Chapter 27 | I Can't Think Right Now
(unedited bc it's 5:30 a.m. and I haven't been to sleep bc insomnia)
“Life is pain. Anyone who says differently is selling something.” — The Princess Bride
“I-is it alright if I call you back in just a few seconds?” I ask Graham with a small sniffle, glancing up from the carpeted floor and over at Dr. Westbourne, who’s looking around the waiting room, waiting for someone to step forward. “A doctor just walked in and she’s asking who’s here with Jackson,” I explain.
“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Graham assures me, sounding relieved that he’s about to get some information on his brother’s condition. “After you’re done talking to her, just call me back and let me know what’s going on with J, okay? We’re getting off on an exit now, so we’ll be back there in a few hours,” He says.
“Okay,” I reply, using my free hand to wipe a few tears away from my face as I stand up from the floor. “I’m really, really, really sorry, Graham,” I apologize.
“Sawyer, stop apologizing,” He says with a small sigh. “I promise you that I’m not mad at you, okay? I know that it wasn’t your fault and you have to stop beating yourself up over it. I’m sure it could have been so much worse, so I’m just glad you’re alright and hopefully Jackson will be too. I love you, okay?”
“I love you too, Graham,” I whisper, mostly because I don’t really trust my voice right now. I’m trying really hard to not cry because I don’t want the doctor to see me crying, but it’s just not working out for me. “I’ll call you right back,” I promise him in the same whisper before saying goodbye and hanging up, slipping my phone down into the pocket of my jeans and making my way over to Dr. Westbourne.
“Sawyer?” She asks, clearly surprised to see me. I mean, I do work here, but I’m never really here in the waiting room area. “What are you doing here?”
“I-I’m with Jackson Cambridge,” I hiccup, running my fingers through my hair and fighting to keep tears back. “Is he alright? Please tell me he’s alright.”
“You’re with Jackson?” Dr. Westbourne questions, flipping through the papers on the clipboard that she’s holding. “Are you two related?” She asks me.
“No, but he’s my boyfriend’s little brother,” I tell her. “He’s out of town and I’m babysitting for him,” I explain. “He’s okay, right? Please let him be okay.”
“Wait a minute, were you the one driving?” She asks, looking up from her clipboard at me. “I didn’t see your name in the system—have you been seen?”
“I-I was driving,” I confirm with nod. “I refused treatment though,” I tell get, getting a little bit annoyed by the fact that she isn’t answering my question. “But I’m fine,” I assure Dr. Westbourne, noticing the worried look on her face “Jackson’s the one that’s important right now so please tell me if he’s okay.”
“Sawyer,” Dr. Westbourne says, trying to calm me down, because I guess I look like I’m about to freak out and maybe have a mental breakdown, which is very possible at this point. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, I don’t handle stressful situations very well at all. “Why don’t we go to the Consultation Room?”
“T-the Consultation Room?” I echo, my eyes going wide and my heart skipping a few beats. “B-b-but that’s…t-that’s where doctors take people when they tell them that whoever they’re at the hospital for didn’t make it,” I tell her, even though she obviously already knows that. My work area is only a few feet from the Consultation Room and every time I see a doctor take a family in there, they stay for only a few minutes and then they all come out crying.
“Sawyer—”
“Oh my God,” I shriek, my mind just not comprehending what that means. She wouldn’t want to take me to the Consultation Room if Jackson was okay. She wouldn’t want to take me to the Consultation Room if Jackson wasn’t…gone. Oh my God. “Oh my God, no. Please, please, please,” I plead, starting to get delirious as the tears start streaming down my face and my knees buckle. I fall to the floor and start hyperventilating. “No, no, no. That’s not fair!”
“Sawyer, calm down,” Dr. Westbourne instructs, kneeling down in front of me and putting her hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay,” She tells me, wrapping her arms around me, trying to hug me. She knows about my past to an extent. She’s the doctor I saw after I came to the hospital a few days after that Halloween Party to get checked out and whatnot. I think that she thinks I’m a really fragile person or something (which, I guess I am) and so she’s trying to keep me calm because she knows that if I don’t, I’ll wind up having a full blown panic attack right here on the floor of this hospital. “Jackson isn’t dead.”
“H-he’s not?” I ask, looking up at her.
“No, he’s not,” She assures me, shaking her head.
“Promise?” I reply, doing the breathing exercise that Dr. Fontana told me to do if I ever feel like I’m about to have a panic attack and don’t have my meds.
“Yes, Sawyer, I promise,” Dr. Westbourne nods, standing up and reaching down for my hand, helping me up from the floor. “I’ll be completely honest with you though—it doesn’t look good. That’s why I wanted to go in the Consultation Room, so that we could discuss Jackson’s condition,” She explains.
“Oh, right,” I awkwardly reply with a nod. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea then,” I agree, using my jacket sleeves to wipe my face. If I weren’t so utterly relieved right now over the fact that I didn’t kill my boyfriend’s little brother, I’d be embarrassed about what just happened, especially because I can feel everyone in the waiting room staring at me and the fact that Dr. Westbourne probably thinks I’m an idiot now. She just said that it isn’t good though, so I can’t be too happy, but being not good is a hell of a lot better than being dead if you ask me.
Dr. Westbourne and I take off then, walking together to the end of the hallway, which is where the Consultation Room is located. When we get to it, she pulls her keys from the pocket of her white lab coat and unlocks the door, pushing it open and gesturing for me to go in first. I do and sit down in one of the eight leather chairs in the room and then I pull my knees up in the chair with me, wrapping my arms around them. Dr. Westbourne follows me in and closes and locks the door. She walks over to the window in the room that gives a view of the waiting room and grabs the stick on the blinds, twisting them closed. Then she sits down across from me, crosses her left leg over her right, turns on the lamp on the stand beside her and looks down at her clipboard.
“I’m not technically supposed to be doing this, you know,” She tells me.
“Not technically supposed to be doing what?” I ask, slowly rocking back and forth, still a little freaked out over the fact that I thought Jackson was dead.
