Purposefully Accidental

Chapter Fifty-nine

I'm familiar with the smell of a hospital room.

I'm also not a stranger to what a hospital bed feels like under my back. And the faint noises you wouldn't find anywhere else—the quiet rumbles of low, far away voices, monotone sounds from monitoring equipment, the drip of an IV pump. I've spent enough nights in hospital rooms, I've gotten used to hearing them.

But I'm still terrified, anyway.

My eyes remain closed while my mind whirs, trying to pull the memories from my fogged-up brain. Why am I here? What happened? What is the last thing I remember?

I remember... pain.

I try to rearrange the chopped-up parts of my memory. I think I was in the back of a car. Blond head on the driver's seat, calloused hands holding mine. Frantic voices as I'm laid out on a stretcher. I rewind the tape a bit further—what happened before that, that brought me here?

I was on the floor. Jonah's blurry face, looking down at me, lifting my weightless body. His voice, screaming for Freddie. He sounded terrified, I don't think I've ever heard him sound like that. My legs were wet. Was it water? Did I fall in the shower and hurt myself?

Rewind. Rewind. Rewind.  I know I was in the bathroom. My jeans were on the floor. A flower vase, broken on the ground. Blood—did I slice my hand open? No, it wasn't from my hands—

Dark blood, nearly black in color, dripping down my legs. Intense pain in my stomach, like my lower body was split open. Something I'd only felt once before.

My whole body turns numb in realization.

I open my eyes, already blurry with unshed tears. I try to hold them back. Someone's in the room, sitting on a chair in the corner. The room is so quiet I can hear them breathe.

My mouth lets out a noise—a groan. My throat is parched. The figure jolts up and rushes toward me. Freddie's face appears within my sight, and my lips tremble.

There's a look on his face that I haven't seen in quite a while. But he tries for a smile. He's not doing a really good job at it. "Hey. How are you feeling?"

I try to answer, but what comes out is a dry, rough croak. He leaves my side and returns in a flash with a glass of water. I sip carefully from a plastic straw.

He repeats his question, and I reply with, "Numb."

Freddie sets the glass on the bedside table. I avoid his eyes. If I could, I'd cover my ears with both hands, or run out of this room. I don't want to hear him say that my body is riddled with tumors, or that I almost died, or that I'm fucking dying again.

I speak before he can, my voice still hoarse, "Where—"

"Jonah is outside," Freddie replies, his voice soft. Quiet. "I'm only here because I'm—because legally, I'm still your next of kin."

"Right."

"And I wasn't sure if—you were—" he trails off and lets out a shaky breath.

I know he's waiting for me to ask him what happened. But I don't want to know what happened. I don't want to hear that my cancer has come back again.

"Hannah, it's—"

"Can I see him?" I cut him off. Then, feeling bad, I add, "Please."

Freddie sighs. He looks like I've taken ten years off his life. It's unfair that I'm putting him through this again. He braces himself, then takes the band-aid off in one quick motion: "Hannah. Dr. Sharma was here. It's not cancer. You've been in the hospital for a few days; they've run all the testswhile you were asleep. It's not cancer."