derek responds.

"What happened?" he asks.

"My head," I say, putting my hand to it. "It kills."

"Let me help." He pulls me to his chest, and my head rests on his shoulder. We sway slightly to the music. Actually, this doesn't help my head at all, but I love the feeling, so I don't pull away.

"You're so hot," he breathes into my ear. I shiver, snuggling closer against him.

Derek decides to speed things up, I guess, because he gently pulls my chin up to face his head and starts kissing me. Hard, powerful kisses that don't feel like much of anything. I kiss back, but I really don't know what I'm doing. I'd never even held hands with a guy before tonight. After a few minutes, the kisses do start to feel like something, and I love them. 

"Jade," I hear very softly in my ear. "Jade." This time, more forceful. I think it's Derek. I kiss him harder, but the voice keeps coming. I'm about to tell him to shut up when I realize it can't be him, since his mouth is occupied. "JADE!"

I reach my hand out to push away whatever's saying my name. I reach what seems to be a person.

"Go away," I mumble. Something grabs my shoulder and whips me away. "What the hell was that for?!"

I focus in on the person. I can't place my finger on the girl, but she does look familiar. Oh. Yeah. It's Melissa. "Can't you see I'm busy?" I ask harshly. Derek seems confused. I don't think he's realized I've pulled away.

"Jade, you're drunk," she says, although she doesn't seem too sober herself. I roll my eyes. Whatever. 

"Mel, just go back to your loser friends," I say, giggling. I can't stop giggling. "Seriously, you're such a loser." Derek starts laughing, too. Melissa looks very hurt, and she turns away without a word. I pull Derek back to me. "Where were we?"

My eyes shut and I fall into an abyss of kissing, touching, and beer. Always more beer. I keep myself together the best I can, but eventually I just lose track of time and I don't care. This is the greatest night of my life.

I open my eyes and I'm lying on the couch. What the hell? Melissa is standing above me, looking a little worried.

"Jade! Finally! I've been trying to wake you up for, like, 5 hours. Seriously." She considers this. "Wait, no, I mean 5 minutes."

My ears are pounding in my head, but I make out what she's saying. "Yeah, yeah. How did I get here?" I struggle to stand up, find I can't, and sit back down. 

"You passed out. It must not have been too bad, though. Don't worry. You're up now!" She pats me on the shoulder. "We should really be leaving soon," she says, twirling her hair. "It's like 2:30." 2:30! Geez, that's late. I fumble for my key in my purse, but it isn't there. 

"Melissa! You took my key!" I say. I'm close to slapping her. Why would she do that? She looks at me. 

"I didn't, Jade. You must have lost it." Crap. She's right. I look around the couch frantically, under the cushions and in the space between the couch and the floor. Nothing.

"Ugh, great." I say, defeated. I hold my head in my hands. It still hurts. I wish Derek were here to help me feel better. Derek. Where is he?! I look around, and spot him with a freshman girl I recognize from one of my classes. A freshman with a senior. Classy. They're making out in the corner of the room. The girl barely has any clothes on.

Suddenly, I become very angry. Derek was supposed to be mine. I stomp over to their corner, shaky and very unstable, but I manage it. I kneel down and grab Derek's shoulder.

"Derek!" I yell. "What are you doing?!" He turns toward me with a very blank expression. 

"Who are you...?" he asks. He goes back to the girl. No amount of my yelling or shaking tears them apart. I sigh. That's my Derek. The first guy to ever call me pretty. To ever kiss me. I think back to when we first kissed, after he comforted my headache. What was that from, again? Surely not the alcohol. I was bending down, for something...my key! It was on the ground!

I make my way over to the general area Derek and I were in only what, a half hour earlier? I find my key pushed up against the wall. Wow, what a relief. It could've gotten anywhere by now.

I decide I don't want to be at this stupid party anymore. This was a big mistake. I grab Melissa by the arm and drag her to the door. She doesn't resist, so I'm betting she has the same idea as me. We half walk, half stumble down the hill. It's not until I'm at the bottom that I realize it's raining. Pouring, actually. My dress is soaked already. Great.

