Ruin Page 2

  I just use them as an escape from reality.

  However, today I’m more interested in having an already shaped world to play in.

  A world where everyone pretends they’re a magical creature, where girls can be orcs and boys can be elves, and the most insecure person can be a heroic knight.

  A game I’ve played so many times, I can’t even count the hours I spent on two hands: World of Warcraft.

  Mom says I shouldn’t spend so much time behind the computer; she says I should go out more to try to connect with people in real life. But why would I? When all they do is make fun of me?

  Online, I can hide at least a little bit about myself so everyone will accept me.

  Besides, I still take dance classes, and it’s not like one day of playing some games will ruin my future.

  So I open the game and type in my login details, hopping into the world that lets me connect with people in ways I wouldn’t dare to try in the real world.

  Maybe that makes me a coward, but I don’t care.

  It’s the only way I can be me … and maybe have a friend.

  Like this guy I’ve been beating monsters with for a few days now.

  He’s always there at eight o’clock. Sharp.

  Always here to play with me. To talk with me.

  Even if it’s only about the game.

  Even if we don’t know each other.

  Not really, anyway.

  But for me, it’s enough.

  For now.

  ***

  Alexander

  Before

  I eat my sandwich in silence, trying to ignore the guys’ joke about the fat girl in their class squeezing out a fart. My ears and eyes don’t focus on them. They hone in on the girl leaning against the wall in a hallway nearby. A girl with fair white skin and long, dark blond hair. She’s a bit small in size. Her body and face aren’t exceptionally beautiful, at least not according to most people. Most people would call her just your average girl.

  Except she isn’t average to me.

  Her appearance isn’t what draws my attention. It never was.

  She’s tapping her phone, anxiously looking sideways and around her.

  I know she’s waiting for her friend.

  The girl she eats lunch with every day.

  I know because I see her standing there every day, waiting for her friend.

  They don’t have the same classes, but they always wait for each other.

  Except for today.

  After ten minutes, her friend still isn’t here, and the girl clutches her stomach while biting on the insides of her cheeks, clutching her sandwich wrapped in plastic a little too tightly.

  Her friend must be sick because they always eat lunch together and never with anyone else. At least, not anymore. I remember when I used to see her walk through the cafeteria trying to find a place to eat, trying to connect with people, but it never came easily to her. It still doesn’t. I can tell from the way she scurries off, and how she slams her mouth shut whenever she thinks of something, maybe of approaching someone.

  She’s always alone; she’s always looking at people from the corner, always yearning but never pursuing. She always smiles so gently at people passing by, but her smile fades away quickly too.

  Except with her friend.

  Her only friend.

  Who’s not here to eat with her.

  After a few more minutes, I watch her stroll off, still clutching her little lunch bag. Hidden behind pink glasses, her green eyes skitter across the room, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible as she rushes into the girl’s bathroom.

  Probably to eat on her own, hoping no one has seen her do it.

  But I have.

  I noticed her.

  I always did.

  ***

  Now

  In shock, I stare at the car crashing into a wall just a few feet away from me.

  Not for one second do I hesitate before I rush in.

  I’m the first at the scene, but for some reason, I know exactly what to do. I step over debris to look through the shattered window of the passenger’s seat. A girl sits in the driver’s seat; no one else is in the car. I run to the other side of the car as lightning strikes the pavement close to me, but I ignore it.

  Adrenaline takes over as I rip away the metal with seemingly inhuman strength. A fire ignites in the engine as I hover over her body and unbuckle her seat belt. Only when I try to pull her away and lift her up in my arms do I notice how awkwardly her leg wobbles.

  Smoke enters the car.

  I don’t hesitate as I pull her away from the fire and walk with her lifeless body in my arms, stumbling across the road. When I’m far enough that the fire won’t hurt us, I stop. I place her on the ground and take a few deep breaths. Tears sting my eyes; I cough from the smoke, and I can’t see shit. Only after blinking a few times do I look up at the wreckage in front of me.

  The wreckage that’s also beneath me … The girl.

  Now that I finally have the chance to take a proper look at her, I notice something.

  I know her.

  The girl from my school.

  That girl … the one girl who was always shy but never afraid to smile.

  Broken in pieces.

  I suck in a breath and tell myself to man up and forget about it for now. She’s in trouble, and she needs help.

  She’s not conscious, so I immediately go to my knees and check for a pulse. It’s faint, but it’s there. For a moment, I panic and the thought of running flashes through my head.

  But no matter how many times my brain tells me I’m a coward and thinks I should just give up … I can’t.

  I need to help.

  So I grab my cell phone and call 911.

  These Bones Were Made for Walking

  Maybell

  Beeps.

  Alarm clocks going off in my head.

  My hand swats at the nightstand, but I miss.

  No matter how many times I try, I miss.

  Someone grabs my hand. Squeezes tight. Releases me.

  My arm feels so weak I can barely move it. I’ve never been this tired in my life.

