Celine awoke to the sight of a pale ceiling and blinding lights. Cold air billowed down in icy drafts, cooling her burning forehead as beads of sweat dripped down her face. The rhythmic hum of machinery was the only sound that penetrated the silence of the room, giving her a feeling of hollowness and isolation.
She felt around her surroundings, fingers brushing against soft mattress and the thick strands of a woven blanket. Pushing back against the lumpy pillows that lay on the mattress, she struggled to sit up, ignoring the incessant drumming that was beating against her head.
Celine gasped as pain seared through her side, sharp and unyielding. Had she been stabbed? Confusion flooded her mind as memories flickered and died like the flame of a melting candle. Why was she here? What had happened?
That was when she noticed Elliot sitting on a chair beside her, leisurely flipping through a book.
Celine opened her mouth to speak but wasn't quite sure what to say.
"You've been out for two weeks," he said without looking up.
Two weeks? Celine looked around the room as her vision cleared. Three watercolor paintings of the ocean hung amid the creamy yellow walls and beside them, an analog clock ticked quietly above a vase of fake flowers. A large sliding door led into the bright endless hallways of the hospital.
She glanced down and found an IV drip attached to her arm.
"What happened?" she asked, trying to remember the events that had led her to this room. Her mind remained foggy like the mist above a haunted lake. Memories solidified themselves before melting away as quickly as they had come.
Elliot set his book down. "A food truck crashed into that jerk's car and almost flattened the two of you into nonexistence."
Panic filled her chest. So that was what had happened.
"Where's Ashton?" she asked. She had to know if he was okay. All of this was her fault. If he hadn't come to pick her up...
Elliot ignored her question. "Do you realize that you almost died? You have a broken arm, abdominal bleeding, and a mild concussion but that snake was left with nothing more than a scratch."
Celine was growing impatient. "What happened to Ashton? Is he okay?"
"You should be worrying about yourself," Elliot said. "You're the one with the most injuries."
Celine didn't appreciate the way he was speaking, as if he knew anything about her life. "Stop pretending to care about me."
"What makes you think I'm pretending to care?"
"What happened with Ashton was an accident," said Celine. "You leeching off me is not."
"So you're mad at me but not at a jerk you barely know for getting you into an accident?"
"He's not a jerk," Celine said, dragging herself out of the bed. She winced as a sharp pain pierced through her skull. It felt as if someone was ramming it with a hammer.
"Why do you hate me so much?" Elliot asked, looking at her accusingly. "I haven't done anything to you."
"I don't hate you," Celine said. "It just felt like the tighter Mom was holding onto you, the more she was letting me go." She shrugged. "I know she hates my dad and everything related to him, but I never thought she would shut me out like that."
"I don't think she meant to do that," Elliot said, settling back into his chair. "And she might hate your dad, but I know she doesn't hate you."
Celine shook her head. "She always put you over me. Like that time I wanted to go to Canada and you wanted to go to Hawaii; we went to Hawaii."
Elliot was silent for a while. "I'm sorry." Then he suddenly broke into a smile. "But do you actually think Canada is better than Hawaii?"
Celine smiled at him. Elliot's joking around normally annoyed her but she found herself beginning to let things go.
"On a serious note," Elliot continued. "We went to Hawaii instead of Canada because Mom wanted to visit Haleakala and see the animals and stuff."
"But why didn't she say that," Celine asked. "Then I wouldn't have misunderstood."
Elliot shrugged. "You know how Mom is. She assumes that everyone already knows what's on her mind."
"Just forget everything I said," she said. "This is all too childish."
"I think you should speak with her," said Elliot. "Sort things out between the two of you."
Celine suddenly felt guilty for putting all her emotional burden on him. It was true that she and her mother had grown distant after her father's death. But it was also true that her mother had made sure that Celine was not lacking in any way.
She had been the one to buy Celine her first sewing machine when she had first shown interest in fashion.
And her step-father's only offence was trying hard to be a good father to her. But Celine had forgotten about all of that in her selfishness and frustration. She had never viewed herself as an overly sensitive person, but her years long misinterpretations proved otherwise.
"I told mom about your accident," said Elliot. "Things were a little complicated but her flight should arrive sometime today."
"You shouldn't have done that," Celine said, her voice filled with dismay. "I'm not really in the mood to see her."
"You two should talk," said Elliot. "Then you could tell her your feelings instead of taking them all out on me."
He handed her an envelope. "And this is from that idiot. I didn't want to give it to you but since you've finally spoken to me nicely, I'll hand it over as a sign of goodwill."
Celine ignored him and accepted the envelope. She opened it to find a letter tucked inside.
Elliot read it over her shoulder. "Dear Celine, There are no words to express how sorry I am about what transpired that fateful day. Hopefully, the doctors are doing their job and you're not in a lot of pain after that accident. I'm afraid that I don't have the courage to face you, so please excuse my absence from your bedside. You don't have to forgive me, but please don't forget me."
He looked at her in bewilderment. "What kind of apology is that? It's so cheesy and melodramatic." Elliot made gagging motions. "I think I'm gonna throw up."
