Bring Me Back Read online

  —Ben

  My phone rings from the bedside table and my brows furrow. It’s nearly midnight. Why would anyone be calling me?

  I pick up the phone and shake my head at the name. It’s one of the nurses that works with Ben—her name’s Laura and we went out to dinner with her and her husband a few times.

  “Hello?” I answer. “Laura?”

  “Hey, have you seen Ben?” she asks, sounding frazzled. “He was supposed to be here an hour ago. I tried calling him but his phone keeps going straight to voicemail.”

  I sit straight up in bed, white-knuckling my phone. “He left for work on time. What do you mean he’s not there?” My voice spikes with fear.

  I hear a sudden ruckus in the background—Laura and Ben work in the ER.

  Laura’s quiet and I hear shouting. Orders for meds and IVs and other things I can’t understand.

  Suddenly, Laura mutters, “Oh, shit.”

  “Laura—?”

  “I have to go.”

  The line goes dead.

  My stomach sinks, full of dread. I feel my heart stutter and race, trying to pump blood to my starving brain—starving because I’m holding my breath.

  My phone has fallen to the bed but I pick it up and call Ben.

  Like Laura said, it goes straight to voicemail and all I hear is Ben’s cheery voicemail. “Hey, it’s me. Ben. I’m not able to answer my phone right now, but don’t worry, I’m a doctor so I’m probably just saving lives. I’ll call you back later.”

  I try again.

  And again.

  And again.

  I’ve never been so desperate in my life.

  I know, logically, it’s probably nothing. Laura probably had a critical come in and it was bad, and she had to go. It means nothing.

  Nothing.

  Nothing.

  Nothing.

  Then why am I freaking out so bad?

  My phone rings again, and it’s Laura. I breathe out a sigh of relief. She probably realized what it sounded like and she’s calling to tell me not to be crazy.

  “Laura?” She sniffles in response. “Laura?” I say again, the unease creeping back in me.

  “It’s Ben.” Her voice cracks. “They brought Ben in.”

  “W-What do you mean?” I stutter, even though I do. I have to hear her say it, though.

  “It’s bad, Blaire. He got hit by a drunk driver or something, I don’t know the details yet. They rushed him back to emergency surgery, but … ”

  “But?” I can barely utter the word. I’m holding on so tight to my phone that I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter in my hand. I think I’m unconsciously using it to hold myself together.

  “I’m not going to lie, it’s bad, Blaire. Really bad. You should get here.”

  At her words, I crumble and the sobs break through. “I don’t know if I can drive,” I tell her with honesty.

  “I’ll call a cab for you,” she says, and her own distress is palpable. “And Blaire?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I know this means shit, but I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks,” I mumble and hang up the phone. I immediately run to my closet and pull on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. I slip my feet into a pair of flats when I hear a horn honk outside. That was fast.

  I grab my phone and purse and dash outside into the waiting car. They already know to take me to the hospital so I don’t have to say a word.

  I know I have to call Ben’s mom, so I force my frozen fingers to move over my phone and find her information.

  I’m surprised by how quickly she answers, but I guess most people assume a late night call is an emergency.

  “Blaire?” she asks. “Is everything okay?”

  Another sob breaks through my lips. I keep seeing Ben lying broken and bloody on the side of a road, waiting for someone to help him and it’s killing me. I know he’s at the hospital now, but what about before.

  “Blaire?” she says again and I realize I haven’t spoken.

  “It’s Ben,” I say, and my voice is almost unrecognizable to myself. “You need to come to the hospital. Now.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she says, and I can already hear her bustling around her room. “Hang in there, Blaire.”

  I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. “I don’t know if I can,” I say, but she’s already gone.

  The cab lets me off at the emergency room doors. I throw a wad of cash at him. I don’t know how much it is or if I even have enough to cover the cost. I don’t care. All I can think about is Ben.

  Ben.

