I don’t understand how I end up in these situations. I had just gotten out of the hospital just to be put back in it. Bless Copper, though. When I awoke, he was standing over my bedside with a flower pot like Shane did in The Walking Dead, except, it was just the pot. I wasn’t really aware of my condition, but I knew I couldn’t move my legs or my arm, or my right eye. Copper told me that I suffered from a broken leg, a fractured arm, a busted hand, three Cracked Ribs, a crushed lung, and a bashed face. He said it with so much unneeded excitement, too, as if I was a wrestler who only bore tiny cuts compared to his losing opponent. The medics kept telling me how if I hadn’t flattened out underneath the belly of the van, I would’ve die. I don’t remember much of the actual collision, except that there were headlights and I fell to the ground.
When I was fully conscious, Copper told me that he cried all the way to the hospital, holding my hand and begging me “not to die.” The strange thing about the accident was that it still didn’t show me that people cared about me. Perhaps normal people would be overwhelmed by the kindness of their friends and realise that they were indeed loved. But for me, I was still uncertain. I know I’ve mentioned many times about the closeness of my friendship with Copper, but through all of it, I questioned his motives and affections towards me every day. I could never rest in the assurance that he really did care for me. That is partly the reason why I didn’t fight him hard enough about leaving me to move in with Fiona—I sort of expected to be left alone.
Copper had phoned my parents about my latest caper and had asked if they would come and see me. My mum’s response was that she would try and make it. My father (who’s been out of prison for awhile) gave a blatant, no. Was I hurt over their replies? I don’t know. I think I’ve calloused myself to feelings and hope for so long that nothing really mattered to me unless someone picked me apart. I think Copper has learned to stop at a certain level with me, as I think he feared I would go catatonic with all the thoughts I’ve bottled up. I haven’t even figured out why I am the way I am. I’ve just been constantly rejected by people I looked up to that I’ve made excuses to myself to cover up the pain.
As for Kris Madison and Shannon, I don’t know what to do with them. I hope that my last encounter with Shannon closed our door forever, and I sure hope my last encounter with Kris hasn’t ended. Even though she has a boyfriend and seems well off, I still have this intuitive feeling that we must be something more. There was too much chemistry I read between us—or, did I read it all wrong? Did I overthink again and build my hopes up too quick? If I hadn’t believed there was a chance between us, I wouldn’t have ended up in the hospital. Maybe getting struck by the vehicle was the proper response to my stupid idea of getting Kris back.
Hopelessly,
Benji Dore