I smile when I see my beautiful car. It still looks halfway decent in the almost pitch-blackness and rain. I look over at Melissa, who seems to be having trouble standing. I laugh a little, then a lot. I'm looking at Melissa, but she doesn't realize I'm laughing at her. She doesn't really seem aware of anything. 

I'm just about to ask her if she needs help when WHAM! I slam right into the car door. Melissa takes a second to focus in on me, and then eyes me suspiciously. "Are you sure you should be the one driving?" she asks. I wave her off.

"Of course. I know how to drive, Mel. And there's no way I'd let you behind the wheel of this gorgeous car." I give the hood a nice pat for emphasis. "Now, come on. Get in."

Melissa wearily gets into the passenger seat, and I drive away quickly before she can complain again. We get onto the  highway shortly, and the trip seems to be going much quicker than I had expected. Good, I don't want my mom worrying.

We coast for a while, maybe ten or fifteen minutes. I let my eyes drift around. There are only a few cars on this road, and it's a lot narrower than the last one. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Melissa is asleep. I smile a little. She had no reason to worry; my driving has been so peaceful, it put her right to sleep. Actually, it's putting me to sleep, too. I'm fighting off yawns constantly. Now seems like a good time for a nap, anyway. My eyelids start to close, and I forget what I'm doing. Then, it happens.

I jolt my eyes open after what feels like two seconds, but could definitely be longer. It's too late, though. From the very first touch of my car against the one in front of it, the one slowing to turn onto a side street, the one I should have stopped behind, I know this will be bad. It will be very, very bad. I slam on the breaks, but of course, the few milliseconds it takes the car to stop are too many. Time slows down. I can feel each ripple of energy, each individual frame of what happens next. 

I turn the wheel to the left at the last second, hoping for any last miracle to work on us. The car lurches forward, crushing the back of a minivan just like the crushed beer cans from the party. A deafening /cruunch/ erupts around us. 

An ear-piercing scream, as well, and I honestly can't tell if it came from me or Melissa. The sound of breaking glass, as Melissa flies through the windshield. Both airbags inflate, mine presses me against the back of my seat, pushing on my lungs, cutting off my air, and frankly, all ability to speak. I close my eyes lightly, wanting to cry out, to scream, to escape, to die. But the only thing I can do is wait.

* * * * * * * *

Ugly crying. That's what Melissa and I call it. When you're crying so hard there's snot dripping down your face, your eyes resemble those of a rabid raccoon, and you can't seem to stop the tears from pouring out of your eyes. Also, hiccuping, and inability to speak. Put those altogether, and you have the absolute ugliest sound a human can make. I'd recognize it anywhere; even in my half-unconscious state. This sound is what pulls me to reality.

It takes a long time to get my eyes open. First I think that maybe I'm doing it wrong. People are supposed to open their eyes on command, right? Maybe using my fingers would help, but I can't seem to feel those. Are they still there? How could I survive without fingers? Suddenly, I have to know. I have to make sure I still have fingers. I count to three, one, two, three! and fling my eyes open. They only stay open for a second and snap back shut, but at least now I know I'm doing it right. I count to three again, and this time they stay open longer. 

The ugly crying seems to come to a halt when I do this, so I keep trying. Finally, I count to three and they stay open. For good. The room I'm in is very white, sterile looking. My eyes skirt around, but I can really only see the ceiling, since I'm laying down, and I can't move any other part of my body. 

I hear a voice. "Jade!" It's the ugly crier. It's my mother. I hear some sniffling, and imagine her wiping her eyes. "Jade, thank God," she says. She's laughing now, and crying. A mixture of both. Why? Why would she be crying? Why can't I move? Where the hell am I? The bed I'm on is rising, no, the back is, and now I'm in a sitting position. My mom sits on the bed next to my legs, looking at me. "Jade, can you hear me?" Yes, I can hear you, but I can't respond. I try moving my mouth, but my brain won't listen. I can't. I can't do anything. I close my eyes again and fall into unconsciousness.

