Bitter Treats (BxB Romance, In Progress)

26: Bitter Awakening

From below the surface of consciousness, Tyler could hint at the world above. It was muted and far away, but he was still part of it, hanging onto life even as it drifted away from him. Sometimes, it was closer, letting fragments through the murky waters, although broken up and incomprehensible to his faraway mind.

Sensations: warm blankets swaddling him, needle pricks dotting his arms, tubes invading his throat.

He didn't hurt but there was a weird feeling of unease. Like his body knew it was in pain but couldn't sense it as the sensation was muted by an artificial fog.

Words: Emergency. Hypothermia. Fractures. Amputation. Critical. Surgery.

Vaguely, his mind registered that the words were about him but he couldn't interpret them or put them into context. The sounds were familiar but the meaning was hidden from his foggy mind.

Then, everything became quiet. It was unnaturally dark as if caused by an outside source. The only thing that existed was a rhythmic hissing sound, signaling that he was still breathing.

Just as the darkness appeared eternal, there was faint light. Whispers from a familiar voice called for him from above the waterline.

Sweetie. Here. Waiting. Sister. Everyone. Family. Take care. Come back.

Featherlight fingers stroked his forehead. After being numb for so long, it was a relief to feel something.

But with the soft strokes came the pain. It was everywhere, Tyler couldn't escape it. His body felt twisted and broken, forced into impossible angles. Despite the intensifying pain, Tyler strived toward the surface. That's where life was, and he wanted life. He wanted love. He wanted lust. He even wanted the pain.

With a gasp, he emerged. Coughing rattled his lungs as he clamored for air. There was something in his throat and he needed it gone. But all his limbs were heavy and wouldn't cooperate with his commands.

Panic rose in his chest. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. He couldn't scream.

A hand cupped his. "Calm down, sweetie. You're safe here. There is a tube in your throat, helping you to breathe."

He recognized the voice now. His aunt. He trusted her. If Donna said he was safe, it must be true.

Ceasing to struggle against his body, he sank back onto crisp sheets. As the panic subsided, he could feel his lungs getting filled and emptied, over and over. He didn't need to do anything. Every breath made his chest ache as if the ribs were breaking at the seams, but at least he was breathing.

"Thank you," he tried to say, but the words wouldn't come.

"Don't try to speak, sweetie. The tube is in the way. I've called for the doctors to come. Hopefully, they can remove it soon, now that you're awake."

Doctors? So he must be in a hospital. But why? Everything was still muddled in Tyler's brain. There had been crinkling metal and whooshing water. That's all he remembered. And now, his whole body hurt and wouldn't cooperate with him.

While lying there, unable to speak or move, he gradually became aware of what was going on with his body. Muscles, bone, and cartilage were forcefully held in place by bandages and splints, preventing him from falling apart.

His neck was stuck in the rigid hold of a brace, preventing him from tilting his head in any direction. He couldn't attempt to look out the window, to surmise what time of year it even was, or meet the caring eyes of his aunt. Only able to let his gaze wander from side to side, he cautiously tried to surveil the rest of his injuries.

His left arm appeared to be in a sling, keeping his aching shoulder in a strict angle. His right arm, while covered in bruises and cuts, appeared to be free of any hold. Donna's caring touch rested atop his hand. Using all the strength he could muster, Tyler slowly turned it to clasp his aunt's hand with his fingers. The movement was painful and exhausting like his synapses were ancient gears that had rusted together, but eventually, he was successful. A wave of triumph and relief washed over him upon realizing that he was still able to control his movement. His aunt's touch was warm and calming, making him feel like perhaps he would be able to get through whatever it was that had happened to him.

"You were in a car crash," his aunt explained as if she read the question on his face. She squeezed his hand tightly in her grip. "You were severely injured and we almost lost you. You have been out for almost a week."

Unable to speak or move his head, Tyler blinked to show that he understood what she was saying.

Car crash. Severe injuries. It made sense but yet not. Because he couldn't remember what had happened. And now, his body just felt wrong. He couldn't recognize it. But he also couldn't pinpoint the difference. Everything was just constricted, painful, and off.

Moving his gaze, Tyler continued to take inventory of his mangled body. He needed to know what was wrong, even if the answer scared him. As his mind continued to come awake, so did the pain, and it all appeared to originate from his legs.

His right leg felt heavy and unbending. A thick cast covered it from the foot to the knee. Pain radiated from the ankle, making him feel nauseous.

Even worse pain radiated through the left leg, from the groin to the toes were burning needles of pain. Black dots swam before his eyes as he fought through the overwhelming pain to peek down, terrified of what he would discover.

What Tyler found didn't make sense. Layers of bandages covered his thigh and knee but below was nothing. No calf, no foot, no toes. But still, they hurt like hell. Every second that Tyler stared at his lower leg, or rather lack thereof, the pain intensified.

Tyler's vision went black as panic and pain mixed. Machines around him started beeping and hurried steps scurried across the floors.

His aunt's lips pressed against his forehead, mumbling something about amputation and how it had saved his life. Tyler knew what the word meant but couldn't comprehend it. Not in relation to his own body. He could still feel his leg, hurting like hell, so how could it not be there?

Without his leg, how could he walk? How could he run? How could he play soccer? How could he even... be himself?

As the panic worsened, so did the pain. Jagged knives tore into a leg that wasn't there, cutting through the bone and flesh. It was as if his mind was recreating the procedure that had been done to the limb, over and over, unable to process the injury.

Firm hands pressed him down below the surface again. Unknown muted voices told him to calm down. Sedating drugs dripped into his veins.

The intense pain didn't subside. It followed Tyler into unconsciousness, not letting him forget the irreversible damage that had been done to his body.

Through his uneasy dreams, one word echoed over and over. Amputation. Amputation. Amputation.

Author's Note: This chapter was the worst one to write in this story, and I had been dreading it, but I didn't feel like it could be skipped either. Hopefully, I was able to represent Tyler's pain and confusion in a fair way (I also wanted to be very cautious of not straying into the territory of portraying a disability as the worst thing that can ever happen to someone, because people live happy and full lives with disabilities every day, but the adjustment and shock of this kind of injury must still be a lot to process)