"Christmas is so close, I can almost smell the mistletoe I'm not going to be kissed under." – A Relatable Post
Dedication: Qinfinity8 for your lovely comment on the previous chapter! Thanks for the vote of confidence and support <3
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Andrew's POV
"Bleurgh! Who brewed this crap coffee? It tastes like spoilt milk and tears of children. Erin, did you buy this on purpose?"
"It was the only coffee they had! My jumbo chocolate chip cookie tastes like sawdust, so I'm not much better off. Stop complaining and grow a pair, Alex."
"Mom, dad, shush! His finger's twitching."
"Why's it doing that? Is he having a seizure?"
"Don't be ridiculous. He's obviously summoning Satan."
A blur of tones jumbled within Andrew's mind. He had no time to decipher whose voice was whose, since each were dominated by a scream that rang in his mind. Sound waves bounced within his skull, echoing with one familiar voice. Pitchy and infused with terror. The strangest thing about that voice? It was shouting his name. Andrew.
Recent memories escaped his grasp. The only fact that remained in his befuddled mind was that he was cast under the glare of fluorescent lights, glowing beneath his eyelids. The sight was marvellous with closed eyes; an explosion of scarlet and gold.
"Maybe he's trying to make a finger puppet."
"I'll never understand how you two became parents."
"Honey, it starts with the birds and the bees–"
"Erin, Lucy's brother died and came back to life a few days ago. She doesn't need the talk."
"...I can't believe we almost lost him."
"If that Quinn girl hadn't called the ambulance in time, he probably wouldn't have made it. We need to thank her once Andrew's recovered."
"How about we send her a few tubs of ice cream and call it a day?"
"That's such a–"
"Hey," one of the voices murmured beside Andrew. The other two became fuzzy, while this one became clearer. He could feel her warm breath tickling his right ear. A light floral fragrance wafted past his nostrils. Perfume. A familiar one, at that.
He had enough sense to register that this was not the one who screamed. Although the identity of the persona remained a nagging sensation at the back of his mind, he deduced that this voice was younger. Calm and controlled. He envisioned a teenaged girl, adorned with swirling hazel eyes. Caramel curls with natural golden highlights.
"He's waking up!"
Two voices had chimed in unison. Images of both hazy faces swam into view in his mind. The woman with a motherly beam, illuminating her mischievous hazel eyes and auburn waves. The man whose smile was softer, more soothing, a reflection of Andrew's own. His blonde hair unkempt from days of running his hand through it. Blue eyes twinkling like sapphires.
Andrew's eyes snapped open. The images sharpened to high definition.
His sister grinned from a distance which totally violated his personal bubble rule. His limbs felt more like bags of wet sand than skin and bone, so he was unable to reel back in shock like any functional human being would have. At a more respectable distance stood his parents, holding coffee and cookies, looking relieved at his awakening.
"Can you guys quiet down?" Andrew mumbled, though his attention was captured by the irritating beeping noise nearby. Although it took more effort that he'd like to admit, he craned his neck and caught sight of the heartbeat monitor on his left. The beat was steady, which was good. He didn't want to die right after he woke up.
"Sorry, dear brother," Lucy remarked. The smirk tugging at her lips told him she was not apologetic in the slightest. "Our parents are being children."
"Glad nothing's changed while I've been unconscious," Andrew replied. He extended his arms, doing a double take when he noticed his left one was wrapped in a neon pink cast. "Why am I wearing this?"
"Your arm's broken," Erin answered, exchanging a look with her husband that Andrew couldn't decipher. Although she tried to keep her voice chipper, he couldn't help but notice the tinge of grey under her eyes. From certain angles, a raisin hue lined them.
"I chose the colour," Lucy interjected, suppressing a chuckle. "Pink suits you. If anyone decides to make a live action Barbie film, you should totally audition for it."
Although all of them feigned lightheartedness, it was clear their nerves had been frayed, waiting to see if Andrew's lifeline would be snipped. Lucy's left eye had developed a tic. Erin, his mother, was gripping her cookie so tightly he was surprised it hadn't been reduced to crumbs. Beneath his relieved smile, he could tell that Alex, his father, was clenching his jaw to keep himself awake. Andrew felt a rush of affection for them all.
Despite this, he found himself asking another question. "Where am I?"
Alex stated the obvious. "A hospital."