When I awake again, the room is dark. I'm in better control of my body now, though. I open my eyes, no problem. My mouth works, and my hands, my wonderful hands, they're still there. Completely in-tact. My whole right leg, from ankle to thigh, hurts so much I can barely stand it. My left ankle is also worse for the wear. My head pounds. I can't remember how or why I would be in such pain, but it must have been terrible. 

I struggle to sit up, but find tubes hooked all over my body. My restlessness seems to wake someone up on the other side of the room, because I hear a stirring and then footsteps over to my bed. "Jade, you're awake," my mother says softly. She places her hand on my forehead and gently caresses it with her thumb. I smile.

"Yes," I say, but it comes out very soft and froggy. I try again. "Yes."

"I can't believe it," she says. "I...just never-" the ugly crying begins again, and I can barely make out what she's saying between sobs. "We were so worried, and....thank you Jesus." Finally, she just breaks down. I try to console her, pat her on the back or something, but I can't move my hand. 

"Mom, I'm okay," I say, although I'm completely confused as to what happened, why I'm in the hospital, and why I can't move without ripping wires from my body or sending jolts of pain throughout. 

Just then, a cute, young doctor comes in, decked out in the general doctor attire, including a mask. He lowers it from his mouth and smiles. "I'm Dr. Shepherd. I see you've finally decided to wake up!" he says cheerfully. I force a smile.

"Yeah..." Wait. He said "finally". How long has it been? How long had I been unconscious?

"What happened?" I blurt out. "I mean, how long was I out for? And...why?" Dr. Shepherd looks at me a little sadly, like he feels bad for me and my confusion.

"Oh, three weeks or so." Three weeks?! What the hell. He must see the shock register on my face, because he quickly adds, "Don't worry. It could have been worse. Much worse. We were afraid you'd never wake up, even!" He says that last bit like it's the most casual thing in the world. I sigh.

"Now, I'm sure you must have a lot of questions. You must be very confused. So why don't I just start from the beginning?" And he tells me.

There was a party. A party? Me, at a party? It takes me a few minutes to accept this. Dr. Shepherd waits patiently until I tell him to go on. 

"And as you might have guessed, there was alcohol. We found it in your system not too long after you arrived here. Your mother was astonished." He looks at my mom, and she nods for emphasis. "I'm sure you are, too. But, that's what we found.

"There was also an accident. A terrible car accident. That's what brought you here. If you've already put two and two together, then yes. You were driving under the influence of alcohol, and your lack of focus is most likely what caused the crash. You rear-ended a minivan. The only passenger was a 43 year old woman, who was left untouched except for minor back pain. She's very lucky." Dr. Shepherd pauses at this point to let everything settle in.

I honestly cannot believe any of this. A party, alcohol, a crash, a coma. None of it seems real. None of it seems like something I would do. I've never been interested in attending a party, and certainly never wanted to drink.  

Dr Shepherd continues. "There's something else..." he says wearily. He looks to my mother, but she looks away quickly. "Melissa Hartman was also in the car when the crash occurred." Of course. I'd never go to a party without her by my side.

"Well, is she okay?" I ask. She has to be okay. She has to. 

"Unfortunately, Melissa wasn't wearing her seat belt." No. No, no, no. This isn't real. None of this is real. It's all a dream. Yes, a terrible nightmare, that's all this is. I sigh, content with my realization. Before I can hear his next words, I try desperately to wake myself up. Wake up, Jade. Wake up. No. Why isn't it working? Why won't I wake up? Why can't-

"She went through the windshield. Jade, she died on impact."

The scream that escapes from my lungs tells me I'm not dreaming.

I must've been knocked out again, because I awaken a third time with restraints around my arms and legs. My throat is raw. It takes me less than a second to remember what happened, and the screaming resumes almost immediately. My mother rushes to my side. 

"Shh," she says softly, "Jade, calm down, it's okay." Okay? This is the farthest from okay I've been in my life. My throat goes numb and the screaming subsides to sobs, long sobs. Am I ugly crying? I hope so.