  I feel like there’s a hole in my heart and someone’s tearing at the edges, damaging it beyond recognition. I’ve never been more scared in all my life.

  He’ll be okay, I tell myself.

  What if he’s not? I ask.

  I don’t know.

  I rush into the hospital and the glass doors whoosh open and closed behind me. I run up to the counter and the women working there look up.

  “Can I help you?” one says in a pleasant, calm tone.

  “M-My fiancé,” I stutter, out of breath, “h-he was brought in. I think he’s in surgery.”

  “Name?” She blinks up at me, no urgency in her tone.

  I know she’s trying to be helpful, but I want to bash her head in. “Benjamin Carter.”

  “Let me look.” She taps her fingers against the lacquered table and scans the computer. “It looks like he’s still in surgery, but you’re welcome to wait in the waiting room.” She points to the plastic blue and green chairs.

  I take a deep breath. “That’s it? That’s all you can tell me.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m not at liberty—”

  I hold up a hand. “Got it.”

  I take a seat in the corner by the double doors. I want to be there, ready and waiting, for any doctor or nurse that comes out.

  A short time later, one does, and it’s Laura. It’s clear she’s looking for me. When she spots me, almost immediately, she rushes toward me in a determined gait.

  “Blaire,” she breathes out a sigh of relief, “do you know anything?”

  “Me? No. I was hoping you knew something.” She shakes her head, nibbling on her bottom lip. “I was on the team treating him when he first came in, but he was rushed into surgery. It’s not likely any of us will get any updates on him.”

  My chest seizes. “How bad was it?” I ask her, wiping at the snot running out of my nose. “Be honest with me, Laura. I need to know. I need to … ”

  To what? Prepare myself. That’s absurd. He’s going to be fine.

  She winces. “Blaire—”

  I grab her hand and hold on tight. “Don’t lie to me. Is it really as bad as you said when you called?

  She makes a face. “Worse,” she whispers.

  I close my eyes and a lone tear leaks out of the corner of my eye. I don’t even have the energy to wipe it away. My breath passes between my lips and I count to three before opening my eyes.

  “I’m going to lose him, aren’t I?” The words feel like knives clawing at my throat.

  Tears pool in her eyes. “I don’t know.”

  I lean my head back and look up at the ceiling. “Fuck.”

  She laughs softly. “Yeah, fuck,” she echoes.

  “This sucks.”

  She takes my hands in both of hers and I lower my head to look at her. “Don’t give up hope,” she tells me. “Whatever you do, don’t stop hoping. We don’t know anything yet.”

  I nod. “I won’t,” I promise her.

  She presses her lips together. “I have to get back to work. I snuck away to see you.”

  “I understand. Thanks, Laura.”

  She gives me one last sad smile and leaves me alone in the too-bright waiting room.

  God, I hate everything about this room. The uncomfortable plastic chairs with their stupid wood arms. The pathetic coffee table covered in a blanket of magazines pretending to be cheerful and uplifting. I especially hate the w
all of windows that reflects all the halogen lights and the people inside.

  Sometime later, Ben’s mom comes running into the waiting room.

  She sees me and slows to a walk. “Do you know anything?” she asks, sitting down on the chair beside me.

  I shake my head. “No. He must still be in surgery.”

  “That’s a good thing, right?” she asks, sounding hopeful.

  “I don’t know.” I shrug. I hate feeling this helpless. I know nothing, and it’s killing me.

  Loraine tightens her hands around her purse strap where it rests in her lap. “I guess we wait and see then.”

  “I guess so.”

  I rub my hands up and down my face.

  Remain hopeful, Blaire. Do not give up hope. He’s going to be okay. You’ll see. They’re going to walk out of those double doors any minute and tell you that he’s fine. You have to hope. Just believe.

  And then there is a doctor walking through the doors. I sit up straight.

  I know. Somehow, I already know.

  “Mr. Carter’s family?”

  “Over here,” I call and begin to stand.

  He waves his hand for me to sit down.

  No.