Celine couldn't hear Elliot's words. Her mind was occupied with thoughts of Ashton. Ashton had worried about her enough to sit down and pen her a letter. He had written to her like a beau from the eighteenth century. Sure it was a little bit cheesy, but that was Ashton's charm. It was what made him stand out, what made him completely different from someone like Jeffrey.
Maybe she was overthinking things but judging from the letter, it was possible that Ashton thought of her as more than just a friend. Why else would he write to her instead of sending his message through text? Why else would the words flow as if he had put a great deal of thought into it? There was no other explanation besides the possibility that Ashton had feelings for her.
"I saw Stacey Callingher earlier today," said Elliot. "When I told her that you're a fan, she said she'd like to meet you."
The name dragged Celine out of her thoughts. Stacey Callingher was a famous fashion designer who was known for her unique clothing lines and amazing attention to detail. Stacey had designed everything from handbags, clothes, and shoes, her designs even gracing the likes of Paris Fashion Week. Her name itself was a luxury brand.
Celine considered her an inspiration and role model. It was Stacey's company that she had originally wanted to work for, but she had been declined due to lack of experience. Working for Nathan had only been a way to improve her qualifications; of course he would take offence to this if he ever knew.
"How did you know I'm a fan of Stacey Callingher?" she asked.
It wasn't something she went around telling people. Especially because she worked for Nathan.
"You're my sister," said Elliot, grinning. "Why wouldn't I know?"
Celine smiled back. It was the first time she had experienced any kind of connection to Elliot; she had thought that they lived in their own separate worlds. But he had been closer than she had imagined. It was her who had blocked him away. And that would have to change.
When Celine decided that she'd had more than enough rest and the walls seemed to be closing in on her, Elliot helped her into a wheelchair and rolled her out of the room.
The hallways were mostly empty except for medical personnel and a few patients. Nurses bustled in and out of rooms carrying clipboards and medication as a group of doctors passed by, speaking in low tones about a particularly fatal disease or disorder. Monitors beeped and the occasional cough or sneeze could be heard from behind closed doors. The impervious scent of disinfectant drifted from the shiny ground and band walls.
Celine regarded this all with hollow detachment, as if everything were a dream. The bandage that had been wound around her abdomen was a strident reminder that everything could change in a split second. What you saw in the moment would not be real if you disappeared. It would all be a fading memory that eventually blew away like hot smoke assaulted by the wrath of a cool breeze. The near death experience affected her more than she had thought.
They entered an elevator and Elliot pushed the button taking them down to a lower floor. After a few seconds, the doors slid apart to reveal an open space with beige chairs and bright green plants. Large windows exposed the feathery white clouds floating across a cerulean sky. The sun's rays illuminated the room, shedding warmth in the cool interior.
Celine immediately recognized a woman wearing a simple blue dress and matching heeled boots. She could have recognized her anywhere.
Stacey Callingher stood up from her seat beside one of the windows. "You must be Celine. Your brother told me quite a lot about you." She smiled, a smile that Celine had only seen through magazines or the screen of a computer.
Celined twisted around in her wheelchair to look at Elliot. "What did you tell her?"
His eyes twinkled mischievously. "It's a secret."
"Don't worry," said Stacey. "They were only good things."
"If you don't mind me asking," said Celine, "Why are you here?"
She wasn't one to dig into people's private matters but seeing someone she cared about in the hospital scared her. There were no noticeable problems with Stacey, but she couldn't help worrying.
"The hospital is sponsoring a special project our company," Stacey said. "I came to thank the director."
"Oh," said Celine. "Well, I'm glad everything is alright."
"I'm hiring new talents for the project," Stacey continued. "So when I heard that you're both a fan and designer, I wondered if you'd be interested in joining."
"I'm interested," Celine blurted out. This was the kind of opportunity that came once in a lifetime; she would be a fool to not take. And this could be the universe's way of telling her to not fret about Nathan and his useless lies.
"What's this?" asked Elliot. He held up a folded sheet of paper that had fallen from Stacey's seat. He flipped through the pages, eyes skimming each line.
Stacey looked taken aback for a second before quickly regaining her composure. "It's a brochure for the town I live in. The recruits will be staying there while we work on the project."
"Why do they have to stay there?" Elliot asked, looking up. "Couldn't they just go from their houses?"
Celine nudged Elliot. What was he doing? It was as if he was interrogating her. But Celine couldn't deny that she was curious too.
"There's a workshop aspect to it," Stacey explained. "It's mandatory because people work better when they connect. What better way to connect than to all live in the same place?"
Stacey handed Celine a red envelope. "Here's an invitation." She smiled at her warmly. "Hopefully you can make it. I'm eager to witness your talent."
Celine in awe watched as Stacey made her way across the room and to the elevator.
A renowned designer, someone much bigger than Nathan had just acknowledged her and had not treated her like she was insignificant. Her respect and admiration for Stacey had multiplied in just a few short minutes.
"She's kind of strange," Elliot said after a moment. Noticing Celine's starstruck expression, he waved a hand in front of her face. "Hello, are you still there?"
He spoke again when her eyes flicked to his. "So how was it meeting your role model?"
"I still can't believe it," she breathed. She smiled at her brother. He wasn't as annoying as she had thought; he'd promised to help her and somehow he had. She owed him. "Thanks Elliot."
Elliot grinned. "This is the first time you're thanking me. It feels pretty good."