My mother strokes my shoulder, whispering comforting words, while my world crashes down around me. I can't bare to think of the specifics, life without Melissa, how I'll survive, so I break down around the fact that something's wrong, and it's my fault. My fault. All of this is my stupid fault. I'm sure Melissa told me not to drive, but my idiotic drunken self said it was okay. I will never forgive myself. 

Dr. Shepherd comes happily strolling into the room, but checks himself when he seems my tantrum and removes his grin. "Ms. Martin, may I have a word with you?" he asks my mother. She gives me a sympathetic look and leaves the room with the doctor. I look up for a second, catching my reflection in the TV in the corner of the room. A bandage is wrapped around the circumference of my head, and multiple scrapes run down my face. My eyes look sunken and hollow. I look away quickly, before I start crying again. My head relaxes against the cheap hospital pillow, and I breathe deeply over and over, in and out, until the crying stops and I'm just hiccuping. I watch the ceiling intently, following the cracks with my eyes. She's gone. Melissa is gone. She isn't coming back. It's my fault. I killed her. 

I can't take it anymore, my arms tug at the restraints, I lash out violently, words and screams and cries forming in my throat. My wrists begin to ache but I can hardly feel it. A nurse rushes into my room, ready to inject some sort of liquid into my IV, but Dr. Shepherd appears and stops her before she can. "I can take it from here," he says to her. She nods and exits quickly.

Dr. Shepherd comes to my side, ordering me to calm down. "Jade, I need to talk to you, and I can't until you settle down," he says patiently. I nod and take a few seconds to breathe deeply and contain myself. He presses a button near my bed, and the top half of the bed slowly rises until I'm in a sitting position. Once I'm down to just hiccuping, he begins.

"Jade, it's clear you've been very upset over this, and you have every right to be. How would you feel about talking with a therapist? Just while you're still recovering, it might be a good idea..." He searches my face for a response. I nod slowly. "Right. That's settled. I'll have our best psychologist meet you in a bit." He pauses. "And Jade, please try not to blame yourself. You had no idea this would happen. Alright?" After no response from me, he exits the room.

I spend several minutes staring at a lengthy crack in wall in front of me, thinking things over without really thinking. My mind is still in complete confusion, and I don't try to sort everything out. Not yet. A nurse comes in and undoes my restraints, then sets a tray of food on my lap. "You haven't eaten solid food in weeks," she says softly. "Try to eat a little." She gives me a weak smile and leaves after straightening up the room a bit. 

My tray holds a few chicken nuggets, applesauce, cooked vegetables, and pudding. I rub my sore wrists, finding faint bruises around each one. My food looks rather unappetizing. I stir the pudding with my spoon absent-mindedly, making swirled patterns and dripping some into the applesauce. Finally I become frustrated and push the tray away forcefully, which causes the entire thing to dump face-down onto the floor. I feel another panic attack coming on, so I wring my hands together, which hurts my wrists. I don't care.

By now it's late evening, and the rest of the day passes slowly. A lot of it is spent staring at the crack in the wall. 

The next morning is depressing. Rain pounds hard at the walls, but my windowless room can only imagine the darkness surrounding the building. I'm still shaken up from the many nightmares that haunted my sleep constantly, dreams of the hospital, of Melissa's funeral, of me sitting in a jail cell. Jail is certainly where I'm headed. 

My breakfast is brought to me a little after nine, some very green-looking scrambled eggs and a cup of fruit. I make sure not to let it face-plant into the floor this time. My stomach hurts from the hunger, but I can't even force myself to eat. I feel like vomiting every time the fork touches my mouth. 

Sometime late-morning, Dr. Shepherd comes to see me with "big, big news!". He thinks I should try to get out of bed today, in a wheelchair, of course. Yesterday he told me that I have a broken leg, and a broken ankle on the other leg. I nod when he tells me this, but have no intention of going anywhere.

 My mom rushes in around 5, apologizing for not coming sooner. "I had to take all those days off work, but today was a real emergency, and I had to be there." Right. School and work. I hadn't thought much about school, but I'm sure I have to make up a ton of work. Another check on list of things making my life terrible. 