“Telling you the condition of a patient,” Dr. Westbourne explains. “You know, since you’re not family. Have you gotten in contact with either of his parents?”
“His father’s in prison and his mother’s with my boyfriend out of town,” I explain to her. “His parents don’t have custody of him though—his brother does.”
“Your boyfriend?” She guesses.
“No, his other brother—Tucker.”
“Well, have you been able to get in contact with Tucker?” Dr. Westbourne asks.
“He’s in Belize,” I sigh, shaking my head. “He just got married yesterday,” I say.
“What about any aunts or uncles? Do you know if any of them live nearby?” Dr. Westbourne wonders. “If so, I’m going to need to contact them first.”
“He has in aunt in Boston,” I tell her, which is what Graham told me. “But Boston’s too far away. Dr. Westbourne, please. I am literally begging you.”
“Well, since you are the only one with any sort of relation to him, I guess I have no choice,” Dr. Westbourne sighs with an apprehensive look on her face. Maybe she’s worried about losing her medical license or getting fired for breaking a rule, but I’m pretty dang sure that given the situation, what she’s doing is totally understandable. “Are you sure you can handle this? I know you have panic attacks and the last thing I want to do is set one of them off.”
“I can handle this,” I assure her, even though I’m not totally sure I can. I mean, I know he isn’t dead, so that’s obviously great news, but there’s still so much that could be wrong. What if he’s paralyzed from the neck down? What if he has amnesia? What if he’s in a vegetable state? What if he’s deformed?
“Well, alright then, if you’re sure,” Dr. Westbourne proceeds, giving me a questioning look. When I nod in confirmation, she gives me a small smile and then glances down at the clipboard that’s resting on her lap. “Okay, for starters, he’s currently in serious condition. When he was first brought in, he was in critical condition, but, fortunately, that has been downgraded. What serious condition means is that his vitals are unstable and not within normal limits. Secondly, he’s currently having the operating room having an emergency splenectomy—”
“Wait, what does that mean?” I ask, getting confused because I don’t get her medical talk.
“A splenectomy?” She asks and when I nod, she says, “It’s surgery to have your spleen removed. Jackson’s spleen was ruptured in the car accident, which led to internal bleeding. When I last spoke to Dr. Grey a few minutes ago, he told me that they’d managed to stop the bleeding, which is good. Still though, Jackson did have severe blood loss and he’s definitely going to need a transfusion once the operation is complete. Now, the good news is you don’t need a spleen to live, but the bad news is that without a spleen, he’s going to be a lot more susceptible to illnesses and infections because the spleen is what fights off infection. Do you follow everything I’m saying?” She asks me then.
“I think so, yeah,” I confirm with a nod, having calmed down a significant amount. I take this moment to thank every God in the sky that of all the organs that could have been ruptured in Jackson’s little body, it was just his spleen. I mean, yeah, I know that spleens are important but they’re definitely not as vital to the body as a lung or a kidney or a heart. “So, you said he’s going to need a blood transfusion, right? So, I can donate my blood?” I ask her hopefully. I’m not really keen on the idea of being stuck with a needle and having my blood sucked out of my body, but this whole thing is technically my fault and I want to help Jackson in any way I possibly can and if that means having to endure a needle being shoved in me, then I’ll have to deal with it.
“Well, assuming that your blood type is a match with Jackson’s blood type, you definitely could donate blood. You’d have to be tested and questioned first, to make sure your blood is good for donation, but if that checked out, there’d be no reason why wouldn’t be able to. Do you know your blood type?”
“I think it’s…AB+ maybe?” I reply with a small shrug. My mom made Beckett and me donate blood a few months back and they told us our blood type then, but I don’t really remember what the lady told me it was. I feel like it was AB+. “So, I can do that today? Like, once we’re done talking?” I question.
“You can, if you’d like,” Dr. Westbourne confirms. “But once we’re done, I’d like to examine you.”
“Doctor, I told you I’m fine,” I murmur with a small sigh. I don’t know why she’s so focused on me right now—Jackson’s health is way more important.
“You might be fine on the outside, Sawyer, but the inside could be a different story,” Dr. Westbourne defends. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
“Alright,” I appease her just so that she’ll stop talking about me and what could be wrong with me and start back talking about Jackson and what actually is wrong with him. I really, really hate hospitals (yeah, I work at one, but I work at the front desk, which is a relatively calm place) but I guess getting an examination from Dr. Westbourne wouldn’t be the worse idea ever. “What else about Jackson?”
“Right, well, Jackson also suffered a Trimalleolar fracture in his right leg. Basically, that’s an ankle fracture that involves the posterior, lateral, and medial malleolus,” She explains, looking back down at her clipboard. “After Dr. Grey finished the splenectomy, I’ll go in and perform an Open Reduction Internal Fixation on Jackson’s leg to set the bone and put in a few screws to keep it in place. Just so you know though, an OPIC does have a lot of risks and complications that come along with it, such as bacterial colonization of the bone, nerve damage, deformity, etcetera. And the fracture of the bone was so severe, there’s a strong possibility that Jackson might never fully recover, but I’m going to do my absolute best to see to it that that possibility doesn’t become a reality. And lastly, there’s some minor bruising and a few lacerations, but they’ll heal fairly quickly, I’m sure.”
“And that’s everything?” I ask her hopefully. I mean, yeah, the fact that Jackson has to get his spleen removed and essentially has a broken leg are both incredibly heartbreaking, but when you consider the severity of the car accident and how bad the weather was, it could have been so, so much worse. Still though, I can’t help but feel guilty. I know that technically speaking, I’m not at fault—like, if we were to take this to court, I wouldn’t be the one who’d get a ticket or whatever, it’d be the drive of the black SUV. But if I hadn’t taken the risk of driving in this stupid blizzard, none of this would have happened.
“That’s everything,” Dr. Westbourne confirms with a nod. “Do you have any questions?”
“Just one—so, is Jackson definitely going to make it out of this? Like, without a doubt?”