  Especially considering I’m supposed to wake up.

  Right?

  That’s why my alarm clock is beeping.

  But the more I think about it, the more I start to realize I never got into bed, so how could I be in there now?

  I take a breath, and my lungs feel so tight and painful, it makes me cough.

  “Take it easy,” a guy nearby me says.

  A guy. Funny. I never bring guys back home.

  Wait, what?

  I force my eyes to open, and through tiny slits, I see a blond, shorthaired dude walking next to me, his hands on the rails of my bed. But I don’t have any rails on my bed.

  With skittish eyes, I check my surroundings, only to discover I’m not in my room at all.

  I’m not even home.

  “Where …” I mutter, but my voice is clamped.

  “Hi, Maybell?” The guy next to me looks me directly in the eye. “You’re at the hospital.”

  Hospital.

  That place where the sick get treated and the wounded are mended.

  That place I only ever visited to see my grandma after her surgery, and even then, I shivered at the sight of the building.

  The place where people’s hopes are lost and dreams have to be rebuilt.

  The place I now am.

  “Hospital?” I repeat, trying to understand.

  “Yes, you’re in the hospital,” the guy says.

  I swallow, but my sore throat won’t let me, and I cough up the slime. My body feels cold and not like mine as the guy pushes my bed through the white-walled hallways, bright lights blinding me every five seconds as all I can do is stare up at the ceiling.

  That’s when I realize I’m strapped tight.

  “What happened?”

 
He frowns and rubs his lips together as we go into a different room. “You were in an accident.”

  Accident.

  The word echoes over and over in my ears, but it doesn’t register.

  Tears well up in my eyes. “Accident?”

  I don’t remember anything.

  Why don’t I remember? Why am I even here?

  “Yes, you drove your car into a wall.”

  My eyes widen. “What?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “No.” The tight strap cuts into my skin as I try to move.

  Then a sharp pain runs through my lower leg, so sharp it makes me scream.

  “Don’t move,” he says, placing a hand over mine. “You don’t wanna make it worse.”

  “Make what worse?” I flinch, and the pain shoots through my leg again. “Oh God, that hurt,” I cry out, clutching the metal railing.

  “I’ve given you some morphine, but it won’t block out the pain completely. You’re gonna start to feel more once the adrenaline leaves your body. It may not be as comfortable, but we’re going to do our best, okay? If you need any more painkillers, just shout.”

  “Adrenaline … morphine … accident … doing his best …” I repeat to myself, almost as if it will help me process this faster.

  But it doesn’t. It’s all one giant messy bundle in my head.

  And all of it has just begun to unravel.

  I remember swerving on the road … then a flash of light.

  And then came the pain. Intense pain.

  That’s all I remember.

  First, there was the book I read in the library and the failed dance. Then, there was the drive back home … and nothing after that. No matter how many times I try to remember, all I do is draw blanks.

  “Why don’t I remember?” I mutter.

  “You crashed pretty hard,” the guy says, as he wheels me below a big lamp. “You were out of it for some time too.” He talks to a guy behind a small cubicle who then shouts at me through the intercom. “Stay still.”

  Stay still.

  Just like a dog when it’s getting a shot.

  Tied to this bed, my body starts to shiver, and I can no longer stop the tears from running.

  I don’t know why.

  I rarely ever cry, but now, I can’t stop.

  My heart beats in my throat as the guy comes back and drives me out of the room again.

  “What was that?” I ask.

  “We had to take an X-ray.”

  “An X-ray? For what? Of?” I mutter.

  “Your leg.”

  I open my mouth but close it again. I want to ask him a question, but I’m too afraid of the answer. Too afraid of what it might mean.

  My leg.

  If they had to take an X-ray.

  If it hurts as much as it does.

  What happened to it?

  What happened to me?

  I can’t remember anything … except for the pain. Whenever my muscles twitch, I feel it again, and I cry out in pain.

  God, the pain.

  It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt.

  “Here we are,” he says, driving me into a small cubicle. He pulls off the straps that had me tied down so I can finally rub away the itch on my arm.

  He clears his throat. “The doctor will be right with you. Do you need me to do anything for you? Do you need extra painkillers?”

  “Can I get my phone? I wanna call my parents.”

  His face turns bleak as he says, “I’m sorry, but I don’t know where it is. Maybe the firefighters still have your bag. They’ll probably drop it off at the front desk if they found it. I can check later.”

  “Firemen …” Oh, my God. I look at him, biting my lip. “Is it that bad?”

  He nods and rubs his lips. “But the nurse has already called your parents, so they’re on their way here.”

  “Oh … okay. Right.” I nod, the words not really registering.

  I try to remember, I really do.

  But how am I supposed to remember anything when I just found out I was in a potentially life-threatening accident? And I don’t know what happened to my leg?

  I take a quick look only to regret it instantly.

  A splint is attached, and my leg is completely wrapped up to keep it locked in place. I can’t even move it.