  He makes his way toward us, head downcast staring at his clipboard.

  No.

  “Are you Mr. Carter’s mom and …?”

  “Fiancé,” I say. My voice sounds soft. Distant. Like I’m speaking through a tunnel. There’s a roar in my ears, like my mind is trying to drown out the words I know are coming.

  He nods. He presses his lips into a thin line and fiddles with his thick-framed glasses. “I’m sorry to say he didn’t make it. He died on the table.”

  I close my eyes. I latch onto those two words.

  He died.

  He’s dead.

  Ben’s gone.

  The man who’s made me smile and laugh every day for the last seven years of my life doesn’t exist anymore.

  Poof.

  Gone.

  Game over.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” he says. “We did everything we could, and unfortunately, it wasn’t enough.”

  I lose it. Completely and utterly lose it. A sound that can’t even be described as a sob leaves my throat. I’m drowning in tears. My whole face is wet.

  “H-He’s really gone?” I find myself saying. I don’t know how I find the strength to say the words. They feel like gasoline on my throat and my tears are the fucking match.

  The doctor nods once. Solemn. Resolute.

  I crumble to the floor.

  “Ma’am,” he says, bending down to me.

  “No, no, no.” I cry and beat my fists against the floor. I’m causing a scene, I know, but I can’t stop. I need to let this out. I need to do something. I can’t just sit there and listen to this man tell me the love of my life is gone. Dead.

  Dead. He’s dead.

  “Ma’am?” he says again.

  “No!” I scream. Scream from the very depths of my soul. “He can’t be dead.” I pull at my hair. “This is all a bad dream. Wake up. Wake up.” I slap my face, but I’m still here, firmly rooted in reality. “No, no, no, no, no,” I whisper to myself. “No.” I stand and make a run for the doors. “Ben!” I scream, like he can hear me. The doctor grabs me around the waist and holds me back, keeping me from the doors. “Ben! Please! Ben.” I tug and yank on his arms, trying to get him to let me go, but he doesn’t budge. I sink into his arms and scream. I cry. I pour it all out from my very soul. “Why?” I sob into the doctor’s coat. “Why?”

  The doctor surprises me by wrapping his arms around me. “Shh,” he soothes, trying to coax me back into my chair. I let him. My legs can’t hold me up anymore—the muscles have given out.

  Loraine sobs quietly beside me. I wish I could be like her. Quiet in my grief.

  “Let me get you some water.” The doctor’s speaking to me, but I can no longer look at him. I refuse to look at the man that has just told me that my love, my heart, my soul is gone. If I don’t look at him then I don’t have to face the truth.

  He returns with a paper cup full of water and holds it out to me. I don’t take it. I can’t move. Frozen. I am frozen.

  He bends down in front of me and taps my knee with an index finger. “Hey,” he says in a soft tone. I stare at my lap. “It’ll be okay,” he whispers. “I know you don’t want to hear that, but it’s the truth.”

  He sets the water cup on the chair beside me and leaves.

  The waiting room is quiet. I feel the stares. I hear the whispers.

  I don’t care.

  How can I care when Ben is gone?

  “Blaire?” Loraine says my name around a sob.

  I squish my eyes closed and more tears leak out. I never knew it was possible to cry this much. It’s like they’re seeping from my pores. I know I need to answer her, but I don’t want to open my mouth again. I’m scared if I do I’ll start screaming and not want to stop. I’ve already caused enough of a scene.

  “We should go,” she says. “We don’t need to be here anymore.”

  I shake my head.

  I’m not leaving.

  What if the doctor goes back there and finds that he was wrong? What if Ben is really alive?

  Don’t give up hope.

  “Blaire,” Loraine says, “he’s not going to walk out those doors. Stop it.”

  I grip the thin wooden arms of the cheap chair and hold on so tight that my knuckles turn white. I shake my head roughly once. Twice. Three times. I think I’m trying to shake some sense into myself.