“I can’t promise you that,” She replies after a brief silence, shaking her head. “The thing is, Sawyer, that the spleen is a very, very delicate organ and there are several complications associated with a splenectomy. But if it helps ease your mind, Dr. Grey is one of the best general surgeons in the country.”
“I guess that does make me feel a little bit better,” I sigh, resisting the urge to ask her to be more specific about what kind of complications could accompany a splenectomy. I don’t think I want to know. Suddenly, I get this weird feeling in the bit of my stomach, like I’m about to throw up (which would be really tragic considering how delicious the breakfast from Panera Bread that Graham brought me was) and I sort of get a little bit of lightheaded also.
“Are you alright?” Dr. Westbourne asks me then, clearly noticing my discomfort.
“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” I reply, even though it’s not true—I feel like, crazy disoriented.
Dr. Westbourne opens her mouth, probably just to dispute or question what I said just now, but before she can actually get a word out, something in the room starts making a loud beeping noise. She reaches in the pocket of her white lab coat and pulls out a beeper, pushing a button on it that quietens it.
“It’s Dr. Grey,” She tells me, putting the beeper back in her pocket. “He’s done with the splenectomy,” Dr. Westbourne explains, standing from her seat.
“And it went well?” I ask, trying to read her expression but it doesn’t really work—doctors are pretty expressionless people when they’re working, I guess.
“We won’t know for at least a few hours, I’m afraid,” Dr. Westbourne replies, pulling her long brown hair back into a ponytail. “I have to go perform the OPIC now and once the anesthesia wears off and he wakes up, we’ll have a clearer idea of how he’s doing after we get the chance to monitor his vitals.”
“H-How are you so calm about this?” I ask her, running my fingers through my hair and wincing in pain as I feel a migraine coming on. I think what it comes off a little bit rude, but that wasn’t my intention at all—I’m genuinely curious as to how Dr. Westbourne isn’t having a nervous breakdown right now because I sure as heck am pretty close to having one. Then again though, she’s a professional and probably has to deal with stuff like this a bunch.
“I’ve been a doctor for twenty years—it’s become something like a second nature of mine to remain calm in stressful situations,” She explains. “Anyway, I’ll have one of my colleagues examine you and when I’m done with the OPIC, I’ll come and find you to check up and update you on Jackson’s condition.”
“Thank you, Dr. Westbourne,” I respond. “For taking care of me that night I came here after the Flynn thing, for telling me about Jackson, for everything.”
“There’s no need to thank me, Sawyer—that’s my job,” She reminds me with a small smile. “You wait here, I’ll have a doctor bring you to an exam room.”
I nod then and Dr. Westbourne leaves the Consultation Room, closing the door shut behind her. I peak out of the closed blinds then and watch as she walks away and when she gets far enough down the hallway that I’m fairly certain she won’t turn back around and come back in here for some reason, I turn back around in my chair and let out a loud sigh. The chair is very uncomfortable though and I don’t like it at all, so I get up and sit down on the carpeted floor, backing into a corner and putting my back against a wall. I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms tightly around then and then rest my chin on top of them and then let the tears I’ve been holding back fall. I didn’t want to cry in front of Dr. Westbourne—I don’t want to cry at all, but I don’t know what else to do and I’m really sad, so of course I’m going to cry.
I sit there on the floor in the dimly lit room for a few minutes, quietly sobbing and rocking back and forth before I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket. It’s probably Graham—I did tell him I’d call him back once Dr. Westbourne and I finished talking. I planned to too, I was just going to wait until I was done crying, because if there’s one person I hate to see (or hear) me cry, it’s my boyfriend. I pull my phone out of my pocket and sigh when I see that it’s not Graham’s name that flashes across the screen, but my Heather’s—my mom. I consider ignoring her call, but I don’t want to piss her off, so I hit the button to accept the call and put the phone up to my ear, but I don’t say anything.
“Sawyer, why are there three puppies in my house?” She asks, sounding frustrated. I guess she’s just getting home and seeing Bono and Noelle there. “Because I’m pretty sure I said I wasn’t okay with you keeping two puppies here when we’ve already got Zoe and I just don’t understand why you tho—“
“Mommy,” I murmur, interrupting her because she’s making my head hurt.
“Honey, what’s wrong?” My mom asks, her tone immediately going from angry to worried. She knows I only call her that—“mommy”—when I want something or when something’s wrong and I guess given the tone of my voice, she knows it isn’t the former. “Are you okay? Are you crying?” She queries.
“I wrecked my car,” I admit through my tears, hoping that she doesn’t start screaming at me or something because I just don’t think that I can handle that right now. The thing is, when I got my Audi on my sixteenth birthday, my mom told me that if I wrecked it, she wasn’t going to get me a new car and that I’d have to pay out of my own pocket to get it fixed. That’s not the part I’m worried about though—the car was just so expensive and I haven’t even had it for two years, so I know she’s going to be pissed about that. She’s always pissed when she feels like Beckett or I don’t take care of our stuff.
“Oh my God, are you okay? Where are you?” She demands, not even saying anything about the car, which is pretty surprising.
“I’m at St. David’s,” I explain. “I’m alright, but I had Jackson in the car with me and he…well, he’s not so okay,” I tell my mother.
“I’m on my way,” My mom says. “Have you been seen by a doctor? Where’s Jackson? Have you talked to Graham? I’m bringing your brother and friends.”
“T-that’s too many questions for me, mom,” I tell her, shaking my head as it starts throbbing. “I can’t think right now,” I explain.
“What do you mean you can’t think right now?” She echoes. “Is your head okay? Did you hurt it in the accident?” She wonders.
“M-maybe?” I stutter, trying to stand up, but I lose my balance and fall back down on the floor. “I-I’m in the East Wing, I think.”
“Okay, honey, just stay wherever you are—don’t try to go anywhere. I’m on my way there right now,” My mom tells me then.
“You’re not mad at me?” I ask, getting incredibly confused.
“Mad?” She repeats and in the background I hear Beckett asking her what’s going on. “Sawyer, why would I be mad at you?”
