Ruin Read Free Page B

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. First 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