"Hey, why don't you use the TV?" she asks, pointing to the TV in the corner. It's been off this whole time. My eyes meet the reflection, and I look away quickly, remembering that first time. 

"Maybe," I say. She smiles, kisses me on the forehead, and grabs her purse.

"I have to make a phone call, but I'll be right back," she says happily. I force a smile as she leaves. She doesn't come back for almost two hours, and I pretend to be asleep when she does so she doesn't bother me. 

I drift in and out of nightmares for the majority of the night.

At 2 AM, I awake in a cold sweat after a particularly bad nightmare. I'm wide awake. The digital clock on the DVD player burns my eyes, so I shut them tightly until that hurts even more. The sheets are tangled around my legs. I feel trapped, claustrophobic, but kicking and lashing out only induces pain. Finally, after a few seconds of thought, I pull the blankets aside, slowly swing my legs over the edge of the bed, and reach for the wheelchair a few feet away that Dr. Shepherd left earlier. I wheel it over as close as I can get it, then stand up, putting pressure on the leg of my hurt ankle for a few seconds to get into the chair. It hurts like hell, but I'm in.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I can move. I can go anywhere. Well, anywhere inside this hospital, which isn't really saying much, but it's a lot more than I had a five minutes ago. I feel free.

The wheels creak loudly when they're turned, and my arms are very weak, but I mange to make it to the door. That's where my luck stops. The door is locked from the outside, for a reason unbeknownst to me. No amount of tugging or pounding opens it. I expect it's bolted shut. I rest by the door for a few minutes, deciding what to do, and eventually just wheel myself about the room, into the small bathroom off to the side, over to the TV, back to the door. There's a very uncomfortable looking chair on the far side of the room, the one my mother had been sitting in. Next to it is a small table with a black bag on top. I wheel over to the table and pull the bag onto my lap.

From the moment I unzip the bag, I know what's inside. My stuff. My wallet, phone, key, whatever they could salvage from my car. I take my wallet out carefully, counting the few bills inside, smiling at my license, the God-awful picture plastered on it. My phone is turned off, but it still has enough charge to turn on and allow me to look through it. I'm surprised to see I have three new texts.

The first one is from an unknown number. It reads:

Hey, this is Christine, from school.I heard about what happened. I hope you're doing well. I wish you all the best.

I smile at this one, lock it into my phone, and move onto the next. It's from my mother, dated back to three weeks ago. The night of the party.

Jade, where are you? It's midnight! I called the Hartmans, and they said they thought Melissa was coming here for the night...what's going on?

I sigh, leaving that one alone, not knowing whether to delete it or save it. I certainly don't need anymore reminders of what a brat I was that night. I stop short at the next message. This one's also from the night of the party. It takes me a long time to bring myself to open it, a few minutes, at least. 

Hey, Jade, where are you? Something just happened...something terrible. I really think we should go home. ~Mel

Mel. Melissa. The tears stream down my face before I have time to stop them. This is the last memory I have of her. The last thing I have to hold on to. But what was she talking about? Something terrible happened...I bet I didn't even notice anything was wrong on the way home. I lock the message three times, making sure it isn't going anywhere, then put my phone back into the bag, put the bag on the table, and make my way  into bed. I curl up into a ball (as much as I can without hurting) and stay like that until dawn, crying softly and hating myself.

Freshman year, the entire grade was forced to take a psychology class for one semester, ending in a huge final that counted for 75% of the grade. Mostly, the class was pointless. The teacher was about 70 years old, had terrible short-term memory loss, and spoke in the most noticeable monotone possible. Still, there is one thing, and one thing only, I remember from that class- The 5 Stages of Loss and Grief.

Mr. Burns, the teacher, seemed very passionate about these five stages. He made up a rhyme to help us remember them. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Always in that order. He made us say them individually in front of the class, quizzed us on them daily, and basically drilled them into our minds. Partly, I think somehow in his delusional state, he was alive enough to want to send us a message. He mentioned often how his wife had died earlier in the year, and seemed to be slow to recover from it. I think he was trying to let us know that he was going through those five stages, which was part of the reason why he was always so...emotionless. 