“B-because I wrecked my car,” I explain. “I told you that.”
“Sawyer, I don’t care about the car. We have insurance for a reason—I can get you a new car, but I can’t get a new Sawyer.”
“I’m sorry, I-I’m just really confused right now,” I tell her.
“It’s okay, honey—give me ten minutes and I’ll be there,” She says and I hear her car starting up. “I’m calling James,” She adds.
“Wait, you’re calling who?” I wonder, trying to keep up.
“James,” My mom echoes. “Dr. Fontana. Your psychiatrist? I think you need to talk to him. I’ll have him meet up with us there.”
“Okay, mommy,” I reply, even though I’m still confused.
I hang up the phone then and put it back in my pocket, trying again to stand up. I use the support of a chair beside me though and it helps me keep my balance. I stand to my feet, the feeling like I’m about to vomit striking me again. I feel really uncoordinated right now and I wonder if this is how drunk people feel whenever the cops make them do that one sobriety test where they’re supposed to walk in a straight line. I stumble over to the door and pull it open and walking out. Dr. Westbourne told me to stay in here, I remember that from just a few seconds ago, but I really feel like I’m going to throw up. Since this is sort of near the area of the hospital that I work in, I know where the nearest bathroom is. I start walking down the hallway, trying to get there, but when I make it about halfway, I get really dizzy and trip over literally nothing. I try to catch myself, but my equilibrium is all thrown off and I can’t, so I go flying face-first toward the titled floor, hitting it with a hard thud and then I black out.
✿✿✿✿✿✿
“Why isn’t she awake?” A voice, Beckett’s, it sounds like, irritably asks.
“Your sister is suffering from a traumatic brain injury, Mr. Jameson,” Another voice answers—I assume that one belongs to a doctor.
“But still, shouldn’t there be something that you guys can do?” He asks.
“The brain is very complex,” The doctor informs him. “When Miss Jameson is ready to wake up, she’ll wake up,” He assures him then.
“What if she’s already ready to wake up but she can’t?” Beckett wonders.
“Beckett, stop badgering the doctor,” My mother scolds Beckett, sounding annoyed—she’s not a very patient person. “I’m sure he’s doing all that he can.”
“Yeah, well, that’s obviously not good enough,” My brother grumbles, clearly annoyed by the fact that I’m not awake. I wonder how long I have been out.
“Do you want to go to the cafeteria or something?” Aspen asks Beckett. “You haven’t eaten anything since breakfast—aren’t you hungry?”
“Aspen, how am I supposed to eat at a time like this?” He asks her then. “At a time when my baby sister is practically on her death bed.”
“You’re being so dramatic, Beckett,” Piper tells him. “She’s not on her death bed—didn’t you hear Dr. Barnes say that she’ll wake up when she’s ready?”
“I just want to know what asshole is responsible for this,” Beckett murmurs. “That’s what I’m gonna do—I’m gonna go find out who did this her. Mom, call me when she wakes up,” He adds and then I hear footsteps pad across the floor and then there’s the sound of a door opening and closing. I wonder how Beckett thinks he’s going to find out who ran into Jackson and me. I mean, literally the only information I have is that it was a black SUV and it was near Imogen’s Ice Cream Shop at approximately 12:30—at least, I think that’s what around what time it was. Beckett’s a very irrational person though—I have no doubt in mind that he’ll knock on every single door in Andover that has a black SUV parked at it and interrogate everyone until he finds out who it was.
“Sienna just texted me,” Piper announces. “She said that Jackson’s anesthesia is starting to wear off and that he should be waking up soon,” She adds.
“Oh, thank God,” Aspen replies, breathing a sigh of relief. “Hopefully Sawyer follows suit sometime soon,” She sighs.
“Okay, Dr. Barnes, so what exactly happened to her?” My mother asks then with a small sigh.
“Your daughter has a concussion, Mrs. Jameson,” The doctor informs her. “My best guess is that when her car slide into the electrical pole, the impact from the other car and with gravity pushing down on her, she probably whacked her head pretty good against the driver’s side window,” He explains then.
I don’t remember that happening, but maybe memory loss is a side effect of concussions. I never had good memory to begin with though, so there’s that.
“I just can’t believe this,” Piper sighs, sounding all sad. “She’s been through so, so much these past few years and really just not fair at all,” She mumbles.
“I know, right?” Aspen mutters. “There’s lots of people who deserve bad things to happen to them, but Sawyer’s not one of them.” She adds in agreement.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have another patient to check on,” Dr. Barnes says. “I will be back soon,” He adds before leaving, pulling the door shut behind him.
Oh my God. I just remembered that I was supposed to be calling Graham back once I was done talking to Dr. Westbourne. I remember talking to my mom on the phone after she left and then I was going to go to the bathroom to throw up and when I got back into the Consultation Room, that’s when I was going to call him. But I never made it back to the Consultation Room, apparently, because I do sorta remember falling and blacking out in the hallway.
I bet he’s furious with me right now—not that I can say I blame him though, because he most definitely has good reason to be. Wow, I really am just kind of sucking at being a girlfriend today. I mean, first, I nearly kill Graham’s little brother and then I don’t even call him back to tell him the news like I literally promised him I would? Like, if he literally came in here and broke up with me, I wouldn’t even be surprised. Sad, yes, but definitely not surprised. I wonder how close he and Georgina are to Massachusetts now. I don’t know what time it is, but I would imagine it can’t be later than like, 2 o’clock. Granted, elapsed time never was my strong point. But anyways, if it is around 2:00-ish, then I would assume Georgina and Graham are either already in-state or close to it.
“I-I need my phone,” I say in a hoarse voice, forcing my eyes open, which kind of creates this painful pressure in my forehead. “Where’s my phone?”
“Sawyer!” Piper cheerfully exclaims, jumping up from the chair she’s sharing with Aspen and running over to hug me. “You’re awake!” She squeals.
“Hello to you too, Pipes,” I laugh, hugging her back. Well, halfway hugging her back. My right arm has an IV in it, so I can’t really move it that much.
