When We Met - Marni Mann Page 0,3

I?”

“Mass General,” the blanket said. “I don’t know how much you remember, but there was an explosion at the marathon, and you landed on top of a metal barrier.” The brown didn’t dull, nor did it look away. “I need you to tell me what part of your body hurts.”

I searched. The pain was there, constant, like a neighbor, but every time I tried to knock, I couldn’t find the door. “I don’t know.” I swallowed, and there it was—the reminder, the burning, the intolerable stabbing. “What’s wrong with me?”

“We won’t know until we take X-rays.”

As we went faster, the tiles were almost too blurry to distinguish. I knew my feet weren’t on the ground, that I wasn’t the one doing the running, but it felt like my body was back there—somewhere—and I had this urge to catch up.

Except I couldn’t.

“I can’t feel my toes,” I choked out.

“That’s okay.”

“No …” The scorching in my throat tasted like blood. “I can’t feel my fucking toes!” I went to raise my legs, and a whole new level of agony blasted through me, so strong that I gagged. I spit what was in my mouth and shouted, “Fuck!”

“Just a few more minutes, and the pain will be gone,” the blanket promised.

There was suddenly stillness, blue swishing around me, buzzing coming in and out of my ears.

“Nooo,” I howled, clamping down on her hand when she went to turn her back. “Don’t leave me.”

I needed the blanket tucked around me.

I needed more promises.

“I’m not going anywhere.” The brown looked away and then connected with my eyes again. “Caleb, I’m going to touch your legs. Tell me if you can feel anything, okay?”

I waited.

I tried taking a breath, the taste of blood even more present than before.

“Have you started?” I pleaded. “I don’t feel anything.”

“Don’t worry; you’re doing great,” she said calmly. “I have a pair of scissors in my other hand, and I’m going to release you, so I can cut off your jeans to assess the injuries on your legs.”

Her fingers were gone, and so was the brown, now just the white tiles blinking above me.

I expected the pain to take hold at any second, for a scream to fill my mouth again.

But there was nothing.

Just more blue from the corners of my eyes and coldness as shreds of clothes were taken away.

“What the fuck is happening to me?” I shouted.

The brown returned, the blanket slowly spreading across me, something gentle now pressed against my face. “We have some of the most talented doctors in the world. I promise you’re going to get the best care.”

A sharpness stuck the crook of my arm.

“And when you wake up, we’ll have a better idea of what we’re dealing with.” The brown came closer, tightening around me. “We couldn’t find a cell phone anywhere in your clothes. Is there someone I can call? Wife? Girlfriend? Parent?”

I reached through the fogginess, grasping at the first thing that came to me. “Hunt Financial.” I swallowed, and more than just spit went down. “Betsy.”

“I’m going to call her right now,” she said, and the brown disappeared, the blanket lifting off me, leaving me shaking.

“Come ba—” I yelled before the blackness took over once again.

“Caleb, honey, we’re here,” I heard in a voice I knew well. “Please open your eyes.”

I wasn’t sure if my mother was repeating my name over and over, but it was echoing against the walls of my head, the sound like a vibration across a still lake. Each time, it softened a little more.

Until she added, “Honey, can you try and wake up for me?”

My throat was extremely sore, my mouth so dry that I could barely part it. My tongue slid through, the weight like cement as it ran across my lips. My eyelids slowly rose, the light blinding me at first. I blinked several times as my mother’s face came into view, concern registering across it.

“Oh, thank God.” Her head dipped for just a second before she said, “Miles, he’s awake,” far too loudly.

My father appeared at my other side. “How are you feeling?” he asked as he sat. “Are you in pain? I’ll call the nurse—”

“Miles, give him a moment to respond, please.”

My mother moved her chair closer, her hand surrounding mine; my skin was uncomfortable, as though it were asleep.

“I—” The dryness was worse now, the words sticky. “I hurt like hell.”

My mother’s other hand was on my face, each stroke feeling like she was picking a scab. “The surgeon said that