"No, he's in a morgue," his wife said sarcastically. She seated herself beside Andrew and smoothed his bedsheets, as though she had done it a hundred times. From the way her faint wrinkles were more prominent than usual, and the slumping way she held herself, Andrew suspected she probably had.
"What happened?" he croaked.
Lucy grabbed a glass of water from his bedside table, which was covered in elaborate cards, boxes of chocolate, and a pack of fresh sushi. She handed the water to him. He nodded his thanks, taking a grateful sip. "You crashed into a boulder," she explained.
Andrew choked on his sip. "I did?"
Lucy glanced at her parents hesitantly, asking them for permission to elaborate. Alex dragged a chair beside the bed and flopped on it, gnawing on his bottom lip pensively. Erin threw away her cookie, which made a perfect parabola into the trash. She nodded. Lucy took that as a cue to continue.
"I– I don't know the details. Only the girl who called the ambulance did. Apparently you were skiing down one of the mountains and you veered off course. You chose a bad day to ski. The snow was picking up. You skidded into a nearby boulder. Broke your arm. Cracked your skull. Blood everywhere. You– You nearly snapped your vertebrae."
Andrew tried to drink this in calmly. Unfortunately, he had a sudden urge to start screaming and running around in circles.
"You were–" Alex's voice cracked. It took him a few seconds to regain his composure, though Andrew had always admired his father's ability to not freak out in these dire situations. "You were dead for two minutes."
"The ambulance arrived soon after your heart stopped," Erin continued, her voice shaky. Her gaze flickered to the heart rate monitor, as though expecting it to flatline any second. "They happened to be in the area. They managed to revive you and contacted us. Took you here and fixed you up."
"Sorry for worrying you," Andrew said awkwardly. "Am I in trouble?"
His parents had a conversation with their eyes while Lucy raised her eyebrows at Andrew. Alex turned back to his son. "No, it was our fault for forcing you to learn how to ski."
"You're not in trouble," Erin chimed in, though the reproachful tinge in her swirling eyes said otherwise. "We're glad you're okay, but you're not going back to the lodge."
It took a few seconds for the words to have effect on Andrew, but when they did, his world crashed down around him. "W– What?" he stammered. "Why not?"
Lucy shot her brother an incredulous look. "Why would you want to go back? You almost died! At least we can keep an eye on your clumsy ass here."
"Language!" Alex reprimanded.
Lucy rolled her eyes and was about to start another tirade of protests, but Andrew beat her to it. "Wait!" he protested. "There's a girl–"
Something changed in his sister's expression. Over the years, it had become easier to read each other's faces. Andrew could see understanding soften the keen edge of her icy eyes. Their parents glanced at each other in confusion, yet Lucy knew. She opened her mouth to speak, but was suddenly interrupted by an untimely arrival.
A figure dressed in a lab coat rushed into the room, diverting their attention. His thin glasses were askew and dark hair sticking up in every direction, which was a state Andrew had never seen him in. He was usually put together. His current resemblance to a mad scientist was disconcerting. It was as if he'd stuck his finger in a power socket.
"I heard the rapid beeps. What happened? Why is his heart rate quickening?" the doctor interrogated Alex, who jerked his head in the direction of the bed. He caught sight of his propped up patient. "You're awake!"
Andrew grinned. "Hey Tristan."
"Doctor Gray while we're here," he corrected to maintain a professional façade, though his eyes twinkled at the sight of Andrew. Tristan and his wife were family friends. They used to let him play with the ample amount of optometrist gadgets lying around. He had grown very fond of Andrew. "I'm glad you're okay, at any rate. You gave us quite a scare."
"Tell me about it," Erin grumbled. "The dipshit nearly gave me a heart attack."
"Language!" Alex said insistently. The entire room turned to glare at him. He sank down his chair under their frigid gazes. "Or not," he added hastily. "Carry on."
Tristan picked his way over to Andrew. He began twisting knobs and flicking switches, adjusting the painkillers being pumped into him. Andrew once made the mistake of asking what those knobs did. Tristan had rambled for hours on end. Since Andrew didn't want to make that mistake again, he settled for gazing silently at his heartbeat monitor.
"We'll need to keep you here for the next few days, but you should be discharged soon. Be careful. Don't go skiing in bad conditions," Tristan said sternly.
Andrew nodded, but his thoughts were elsewhere. The mere sight of Tristan triggered a memory of the quirky girl with strange symptoms and a fiery temper. The girl he had argued with. The girl who wrongly accused him of stealing a key.