“Here’s your phone,” Aspen says, grabbing my phone off of the table and walking over, hugging me and then handing it to me. “Why do you need it?”
“I need to call Graham,” I explain, putting my passcode in sighing in annoyance when I see that I was way off and it’s not anywhere near 2:00—it’s 3:15. Graham should definitely be back by now then, I think—if not in Andover, then at least back in Massachusetts. “I meant to call him a few hours ago, but I didn’t get to,” I tell her, finding his number in my phone and selecting the option to call. I guess since it’s already 3 o’clock, I must have been out a while.
“Honey, how are you feeling?” My mom asks, standing up from the recliner chair she’s sitting in and walking over to my bed, standing beside Piper.
“I feel alright,” I tell her, which is the truth. Earlier, I felt like complete garbage, which makes sense since I apparently have a concussion. I guess that’s what was making me so confused when I was talking on the phone with my mom a little bit ago, telling her that I crashed my car. My head hurts, but that’s nothing to be alarmed out, I don’t think. I’m just itching to know what’s going on with Jackson. Surely, Dr. Westbourne’s finished the OPIC by now.
“Good,” She replies with a grateful smile, leaning down and kissing me on my forehead. “I’ll be right back—I’m going to go find Dr. Barnes and tell him.”
“Sawyer?” Graham answers the phone on the second ring, sounding surprised by the fact that I’m calling, which is pretty peculiar.
“I know you’re mad at me but—” I start to say, about to explain my little black out episode just now and why I didn’t call him back.
“I’m not mad at you, Sawyer,” Graham assures me with a small laugh. “I know what happened—Sienna called me about an hour ago and told me that you had some kind of black out? What happened? Are you alright? I mean, clearly you’re alright now since you’re calling but what was wrong?” He asks.
“Apparently I have a concussion,” I explain with a small sigh, putting my head back on the pillows that are propped up behind me. “After Dr. Westbourne told me everything that was happening with Jackson, I started feeling a little bit lightheaded and I was supposed to be getting looked at by a doctor, but I was headed to the bathroom because I felt like I was gonna throw up, but I guess I tripped and fell and blacked out on my way to the bathroom,” I state.
“This day just hasn’t been a very good day, has it?” Graham asks with a small laugh.
“No, no it has not,” I mumble in agreement. “It has been quite the opposite, actually.”
“I agree completely,” Graham replies. “So, what, did you just wake up or something?” He wonders.
“I did, yeah, just a little bit ago. I just wanted to call you and tell you what Dr. Westbourne told me.”
“Honestly, I’m kind of glad I don’t know,” He admits with a sigh. “I don’t think I could handle knowing J’s in so much pain and I’m miles and miles away from him. We’re in Beverly now though, so we’re getting close to town,” Graham tells me. “Is it that bad? Like, on a scale from one to ten, how bad it is?”
“On a scale from one to ten, I would say it ranks about…seven and a half,” I say, thinking back to everything that Dr. Westbourne told me and trying not to sugarcoat it. I don’t want to make it sound like Jackson’s doing great and let Graham be all optimistic and relieved because then when he gets here, he would see that Jackson’s actually not doing great at all. “In the car accident, his spleen was ruptured, so a doctor called Dr. Grey performed an emergency surgery to remove it. He lost a lot of blood too. Like, enough that he’s going to need a transfusion. I was supposed to be getting blood tested to see if I could donate some of mine to him, but now that I’ve had this little episode, I don’t know if they’ll let me. Also, his right leg is broken—I think that Dr. Westbourne said that he had a…um…tri…malle…olar fracture? Something like that. Anyway when Dr. Grey finished the splenectomy, she had to go in and perform an OPIC, which I think stands for like, Open Reduction Internal Fixation or something like that, on his leg to set the bone back into place. She was supposed to come and find me after she finished that to update me on his condition but since I’m the world’s biggest idiot, I blacked out in the middle of the hospital, so they brought me to a room and fixed me, I guess, so I have no idea what’s going on with him now. And I know you say you’re not mad at me, but I don’t believe you, because you should be mad at me. In fact, I want you to be mad at me. I want you to yell and scream and tell me how completely irresponsible and stupid I am, because that’s what—”
“Sawyer, there’s nothing that you can say that’s going to make me mad at you, so you might as well just stop trying, because it isn’t going to work,” Graham interrupts. “I’m mad at one person and one person only and that’s whatever jackass it is that ran into you guys,” He assures me. “I mean, maybe if you had been the one that caused the accident, then I’d be pretty mad at you, but it wasn’t your fault. It was out of your control. What could you have done? Bad things happen to good people, babe, that’s just how the world works. It’s stupid and it’s shitty but that’s how it works. But I’m promise you that I’m not mad at you and Jackson’s basically in love with you, so I bet you a good five dollars he’s not mad at you either. And my mom’s definitely not mad at you, if you’re worried about that. I haven’t been able to get in touch with Tucker or Cass yet, but I know they won’t be mad at you either. And do you know why? Because it wasn’t your fault. So, no one in the Cambridge Clan is mad at you, so you gotta stop being mad at yourself, okay?” Graham says.
“I don’t deserve you, you know,” I tell him in a quiet voice, kind of temporarily forgetting that two of my best friends are in the room, obviously listening.
“Now, that’s just a bald-faced lie,” Graham chuckles. “What room are you in? I’ll come see you when we get to St. David’s and find out how J is doing.”
“312,” I say, reading what Aspen writes on a piece of paper and holds up for me. So, I guess she and Piper can hear what he’s saying, so that’s awkward.
“Alright, well, I’d say we’re about fifteen minutes away, so as soon as I check in on Jackson, I’ll be there to see you,” Graham promises.
“Okie dokie,” I respond. “I love you and thanks for not being mad at me.”
“I love you too and you’re welcome for not being mad at you,” He states.
“Even in such a tragic time, you two still manage to be so stinking adorable,” Aspen tells me matter-of-factly once I hang the phone up.
“I know, right? We are pretty adorable,” I gloat with a grin, because it’s true. “But you and Beckett and Piper and Jason are also very adorable,” I tell her.