  “Blaire. We have to go.”

  “I can’t,” I whisper, staring at the shiny white floor. “I can’t leave him.”

  I know I should be strong for her right now, Ben’s her son, but I’m too lost in my own grief. I’m pathetic.

  She stands and somehow gets ahold of me, hauling my leaden body up. “I’ll drive you home. Can I stay in your guest room?”

  I nod. “Of course,” I whisper.

  She guides me out of the hospital and to her car. How she has the capability to drive is beyond me. But I guess she’s a mom. She’s used to having to take charge in the face of meltdowns.

  She starts the car and turns down the radio; I don’t think either of us wants to listen to music right now.

  I’m not sure I’ll ever smile again.

  The lights from the hospital parking lot shine through the windows. I lean my head against the cool glass of the car window beside me and close my eyes.

  “We were trying to have a baby,” I say the words softly.

  Loraine gasps and hiccups on a cry.

  “We were so excited,” I continue, “about the future. The wedding. A baby. Life. It’s all gone now.”

  Loraine is quiet and I don’t open my eyes to see her. Finally, she says, “It’s not gone now. It’s just different.”

  “It’s not the same without Ben.”

  She’s quiet again, and then with what must be a lot of effort, she says, “You’re young. You’ll move on.”

  My hands clench into fists and my eyes fly open. “How can you say that? He’s your son. Was. Was your son.” I lean my head against the headrest and bang my fists against my thighs. It isn’t fair.

  Her lower lip trembles and the red from the stoplight reflects over her face. “It kills me to say that, Blaire, but it’s true. You will move on.”

  I shake my head. “Shut up.”

  She turns to me. “We have to stay strong. For ourselves. For each other. Can you do that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Come on, Blaire. That’s not the fighter I know you to be.”

  I wipe at the tears that have continued to fall. “I need to scream,” I tell her.

  “Then scream.”

  I do. And she does too.

  We both sit there at that stoplight, even as it changes to green, and scream.

  I scream until my throat is raw and aching and sore. I scream until I can’t scream anymore a
nd then I collapse back against the seat.

  Loraine drives us back to the house and we don’t say a word. Not as she parks the car and not even once we’re inside. We both head into separate bedrooms.

  I sob as soon as I see my bed. The bed Ben and I had been rolling around in only hours ago and now he’s dead.

  I’ve never had to deal with death head-on before.

  My dad’s parents were dead when I was born and my mom lost her dad shortly after. The only death I was around for was my grandma when I was five and I didn’t know her well so it didn’t hurt. Yeah, I was upset, especially because my mom was but my five-year-old brain couldn’t process grief. Not this soul-crushing, suffocating feeling.

  I strip out of my clothes and stay in my underwear and bra. I don’t have time for pajamas. I climb beneath the covers, burrowing myself over to Ben’s side. I wrap my arms around his pillow and inhale his scent.

  How long until that smell fades?

  I cry. I let the tears soak my hair and the pillow. I cry until I’m too tired to cry and can’t keep my eyes open anymore. I let my dreams take me away. To a heaven where Ben still exists and life doesn’t suck so much.

  My eyes feel like they’re taped shut. I try to open them and I can’t. I rub at them and sit up in bed. I look around me at the mess of covers and daylight shining through the windows. The clocks says it’s nearly noon. I narrow my eyes.

  Last night …

  Oh God.

  “No, no, no, no, no.” I start up with the chanting again and rush out of my bed. I hurry down the hall and peek in the guest room. My heart sinks at the ruffled bed.

  It’s not dream—not some dastardly nightmare. It’s real. It’s so fucking real.

  I clutch at my chest, like there’s a visible wound there and slide down the wall as sobs overtake my body again. In my sleep I’d been able to delude myself into believing it hadn’t really happened. Dreams are liars. They show you what you want to see, what you hope for, and it’s nothing but a lie.

  I draw my knees up to my stomach and sob into my hands. How I have any tears left to cry is beyond me.