Mr. Burns passed away at the end of freshman year. He died in his sleep. The doctors said the only cause was old age, but he was only 70, and perfectly healthy. I think he died because he finally made it to the last stage. Acceptance. And after that, there was nothing else to live for.

Awakening from my sleep, the only thing running through my mind is the rhyme. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression...what comes after depression? I can't think of it. And maybe I don't want to. At this point, I know I'm in the depressed stage. I won't get out of it, either. Ever. I won't recover. I don't deserve the happily ever after, and I certainly don't deserve to forgive myself for any of this.

The day is spent curled up in a ball on my bed, clenching my fists and ignoring everything.

"...not sure that's the best thing right now..."

"Trust me, I'm a doctor, I've gone through many years of-"

"But I've known her her whole life, and I know what's best-"

"But you don't know what's best for her health, at least not better than me."

My eyes stay shut as I drift into consciousness, and this conversation between my mother and Dr. Shepherd is the first thing I'm aware of. They're talking about me.

"Well...I guess I can't stop you. But she won't be happy, I can tell you that."

"Mrs. Martin, just-"

"Ms. Martin," my mother corrects him.

"Yes, Ms., please just trust me. I've sworn to do everything I'm able to to help your daughter, this included." I hear my mother sigh, and know she's lost the argument. Quiet footsteps come nearer to my bed, and I pretend to be asleep, hoping desperately to not be spoken to. 

I feel my mother linger by my bed for a long time. The footsteps don't leave. After another half hour or so, I pretend to wake up, stretching my bruised arms. My mother slowly steps closer to my, resting her hand on my back. I turn over to face her. 

"Hi, honey," she says. "I took off work again today. I couldn't bare to think of you being by yourself for so long...I think you need someone with you. What do you think?" I stare right through her. When the tears start down her face, however, I quickly say, "Yes, mom. I need you." and close my mouth before I have time to say anything else. She wipes her eyes.

"So, have you been out of your bed any? I bet you really have to pee," she jokes. Actually, no, I don't. "You should try your wheelchair out today," she continues. "It'd be good to stretch your legs a bit." Stretch my legs by sitting in a wheel chair. Okay. She wipes her eyes and says she'll head down to the cafeteria to get us some food.

I think about what Dr. Shepherd could have meant earlier, in the argument between him and my mom. What could possibly be worse than the hell I'm already in?

My mother returns shortly, balancing two trays of food in her hands. "Cheeseburgers," she says happily. I realize it must be afternoon. Time passes without me even realizing it. 

I slowly sit up, and she sets the tray on my lap. I stare at it for a while in an awkward silence. Eventually she pipes up about her day at work yesterday, how busy it was, and how the coworker she doesn't like was wearing too much makeup.I nod every now and then.

"So how have you been, Jade?" she says, transitioning the conversation to a more serious mood. How have I been? 

"Peachy," I whisper, emotionless. She gives me a sad look. 

"I love you, honey. Remember that you can talk to me about any of this whenever you feel like it. I'm all ears." I nod slightly, and she gives me a pat on the leg. Just then, Dr. Shepherd walks in.

"Jade! Good, you're awake. I've been meaning to talk to you about a few things, are you feeling up to it? Great," he says without waiting for a reply, moving closer to the bed and pulling over a chair. He has a few manilla folders clutched awkwardly in his hand. I look to my mother for guidance, but she's glaring at Dr. Shepherd. 

"Now, you must know how much of a...big deal it is, drunk driving," he says casually. "Of course, you won't get off the hook without a lot of charges. But, I'll have you know, I have a lot of friends downtown. And they think they could let a few things slide." He pauses, taking in my confused look. "Anyway, your court date is scheduled for May 15th, which is about a month from now. I'm sure you'll be almost fully recovered by then! You'll probably even have progressed to crutches." The pager clipped to his waist beeps loudly. "Oh, gotta go! I'll be back later to introduce you to the therapist I was telling you about. She came by yesterday, but you seemed to be asleep...I'm sure you'll love her!" With that, he quickly leaves the room, setting the folders by my legs.  My mother apologizes immediately.