Both of them had acted recklessly out of anger. Both spoke words they didn't mean. Quinn landed Andrew in hospital. Andrew almost lost her a job, having distracted her with calls almost every day. The anger had long since drained out of him, leaving a shell which longed to hear the sardonic voice of his beloved mozzarella stick.
Flashes of the past few days zipped by in his mind. Anger. Recklessness. Desperation to prove himself. He'd never felt that emotion before. Being the bearer of a weapon he didn't know how to use, took a toll on him.
Quinn's words about being a talentless freak was a slap in the face. He'd been called that all his life. A guy who enjoyed guitar more than gaming, writing more than wood chopping. He'd never let his emotions grow out of control, because he was teased by classmates, not friends. Quinn was a friend, and to hear her say that – it was a blow.
The scene blinked before him. Top of the mountain. Thrilling. Down the mountain. Wind rushing through his hair. Down. Down. Down. Faster than he had ever gone. Too fast. Foot slip. Heading too far to the left. Panicking. Digging his ski poles in to slow down. Doesn't work. Careering out of control. Boulder ahead. Fear. Crash. Pain. Darkness.
But there was a scream.
Someone was there, right before he had crashed. Someone who had seen him hurtling down the mountain. Someone who was warned in advance. There was only one person he told. Only one person he needed to prove to. The one who saved his life. The one who put it at risk in the first place.
Blood drained out of Andrew's face as he realised who that strangled cry belonged to.
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Quinn's POV
"If this is who I think it is, glance out your window. There's a small mountain on the left. See the summit? Keep an eye on it tomorrow afternoon."
As much as Quinn tried to resist the tug of Andrew's voice, riddled with hard emotion that clenched her heart like an iron fist, she couldn't help but listen. After her cruel tirade of insults a few days ago, which flooded out of her mouth without consideration of consequences, she was already prickling with remorse.
Quinn dug her fingers into her temples, wishing her conscience would have enough manners to stop screaming self-disparagement. Moments after the insults had left her mouth, she was wishing she could suck them back in. Andrew's dry sarcasm had been tinged with anguish, and that was when she knew she had royally fucked up.
The current situation was worse than any story Quinn could dream up. Andrew, oh, that idiotic chipmunk, chose the worst challenge possible to prove his worth. The mountain. It was an understated curve on the snowy plains, but an inexperienced skier would have a field day trying to get to the bottom without face-planting into a tree. Everyone who was familiar with the area knew how hazardous that mountain was.
Andrew was clearly not familiar with the area.
He had barely been here three weeks. He didn't know the ropes. A reckless move out of pride, a slip of the foot, and he could be hurtling down the path to a critical injury rather than victory. Quinn's stomach sank, seemingly weighed down by an anchor. She attempted to voice her stream of warnings, but she also knew that Andrew was unlikely to listen to what she'd say. Never had she felt so helpless.
Quinn could only manage a strangled, "why?"
Of course, she'd been feigning as a voicemail machine up until this moment, but it was clear that Andrew had seen right through her papery façade. The hesitant wobble in her voice and a hint of joy from hearing him speak must have given it away. She decided it was pointless to continue pretending. There were enough secrets between them.
"Because I'm going to prove how much talent the talentless freak has," Andrew responded with a hint of defiance.
Quinn, who had been unconsciously jiggling her thigh to alleviate her nervous tension, froze. Her suspicions were true. Andrew, the crazy boy, was going to ski down the mountain of doom. She clambered out of her seat as though to sprint to Andrew's room and warn him, but calmed herself and lowered into an awkward half-stand, half-sit position.
"Have fun chatting to static." Andrew's voice contained the bitter mordacity which Quinn had loved when he was complaining about others. Now that she was the sufferer, she felt a surge of remorse for those who had been the victim of their gossip.
Quinn had been too busy feeling sorry for herself to properly register his words. Once she did, panic began pulsing at the same velocity as her heart rate. "Wait, don't–"
Too late.
Quinn stared at the motionless landline so intently that she almost believed it would burst into flames. She contemplated chucking the device at the wall as hard as she could, but she was already on her boss's bad side. Breaking vital equipment would be the last straw. Even so, the idea was tantalising.
Instead, she rose from her wooden chair – since her boss felt as though equipping her with a comfy seat would further compromise her ability to answer calls – and wiped her clammy hands on black jeans. The next twenty-four hours were spent aimlessly rearranging shelves and items, waving Oliver off when he offered her a chocolate bar, and glancing out the window every few seconds to make sure no chipmunks would go streaking past.