  And above all … I just realized I have to pee.

  God, can this be any worse timing?

  I sigh and shake my head.

  “So you all right?” the guy says.

  “No …” I laugh it off as a joke, but it isn’t funny.

  “Well, if you need anything, just call out. There’s a nurse around the corner.” He holds out his hand. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.” We shake hands, and he leaves.

  He must be a paramedic. One of the guys who scraped me off the ground.

  I wonder what they thought when they saw me. How much work it took them to save me. If he’s the one who saved me.

  I never even asked for his name.

  I look at my hands and see the bruises on my skin, wondering where they were when I hit that wall he was talking about. I don’t remember a thing.

  My mind feels jumbled, completely shaken up.

  I must’ve had a concussion or something. Or maybe I was just really out of it.

  The pain in my leg is beginning to worsen, and I wonder if it’s because the natural chemicals in my body are returning to normal or if it’s because the painkillers have worn off.

  My neck feels sweaty, and my eyes sting, but none of it bothers me as much as the look on the doctor’s face as he enters the room.

  “Hi … Maybell, right?” he says as he holds out his hand. “Dr. Miller.”

  He grabs a stool and sits down beside me, giving me that I-have-some-bad-news-for-you-but-I’m-gonna-do-my-best-to-fix-you smile that doctors always give you when they know you’re fucked.

  I sit up for the first time since the accident.

  “Wow, don’t push yourself too much,” he says, but I ignore his advice.

  I want to sit up straight when he talks to me, like a normal human being. I want to be able to look him in the eye when he tells me what he saw on the picture they made.

  So I say, “I’m fine.”

  He nods, still frowning, and clears his throat. “Right. So … tell me what happened.”

  What happened.

  He wants me to tell him?

  I stare at my leg and blink a couple of times, but no matter how long I stare at it, nothing comes back. Except for the pain.

  “I don’t know.” I turn my head toward him. “Do you?”

  The left side of his lip twitches. “Well, the paramedics told me you drove your car into a wall.”

  “Yeah … that’s what they said.” I squeeze my thumbs together nervously. It always calms me down, even if it’s only for a little bit. Makes me feel safe when I’m not.

  “You were out for quite a bit …” he mutters. “How do you feel now?”

  “How do I feel? I don’t know. In pain, I guess.” I shake my head and laugh it off, even when it’s not funny. It’s not even remotely funny, but I still do it. Maybe because I’m too nervous not to. I always laugh like an idiot when I’m not supposed to.

  Luckily, the doctor doesn’t pay attention to it. “Do you still feel lightheaded? Nauseous?”

  “Not lightheaded. But a bit nauseous, yeah.”

  He holds up a couple of fingers. “Tell me how many I’m holding up.”

  I roll my eyes. “Four.”

  I laugh again, and so does he. “Obviously.” He scoots closer and holds up a small, pencil-shaped light, shining it into my eyes. “Open your eyes for me.” Then he clicks it off again and tucks it away. “Seems good. Well, except for your leg, of course.”

  “Why does it hurt so much?” I ask.

  “The morphine must be wearing off. But we’ll take care of that. Fir
st thing’s first.” He entwines his fingers, and all of a sudden, the look on his face gets so serious, it makes my heart beat faster. “I’ve looked at your X-ray, and it doesn’t look good.”

  I’ve never squished my thumbs this hard in my hand.

  “The good news is … you’re still alive. And we can fix this,” he says, nodding at my leg.

  “Right. And the bad news?”

  “The tibia bone and plateau, your lower leg, were shattered during the crash.”

  Shattered.

  Bone.

  It suddenly feels like the temperature has dropped by a hundred degrees because all the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

  “The damage is too severe to set it with a cast, so we’ll need to perform surgery. Our orthopedic surgeon, Dr. Hamford, will be performing it.”

  “Surgery?” I repeat, the word almost stuck in my throat.

  “Yes. You’ll need a plate and screws. The bone is too splintered to be able to regenerate on its own in the proper position.”

  Plate and screws.

  He talks about it like it’s something he does every day.

  He probably actually does.

  But this isn’t normal for me.

  This isn’t how this day was supposed to go.

  I was supposed to go home and read another book, play some video games, and relax for a bit after a stressful day. I needed that.

  I wasn’t supposed to crash.

  It wasn’t supposed to happen.

  Yet it did.

  I fucking had an accident, and now, my leg is broken … and it hurts like a motherfucker.

  But no matter how many times I talk to myself in my head, I still find this news hard to grasp. I’m only nineteen. This wasn’t supposed to happen to me.

  It’s hard to take in because, in reality, I don’t want to be here. Nobody does. No one wants to be told something happened to them of which they have no recollection.

  Nobody wants to wake up on a stretcher being wheeled into the hospital with a leg that doesn’t work anymore.

  I can’t. I just can’t let it sink in. My mind is a warrior; it refuses to give in to the truth.