“Yeah, I guess so, but Beckett and I are way cuter than Piper and her beastly boyfriend,” Aspen replies, but she’s kidding. At least, I think she’s kidding.
“I’m pretty sure that like, two hours ago at the mall, we agreed that you were going to stop saying mean things about my boyfriend,” Piper reminds Aspen.
“We did, didn’t we?” Aspen remember and when Piper nods in agreement, Aspen says, “Well, okay, I take it back—you guys are cute, but only kind of.”
“Anyways,” I interrupt because I don’t want to hear the rest of this banter. “Where’s Sienna?” I ask, noticing the absence of my brown-haired best friend.
“She was in here at first but when Dr. Westbourne came in and said the surgery was over, she went in there with him,” Piper informs me. “She didn’t want him to be alone when he woke up,” She adds. “Also, she wanted to color and I guess they give out coloring pages and crayons in the kid’s section.”
Before I have the chance to respond, the door swings open and in walks my mom, following by a person who I assume is a doctor—Dr. Barnes, probably.
“Hello Sawyer,” Dr. Barnes greets with a warm smile, walking over and holding his hand out to me to shake, which I do. “How are you feeling?” He asks.
“I feel good,” I reply as my mom sits back down in the reclining chair and Piper and Aspen return to the chair that they’re sharing for some strange reason.
“That’s great to hear,” He replies, looking at the stupid loudly beeping multimodal monitor above my head that I think is showing my vitals and whatnot. “Well, your vitals are looking great,” Dr. Barnes tells me. “So, I’m going to need to ask you a few questions now, just to evaluate your cognition, alright?”
“Okay,” I nod in agreement, hoping his questions are easy questions that I actually know the answers to so they don’t try to keep me here for too long.
“Alright, so, who’s the President?” He asks, which seems like a pretty ridiculous question to me.
“Barack Obama is the President,” I answer. Hopefully the rest of his questions are just as easy.
“Good,” Dr. Barnes says, writing something down on his clipboard. “What month is it?”
“The month is February,” I reply, using my hand to run my fingers through my hair.
“Great,” He states, writing again on his clipboard. “Can you tell me your full name?”
“My full name is Sawyer Annabelle Jameson,” I recite. Wow, these are really easy.
“Alright last one, what year is it?”
“It’s 2014,” I answer, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. I was only out for about an hour or so—there’s no reason I shouldn’t have known all of the answers.
“You don’t seem to be having any trouble recalling any information, so that’s good—that’s always a big concern with brain trauma victims,” Dr. Barnes explains. “So, can you tell me about what happened earlier?” He asks me. “It’s perfectly fine if you don’t remember it all, just start with what you remember.”
“Well, there was my car accident and I think that I might have hit my head on the window? I’m not quite sure about that though, because I don’t really remember. But yeah, I think that’s what happened. Then after that, I came here with my boyfriend’s little brother in an ambulance and I waited in the waiting room for a little while to see how he was doing. So, Dr. Westbourne told me about his condition and while I waiting for her to send a doctor to come and get me for an examination, I was going to the bathroom, because I felt really sick to my stomach all of a sudden and on the way there, I kind of just tripped and blacked out. I was really dizzy and confused and nauseous and I guess my body just couldn’t handle it,” I explain to him as best I can.
“Dizziness, confusion, and nausea are all common symptoms of traumatic brain injuries,” He assures me. “And you’re not experiencing any of that now?”
“My head hurts, but aside from that, I feel peachy,” I tell Dr. Barnes. “Also, what is this and are you gonna take it out soon?” I ask, gesturing to the IV.
“That’s intravenous therapy,” Dr. Barnes explains to me then, putting his clipboard down and putting his hands down in the pockets of his white lab coat. “It’s infusing medication into your veins and the medication is what’s combating your symptoms,” He tells me. “And once the bag is empty, I’ll take it out.”
“So, once the bag is empty, you’ll take it out and I can go home,” I ask hopefully, glancing up at the clear bag that’s about halfway full of liquid medication.
“You’re definitely going to need to stay overnight,” Dr. Barnes replies, shaking his head. “We can’t risk sending you home where we can’t monitor you.”
“Well, then when can I go home?” I question, getting majorly annoyed by his news. Like I said, I hate hospitals, so I’m pretty anxious to get out of here.
“It’s a waiting game, I’m afraid,” Dr. Barnes tells me. “I’ll have Nurse Emma monitor you through the night and into the morning and we’ll have to see.”
“That doesn’t sound very promising, Dr. Barnes,” I say, sighing dramatically. I literally don’t even have time to be stuck in this hospital. I need to be out within the next few days because I still need to get Graham’s Valentine’s Day presents. Speaking of which, I wonder if we’re still going to celebrate Valentine’s Day on the fifteenth even though he’ll apparently be in town on the fourteenth. I’ll have to ask him when he gets here, which I hope is soon.
“I just don’t want to promise you anything in case it doesn’t work out,” Dr. Barnes justifies. “So, I’m going to send Nurse Emma in a little while to check your vitals again and take your IV out. Depending on how everything is looking then, we can talk about you going home, but don’t hold your breath.” He appeases me and then heads out of the room, saying that he has to go check on his other patients.
“Have I mentioned how much I hate hospitals?” I ask with an annoyed grumble.
“Dr. Barnes is just doing what he thinks is best for you, honey,” My mom states.
“I know what’s best for me better than Dr. Barnes does,” I scoff, rolling my eyes. “I feel just fine and there’s no reason I shouldn’t be allowed to go home.”
“You’re being very stubborn, you know,” Piper tells me, pulling her phone out and sliding her fingers across the screen. “Jason sends his condolences.”
“I thought you only send condolences when someone dies?” I question, getting a tad bit weirded out.
“No, Sawyer, you don’t only send condolences when someone dies,” Aspen assures me with a laugh.
“Oh, well, tell him I said thanks,” I reply, grabbing my phone and sending Sienna a quick text, asking her how Jackson’s doing.