"Why the resting bitch face?" Oliver asked.
Ugh. If only Oliver Twist could twist the key that would seal his mouth forever.
Just thinking the thought made guilt bubble in her stomach. Oliver was another person whom she hadn't treated well enough. Someone who was a punching bag for her endless verbal torment. Both he and Andrew had put up with her for so long. How? If she'd tried to do that, she would have sucker punched herself in the gut within the first hour.
I doubt you'd even be able to make a dent in Play-Doh, Andrew's voice teased in her befuddled mind.
Imaginary Andrew was asking for a sucker punch.
"Shut up!" Quinn growled.
Oliver's eyebrows creased, but he spoke lightly. "If you want me to go away, you could at least say so nicely. I don't want you to be on the naughty list this year."
It was only then she realised she had spoken out loud. She hurriedly shook her head. Imaginary Andrew's voice bid her adieu.
"Sorry," Quinn apologised sheepishly. "I do want you around. I was just–" she realised that speaking to an imaginary version of her friend would imply her spiral into insanity. She changed tactics mid-sentence. "–Er, practising my lines for a play. You know, um, Hamlet or something. Yeah, Hamlet."
Tacking a sign on her head spelling LIAR would have been more discreet.
"Uh huh." Oliver looked unconvinced, but he didn't press the topic. Quinn was glad he hadn't seen Hamlet, because shut up was not in the script. She would know. Her crazed English teacher insisted on her students memorising the entire thing last year.
The scuffling of footfalls distracted her from Shakespearian thoughts. Quinn's gaze instinctively flickered to the window while Oliver left the room, hoisting a bundle of tinsel larger than his body. The glass was coated in a thin layer of frost, but she could make out a figure marching up the mountain. She rubbed off the ice with her sleeve, knowing there was only one person who would be there. Quinn sucked in a breath.
Andrew was hot.
It wasn't as though she was expecting ghoulish skin which had never greeted sun, and a body so light it could be lifted by a breeze, but when Andrew told her he had been hassled – she thought it was due to his looks. It clearly wasn't. Though on the skinny side, he had muscle definition. Tousled blonde hair complimented his crystallised irises. Every time they caught the sunlight, they flashed like bolts of glittering ice.
Quinn didn't realise her mouth was hanging open until she caught sight of her gormless reflection in the window. Cheeks flaming, she snapped her jaw shut. Andrew used a ski lift to make it to the top of the mountain. Blood roared in Quinn's head, shouting at her to prevent this somehow. But how? She was helpless. She was too far away.
Quinn could only watch with dread as Andrew put on his ski goggles, briefly surveyed his surroundings, and was off without a moment of hesitation. Although she admired his exceptional bravery, her fists were clenched, knuckles white as snow. Just waiting for something to happen.
Andrew careered down the mountain, almost expertly, zigzagging around naked trees and Mother Nature's smallest pebbles. He gave a shout of exhilaration as he neatly swerved around a bowling ball sized rock. Quarter of the way. A third of the way. Halfway down. Three quarters. Almost at the bottom. Nothing touched him. Quinn's spirit lifted.
Naturally, that was when everything went wrong.
Quinn didn't have a clear view of what happened, but her legs were planted in terror as Andrew hurtled to the left, his expression now flooded with fear. He streaked past her window uncontrollably. Too late, both of them noticed the looming boulder in his path. Andrew dug his ski poles in the ground. He moved too fast. His reaction time was too slow. He skidded and skidded and–
Next thing Quinn knew, he lay in a crumpled heap before the boulder. She heard hysterical screaming. She wished it would stop, until she realised it was coming from her own mouth. Her legs unfroze. She tore outside, lungs aflame from running or sobbing – she couldn't tell. Andrew's body was motionless.
She couldn't hold back her strangled shriek. "Andrew!"
He didn't stir.
He was clearly unconscious, but Quinn's bacon and eggs – inhaled several hours ago – shifted uncomfortably as she caught sight of the angle his left arm was bent at. His skin glittered snowy pale, but the impact would equate to bruises soon. Worst of all, the blood. It gushed out of his head in a mesmerisingly gruesome manner, staining pristine snow the same colour as her mom's lipstick.
