Dear Diary

Chapter 102

"Oh, sweetie, we were so worried," my mom said with tears in her eyes as she brushed my hair from my face and kissed my forehead.

I stared at her confused. "W-Where am I?" I tried to ask, but my voice sounded so raspy that it could be considered the same as metal on a chalkboard to my ears. 

I winced.

"You're in the hospital, but don't worry, you'll be okay," she said as the tears slowly started to trek paths down her cheeks.

I frowned. "Hospi ..." I trailed off as my gaze locked on my dad's. 

My dad was a man who could always hide his emotions well. So much so, that you didn't know how he felt unless he told you. But that wasn't the case this time as I looked at him.

The look of utter remorse and shame written all over his face was so heart-wrenching that my eyes widened as everything suddenly rushed back to me: the black bike, the freight-liner running a red light, the pain ... that hand. 

My eyes instantly darted around the room, searching for a head of dark hair.

"Lizzy, what's wrong?" my dad asked and I looked at my parents, taking in the exhausted lines on their faces.

"Where's Cole?" I asked, slightly desperate. 

It had to have been him in that ambulance. Had he been hit by the truck too? My heart thudded at the thought.

I noticed my mom's eyes widen and her shoulders tensed. Her gaze flickered to my dad's before back to me. "What are you talking about, Lizzy?"

"In the ambulance ... there was someone with dark hair. I'm sure it was ..." I trailed off as I heard my mom sigh, looking at me sympathetically.

"Lizzy, that wasn't Cole. That was the driver of the freight-liner that hit you," she explained softly.

I felt myself deflate in relief, but also in disappointment. At least, he hadn't been hit ... Maybe that biker was someone else altogether. But why did that hold on my hand feel so familiar then?

"The driver, did he get injured too?" I asked, although I highly doubted it.

Mom shook her head. "No, he came to explain what happened. He said his brakes failed while he was going down that hill towards the traffic lights. He hooted to try and warn you when his light turned red, but ... you didn't hear him," Mom explained and I nodded slowly in understanding. 

I did hear those hoots; I just thought that they were from a car behind me.

It's funny how this whole year I've been using the expression 'hit by a truck' to explain my feelings to some situations. Well, now I actually know what it feels like now ... and it's like hell.

I looked at my surroundings and I realised that I was in ICU. I frowned. "How ... are we going to pay for all this?" I asked, dreading the bill already.

"Don't worry about that," Mom began. "The man said that because his brakes failed, it was not your fault you were injured, so the company he works for is going to pay for everything you need until you make a full recovery."

I nodded and looked down relieved, only to notice that my right arm was in a cast. I didn't feel any pain in my body at the moment and I couldn't see below my shoulders due to the blanket covering me. 

"What's all wrong?" I asked hesitantly and my mom bit the inside of her cheek.

"The doctor wouldn't tell us much because you aren't a minor anymore. Why, are you in pain?"

"No, just ... wondering," I said quickly to keep her from working herself up more.

"Well, I better go and get him anyway. He'll want to do a check-up on you," she said and I nodded as she stood and quickly made her way out the small room.

"Where's Sara and Ronan?" I asked my dad as he slowly sat down in the seat next to my bed that Mom previously occupied. 

I was surprised that my sister and brother-in-law weren't here, considering the fact that I was in an accident.

My dad's gaze flickered to mine for a moment before looking at the floor. He blinked a few times. "They eventually had to go back to work," he said after a moment and I frowned.

"How long was I out for?" I asked slowly.

"Five days," he muttered and he blinked a few more times. 

My eyes widened a little in shock. I watched as my dad shifted in his seat and blinked again. He had a bit of a nervous disorder where the more anxious or stressed he gets, the worse he blinks. He was very anxious at the moment.

"I'm sorry," he said so softly that I almost didn't catch it. "I just ... the last two weeks were so hard on you that I wanted you to have a bit of freedom and ..." he trailed off as he shut his eyes tightly. "You were in surgery for twelve hours. Your heart stopped three times. The third time the doctors said ... they almost didn't get you back."

My dad pressed his lips together and held a hand over his face. My heart crumbled as I watched him. Although my dad was shorter than all his peers, he is still one of the strongest men I've ever met. The sight of him like this made tears come to my eyes.

"Dad, it's okay. I'm okay," I said to try and comfort him. "This wasn't your fault, I should've been more aware of my surroundings."

"You were in critical condition for forty-eight hours, Lizzy. You had a thirty percent chance of survival and even if you did, there was a chance you would never wake up again. I shouldn't have let you drive that day. You wouldn't be in this place if I didn't tell you to go fetch that stupid part," he said and his voice shook.

"Dad, this isn't your fault, please. I'm okay," I said, but my traitorous tears slipped from my eyes.

"I'm supposed to be lying in that bed; not you. I'm supposed to protect you and I didn't do it," my dad's voice clogged and I realised I wasn't getting through to him.

"Dad," I said in my firmest voice, which wasn't much considering I was bawling my eyes out and I still felt very weak, but my dad stopped his rambling and looked at me with teary eyes. "I'm fine, okay? I'm awake and talking, so please stop dwelling on it. I'm fine and will continue to be fine, okay?"

My dad was quiet for a long time as he stared at me with red, moist eyes. He was still blaming himself. I slowly held out my left hand, noticing the needle and pipe connected to it and flexed my fingers. He hesitated a moment before slowly placing his larger, calloused one in mine. I gave it a tight squeeze.

"Promise me, you won't keep beating yourself up over this?" I pleaded and I saw him swallow before slowly nodding his head.

"I promise," he said, his voice soft.

"Good," I gave him a small smile and his lips tugged upwards before he leaned forward and placed a kiss on my forehead. 

I grumbled as the feeling of his bristly moustache tickled me, but couldn't help but smile wider when I heard him give a small chuckle.