She replies in just a few seconds, telling me that his anesthesia is just now starting to wear off and that he’s been floating in and out of consciousness for the past ten minutes, which is enough to make me want to start crying happy tears. If he’s conscious, that must mean he’s okay. Well, okay for the most part and that’s all I really care about.
That must mean the splenectomy and the OPIC went well, which is probably the best news I’ve heard all day. She also tells me that he’s getting his blood transfusion, which is good news, since I doubt they would have let me donate, given my current state. She says his blood type is O+ anyway, so even if they would have let me donate, I couldn’t have donated to Jackson anyways—the AB blood type isn’t compatible with the O blood type, I don’t think. But I’m glad that someone donated blood to him though, even if it couldn’t be me—I’m just glad he’s okay.
✿✿✿✿✿✿
“Are you sure you’re not hungry, Sawyer?” My mom asks me about an hour and a half later. She’s asked me like twelve times and it’s getting annoying.
“I’m okay, mom,” I assure her. “I don’t really have much of an appetite,” I explain, which is insane, because I love to eat, but I’m just really not that hungry.
“I’ll go to Subway for you,” She offers, standing up and grabbing her car keys. “You know, just in case you get hungry later.”
“I’m pretty sure I won’t, but okay, if you just really want to go to Subway and buy me food, then knock yourself out,” I reply.
“Do either of you girls want anything back? It doesn’t have to be Subway—I’ll go to Burger King or Panera or whatever if you want something from there,” My mom offers Piper and Aspen, who are still sitting in the same chair, both of them tapping away on their iPhones. They both reply in the negative and my mom says that she’ll be back soon before grabbing her purse and leaving the hospital room.
“Now that Heather’s gone, we can finally talk about important stuff,” Aspen says almost as soon as the door closes behind my mother.
“Important stuff like what, Aspen?” I question, giving my best friend a curious look.
“Important stuff like Grawyer,” She explains. “Are you excited for Valentine’s Day?”
“How come we have to talk about me and Graham?” I wonder. “Why don’t we talk about Vienna or Pipson or Beckpen or whoever you and Beckett are?”
“I never thought about what our name would be, but I like that—Beckpen, it’s cute,” Aspen chirps. “But I don’t know Vince and don’t care about Pipson.”
“You really are such a mean person, you do know that, don’t you?” Piper asks Aspen, lightly elbowing Aspen in her side.
“I’m not,” Aspen defends with a giggle. “I mean, I love you with all my heart, Pipes, I do—I just don’t like your boyfriend.”
“Whatever you say, Aspen,” Piper laughs, shaking her head at Aspen and averting her attention back to her phone.
“So, yeah?” Aspen asks, looking back over at me. “You’re excited for Valentine’s Day, yeah?”
“I’m pretty excited about it, yeah,” I confirm with a nod. “I am kind of anxious about it though.”
“What are you anxious about?” Piper wonders.
“I mean, I don’t even know where we’re going.”
“Well, don’t worry—where you’re going is fabulous and what Graham has planned is even more fabulous,” Piper tells me. “It’s gonna be lovely, I think.”
“Wait, do you know too?” I ask, raising my eyebrows at her in question. It literally feels like everyone else but me knows and it’s really just not fair at all.
“Yes I do and so does Aspen because Sienna told us, but don’t try to get us to tell, because we’ve both been sworn to secrecy,” Piper informs me then.
I am about to tell her how dumb I think that is, but before I can start my little rant, the door opens and my eyes flitter over to it and I see Graham walk in.
“Boyfriend!” I exclaim, happy to see finally see him again. Like, I know I saw him a few hours ago, but that was before everything.
“Hi girlfriend,” Graham greets with a grin, closing the door behind him. “Hi Aspen and Piper,” He politely greets my best friends then. “How are you girls?”
“Hi Graham,” Piper repeats as Aspen sends a friendly wave. “We’re doing great, except we’re suddenly really hungry, so we’re gonna go get some food.”
“Wait, but I’m not hungry,” Aspen replies, giving Piper a weird look. “I wanna stay and watch them be all adorable.”
“We have to give them some privacy, Aspen,” Piper reminds her, grabbing her arm and pulling her up. “We’ll be back in about an hour,” She informs me before pulling Aspen out of the room with her. I know that they’re not really gonna get food though—obviously that was just an excuse to leave the room.
“How are you feeling?” Graham asks, walking over to the side of my bed and grabbing one of my cold hands in his.
“I feel alright,” I shrug. “But that doesn’t matter—how’s Jackson? Is he alright? How did the surgery go?” I question.
“Of course it matters,” Graham denies. “He’s doing really well though. Dr. Grey said that the splenectomy went well and Dr. Westbourne said that the OPIC went just as planned, so that’s really good. He’s awake right now, but he’s weak and he doesn’t remember anything about the accident. He says the last thing he remembers is leaving the mall with you to go get ice cream,” He informs me. “He’s been asking for you too—he really wants to see you.”
“Really?” I ask incredulously, raising my eyebrows in question.
“Yeah—I told you he’s basically in love with you,” He responds.
“Well, tell him that as soon as my doctor says I can, I’ll come visit him,” I say, scooting over in my bed and patting the space next to me. “Lay with me.”
“This is a pretty small bed, Sawyer—I think it’s made for just one.”
“Maybe I just want a reason to cuddle,” I reason with a little shrug.
“You’re really cute, you know that?” Graham chuckles, letting my hand go and reaching down to pull his shoes off.
“Yes, I do know that, as a matter of fact,” I confirm with a nod and a giggle.
Graham pulls his jacket off then and climbs over the railing on the side of the bed, settling in next to me. I’m under the covers, but he lays down on top of them instead of getting under them with me, which is probably a good idea. I wouldn’t want a doctor or a nurse, or worst of all, my brother, to walk in and get the wrong idea about what’s going on in here. I change my position then, shifting off of my back and onto my side, mostly because my back is starting to hurt, but also to make a little bit more room in this ridiculously small hospital bed. Like, literally it’s probably a few inches wider than a twin bed.