"Honey, I'm so sorry, I tried to get him to hold off on reminding you about the court date, I know how much stress you've had lately." 

"Yeah," I say. 

"You should try to eat, I bet you haven't in a while. Here, just take a few bites of the burger, then I'll leave you alone." She nudges the tray toward me. I slowly pick up the burger, which looks a little on the green side, and bring it to my mouth. My lips have just parted when I burst out crying uncontrollably. I can't do this. I can't recover from any of this. Melissa is dead. She's not coming back.

"Oh, honey," my mother whispers, holding my hand in hers.

Dr. Shepherd comes later that evening with a middle-aged, kind-looking woman. She introduces herself as Dr. Bell. "I don't have any appointments scheduled tonight, so I was hoping you'd like to talk for a while. Only if you're feeling up to it, I mean."

I consider this for a while. Dr. Bell might understand how I'm feeling better than anyone else, and she definitely wants to hear what I have to say. I decide I'll tell her a few things and see where that goes.

"Sure," I say, trying my best to sound optimistic. She looks very pleased with my response.

"Is there anything in particular you'd like to start with?"

"Melissa," I whisper. She nods.

"I heard you'd been friends for a very long time."

"Six years."

"How did you meet?"

I pause. It hurts to think about. "It was fifth grade," I begin. "My mom had just gotten a new job here, at the college. It was the middle of the school year, and we had to move across the country. I left all of my friends back in California. We moved on a Saturday, and the following Monday, I started school." I realize that I'm saying a lot more than I had thought I would. "Melissa was the only one who talked to me all day," I say quickly. "I guess we've just been friends ever since."

Dr. Bell nods. "So, it was a friends-at-first-sight kind of deal?" I nod. "I'd say that's usually how great friendships begin."

"We definitely have a great friendship. Had. I mean had." My eyes start to water again. Dr. Bell notices, but doesn't say anything.

"Do you remember anything at all about the accident?" 

"No. Nothing."

"What's the last thing you remember, then?"

I think as hard as I can, but the only thing coming to mind are memories from a long time ago, at least a few months. I tell her this.

"That's strange," she says, knitting her eyebrows together. "I'm sure more memories will come over time. In fact, someday you may even remember the party, and the accident. I'd like you to keep thinking as hard as you can, all right?" I nod, though the last thing I want is to remember how much of a monster I was. We talk for another hour or so, about a lot of things, mostly relating to Melissa. In the end, I feel a lot better. Dr. Bell offers to come by the next day, and I don't turn her down.

The next week is full of talking, crying, and most importantly, feeling slightly better. Dr. Bell comes by every day for at least an hour, and by the end of the week, I feel like I can tell her anything. Sometimes, she even wheels me down to her office, which is on the first floor. We take the elevator. It's nice to get out of the cramped hospital room, but seeing other people is difficult. We talk about the accident in depth a few times, and I'm surprised that I can get through it without crying. I feel better about the whole thing. Better, but not good.

On Saturday night, I go to bed early, and sleep through the entire night. When I wake up at 8:30 Sunday morning, I feel amazing. I decide today will be the day I leave the room on my own. Getting into my wheelchair has become much easier, and before I know it, I'm too the door (which they don't lock anymore), out into the hall, down the corridor, and in the elevator. I press the 1 button, thinking I'll go to the cafeteria on the main floor and get my own breakfast.

Author's Note

I add to this daily, and it's nowhere close to being complete.
Thank you so much for the reviews, they were very unexpected :)
Word count: 8528

Reviews

[Akausha]

your a good writer

[Mr.Knipple]

Wow, that was a really great piece. It's quite detailed and the sense of imagry really paints a picture of what's going on in your head. I really enjoyed reading this. Great job.

[Terra]

Omg I loved your story, espically how it started. It was really detalied and interesting!