Quinn had to fight the urge to start screaming again, but managed to steel herself and dial the ambulance. It rang for only a few seconds before a male voice answered. "911, what is your emergency?"
Any thought of staying calm flooded out of Quinn's mind. The words she gasped out were barely intelligible. "M– My friend – A– Andrew – he– he's injured!"
"Miss, stay calm. Tell me what happened."
Quinn quickly learned that being told to stay calm, did not actually help her stay calm in the slightest. "He– he thought he c–could ski– ski down a m– mountain and he acci– accidentally veered o– off course and– and crashed in– into a b– boulder!"
The voice was silent for a few seconds. "What injuries can you see?"
"He's un– unconscious, there's b– blood leaking out of his h– head, l– left arm probably broken. It's– It's all my fault! Chipmunk, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" she cried, and it wasn't just for the accident. It was for everything. Blaming him for stealing the key. There was no way he'd go to these lengths unless he wasn't guilty. Her closed off manner. Her constant insults. Her cruel sarcasm. Jumping to a false conclusion.
"Did you check his pulse?" the man interrupted her flood of silent apologies.
With sudden realisation that she hadn't, Quinn snatched at Andrew's wrist and felt for a pulse. Nothing. A prickly dread started to climb up her back. She pressed her fingers to his neck. Nothing. The dread crept to her fingers and toes. She placed her hand over his heart. The dread receded, leaving only numbness.
"Miss? Are you alright?"
"Oh my God," Quinn whispered.
"What is it?" the man asked urgently.
She could barely get the words out. "His– His heart's stopped."
The next few minutes passed by in a blur of lights and collective gasps. Cries pierced the air every time someone laid eyes on Andrew's unconscious form. People asked questions. They pelted Quinn with them. She wouldn't answer. She could only bury her face in the crook of Andrew's shoulder and weep.
As authorities grabbed her arms and hoisted her away from the accident, she screamed in a voice she didn't even recognise.
Before long, Andrew had been hauled into the ambulance. Before long, lights flashing and sirens wailing at a painfully high pitch, the truck had peeled away to the nearest hospital. Before long, fresh layers of snow muffled the crimson beneath, as if nature was pretending the accident never happened.
Before long, several days had passed.
"I switched to housekeeping. We're running short on them, and there's no point teaching skiing after... y'know. Everyone's too afraid to hit the slopes," Penelope explained.
The springs creaked heavily as she sat on Quinn's unmade bed. She hadn't asked Penelope where she had been, even though she'd offered an explanation. Quinn hadn't listened properly. She didn't care anymore. Penelope could've been vacationing in Antarctica with penguins for company and Quinn wouldn't have batted an eye.
"You should go outside! The weather's great for making snow angels."
Quinn stared at the wooden floor panels.
"You haven't talked for days, Quinn. Everyone's getting worried."
She remained unresponsive.
There had been no news since the accident. Not even a phone call. Andrew could be in the midst of cardiac arrest at this moment for all she knew. The thought made her queasy.
Everyone was in shock on the first day. Then another day passed. Then two more. Soon after, everyone was back to normal, bustling around like nothing had happened.
Everyone except Quinn.
Penelope didn't need a verbal indication. She hesitantly stretched out an arm, hugging Quinn to her side when the latter didn't resist. It was a sweet gesture, but ineffective. Nothing could break her shroud of gloom. Nothing could fix her. Nothing except–
Oliver rushed in, tufts of snowflakes resting on his hair. Even his cheerful mood had been marred by the incident. His daily singing of Christmas carols had ceased. Quinn knew he was having trouble sleeping, just like she was. But this time was different. His step was perkier. Almost chipper. Oliver broke out into the first grin she'd seen in days.
"He's stable."
And just like that, Quinn's shroud of gloom dissipated to form a beacon of hope.
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Geez, I didn't think I was capable of writing such a tragic chapter, since humour is my strong suit, but there you go. I've never been this mean to my characters before. Oops.
Nevertheless, I found this chapter fun to write, which is rare these days. Also, to those who put up with my angst and sporadic updates, thank you. I'm so grateful for those of you who are patient with me. Anyway, I don't have much holiday left. I start school in two weeks, but I'll try and get the rest of this story prewritten before then. Once school starts, I can't promise frequent updates or activeness on Wattpad.
On another note, I hope you enjoyed the cameos! Not to worry, the #Quindrew ship hasn't sunk. There's reconciliation to come. Stay tuned ;)