I start to wonder yet again about what Graham could possibly have planned for us. Most of the time, I don’t mind surprises, but I really am so incredibly anxious to know about this one. Like, I’m not going to be mad at him or anything if he doesn’t tell me, because that would be really stupid and unnecessary, I think. I mean, I want him to tell me, but Graham likes being mysterious, so I doubt he will.
Then my brain starts thinking back to the whole Victoria’s Secret shopping trip earlier today. I know the little red lingerie piece that I bought from there is safe, because I put it in the trunk of my car before Jackson and I came here. Whenever I get released from the hospital, I’ll probably have to go clean out my car, so I’ll just get it then. I’m still debating what I want to do though; I could just take it back to Victoria’s Secret and get my money back or I could just put it to good use and actually wear it when I’m with Graham while we’re doing this whole make-up Valentine’s Day thing.
I mean, I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately and I think that I might want to, you know, go all the way with Graham. And I know what you’re thinking—you’re thinking that if I have to think about it, then I’m probably not ready, but I have to disagree with you there. I mean, the first time I slept with a guy, I didn’t have the chance to think about it, I didn’t have the chance to change my mind because it was…well it was forced.
But with Graham, I do have a choice. And since I didn’t have a choice the first time but do now, I’m definitely going to think about it. I’m basically the most indecisive person too, so I’m going to be thinking about it a lot too, if I actually want to do that anytime soon or not.
Like I said though, we did get to third base last night and I’m pretty sure Graham wants to go all the way. I definitely wasn’t trying to seduce him or anything—literally, it was an accident. Well, the first time it was an accident. We were in the back seat of my car and like I mentioned, it was a pretty heated make out session, so, of course, I was trying to take his shirt off.
Well, he wasn’t wearing just a shirt—he was wearing a tie and a jacket too and it was dark and very difficult. So, while I was trying to unbutton his shirt, my hand accidently brushed across the front of his pants and I thought I was going to die because it was really awkward, but I think he liked it, so I did it a few more times. After the first time though, his pants button might or might not have been undone.
But we didn’t like, do oral or anything, which is exactly what Aspen thought when she heard about this—considering the fact that she was raised by such religious people, she has a very dirty mind, which is strange, I think.
But I digress.
“What are you thinking about?” Graham wonders, giving me a curious look.
“I’m just thinking about what you’re planning for Valentine’s Day,” I explain—I mean, it’s half true. “Are you sure you don’t want to tell me?” I ask Graham.
“I’m positive,” He replies with a nod. I really don’t know how he’s so stubborn.
“I really shouldn’t expect anything different by this point,” I sigh. “What are you thinking about?”
“I’m just thinking about how happy I am that you’re okay and that’s J’s okay,” Graham tells me.
“Yeah, we were pretty lucky, I think,” I say, pushing a lock of my hair behind my ear. “Like, it sucked, but it definitely could have been a lot worse,” I state.
“You’re really amazing,” He randomly tells me. “I mean, the fact that you see the good in it instead of just the bad, that’s pretty cool.”
“Well, it’s just that I’ve spent a lot of time being angry pessimistic and I’m just over it, so I’m trying the whole optimism thing,” I reply.
“Well, that’s great—I’m glad to hear that,” Graham responds. “So, I have a question.”
“I have an answer,” I chirp, looking up at him. “What’s the question?”
“Sienna told me you guys went to Victoria’s Secret today,” He informs me and I immediately start blushing. This is why having a best friend who is close friends with your boyfriend is never a good idea—she will know where he’s taking you for dates and won’t tell you, but will tell him when you buy lingerie.
“We did,” I nod, trying to hide my blush, but it doesn’t really work at all and Graham starts laughing at me because he’s a jerk and that’s what jerks do.
“Did you buy anything?” He wonders after he’s done laughing at my expense.
“I did,” I nod again, purposely answering his question very vaguely.
“What’d you buy?” Graham boldly asks as if we’re talking about the weather.
“If you tell me where we’re going for Valentine’s Day, I’ll tell you what I bought,” I promise him, coming up with a quick compromise.
“You almost had me,” He informs me matter-of-factly.
“It was worth a try,” I sigh. “But if you’re lucky—like, really, really lucky, you might know sooner than later what I bought,” I say with a playful wink.
Author's Note: Well, I'm sick af right now (and have been for literally almost two weeks now, so that sucks) and I feel like death-- just thought you might want to know that.
1. Notice the song- Keep Your Head Up by Andy Grammer, and the picture- a banner made by xXBeBraveXx, which is who this chapter is dedicated to for that reason. If you wanna make banners or anything like that for this story, feel free to send them to me-- you can send them on Tumblr or you can e-mail them to me at morganmillie@ymail.com and I'll use it on a chapter and dedicate that chapter to you (but don't forget to put your username somewhere in the message so I'll know who it's from).
2. Thoughts on this chapter? Oh my gosh, I can't believe so many of you thought I'd actually kill Jackson off-- I do have a heart-- it's a pretty cold one (just kidding, maybe?), but a heart nonetheless. Also, little teaser for you, the next chapter is Graham and Sawyer celebrating Valentine's Day. Any predictions on what Graham's got planned?
3. So, on the last chapter, I asked you guys if you wanted a chapter in either Piper or Aspen's point of view and I think most of you wanted Aspen's, but I decided that I'm not going to do it, because quite a few people commented about how they didn't want to read another POV unless it was Jackson's or Graham's and I just didn't want to do either of them, so it's just gonna stay in Sawyer's point of view.
4. Okay, so for those of you that don't know, I'm a Junior in High School (eleventh grade, for those of you who don't use those terms) and so my mid-terms are coming up pretty soon, which is very depressing and annoying because they count for 20% of my final grade, so that's stressful. They start on December 16th and run December 19th, so I most likely won't post again until sometime after then so that I can study and whatnot and not fail the eleventh grade. Just wanted to put that out there.
Alrighty, that's all I've got for you guys this time. If whatever sickness I have don't kill me, I'll see you guys next time-- I love you all bunches!