It Wants What It Wants Pt. 2

Traffic was a mess, stopped in both directions; a major disturbance on a busy street. EMTs had been close by returning from another call, and had gotten on the scene just minutes after the car struck Dan as he pushed Cindy out of the street. We were close to the University campus, and its hospital, so they stabilized him, carefully but urgently boarded him onto a stretcher, careful of his injuries and left.

Cindy and I had already been dealing with the shock of seeing his beautiful broken body being taken away when the police started nosing about, taking statements and controlling the scene. Cindy was incoherent, her statements were a garbled mess of anguish, fury and despair, flowing with tears, spit and snot from a face that was red and twisted.

My tongue was thick in my mouth as I spoke to them. I gave basic descriptions of the events. If I wrote a novel, I still couldn't capture the nuance and serendipity that led to what had happened. From what I found out, my description became the chronicle of the events. Even after Cindy spoke with them days later, her account was so full of pain that it made no sense.

My clone and her friend were nowhere to be found. A momentary distraction quickly forgotten. We asked the police about Danny, but of course there was nothing to be said then.

We sat there for a while, before we were escorted to the hospital, Cindy for treatment of a few bruises, but more for her own safety. Me, just because I had no place else to be.

I sat one of those godawful waiting room chairs.

I made a call.

Simon

Stephanie's call was unexpected, but then again, few of us have plans for dying. And Stephanie is anything but ordinary.

I came from my clinic and went directly to the Trauma Care Unit and then consulted on the resuscitation. Dan died at the scene. EMTs revived him, stabilized him and then lost him again in transit. He was brought in coded, and moved directly into surgery to repair the dissection to his abdominal aorta, which was partially torn by the impact. He was bleeding to death inside his own body, on top of the other damage done by the impact.

The initial list of injuries included several broken ribs, a punctured lung, broken femur and hip, the damage to the aorta, lacerations to the liver and spleen and damage to both kidneys, one of which would likely need to be removed after the car had run him over. His skull had a minor fracture, and I was asked to relieve the intracranial swelling so that his brain wasn't crushed by his skull.

All of this was enough to be lethal, but Dan's size, the position his body was in when he shoved Cindy out of the way and just some damn good luck to be close to this hospital saved him. I didn't envy him when he woke.

Stephanie spoke with me after I told her that there was still significant danger and damage to repair, but it looked like the critical period had passed and that recovery would be difficult, but highly likely.

She held me in a tight hug, with tears and hitching sobs. And then I knew. Without telling me anything else, there was a pain and a sadness in her that comes from such a deep place, deeper than I ever felt from her when we were together, which made me leave my own clinical detachment behind and hold her close, one last time, as she thanked me.

Dan

There's no heaven.

There's no hell.

Despite what we do to ourselves, the knots we twist ourselves into in life and the lies we tell ourselves, there is only a dreamless black. Timeless and without pity. This is where we come from and where we go. You don't live through that. There is no living there. It is complete, in and of its lack.

But of course, that was wrong too.

I was pulled out from there, chewed up and shit out onto some hospital bed where noise, light and a shitload of pain contrasted that wholly sterile void. My breathing was of dust and disinfectant. I was parched and empty despite having several tubes feeding and monitoring me. The quiet, rhythmic beeping was nowhere near the cacophony that TV and the movies told me.

To say the least, I was confused, as there was no memory of how or why I was broken and anguished in such a place. I was all but lashed in place. I could move more than a few inches if I wanted to. I was trying, searching for some clue when a young, white clad lady walked by my bed, smiling. What was she so happy about? I was in an all-encompassing pain.

"You're awake! Excellent. Here," she bent over, a small cup with a straw. "Slow sips." I latched on, and she had to pull back. "Slowly! This is going to hurt." More than it already did? But she was right, the water softened the tissues in my throat, making me feel the misery in the back of my throat.

She knew what I was feeling, while I sipped. "You were intubated for a few days until your lungs could recover. We took you off the respirator yesterday."

I tried to talk, but that was broken too. Dry croaks came out, and the sips of water came back up in racking, agonizing coughs.

"Shhhh," she said, "Let me get the doctor in here. I'll turn this up. She reached beside me to one of the bedside torture devices and pushed a button. Reaching beside me, a small button moved in my hand. I was grateful that my hands worked without complete searing agony. "This is your pain meds. You're limited to how much you can get, but I've raised your limit slightly now that you're awake." She left and returned with a graying doctor, no white coat, but had the stethoscope and a smeary lanyard ID badge for the hospital. Good to see some stereotypes were true.

He gave me the low down. I had been out for four days, but was out of danger. It would likely be another week under observation, but after that I could be discharged. He explained, to the best of his knowledge, the cause and extent of my injuries. It was all news to me. He gave me some guidance on what I could expect, and plans for my recovery and rehabilitation. Surgeries had been performed to fix what could be fixed, including a rod in my thigh, removal of my right kidney, repairing the tear in the biggest artery in my body and a resetting of my pelvis.

Oh, and did you rotate the tires and check the fluids? Fuck.

He would be checking in on me for another day or so, but for the most part, I was out of danger, now that I was awake, and I would be transferred to another ward until I was discharged. He patted me gently and left.

My jaw was one of the few parts of me which hadn't been damaged, but my guts were screwed up, so my nutrition was through tubes. The nurses fluttered about, poking and skewering me. I did my best to comply, but they were little sadists.

A few bouquets of flowers were around, but otherwise, I had no guests. The nurse noted that I had some female visitors for the first few days, but none had returned once I was out of danger. I wondered where Cindy was and why she hadn't been there for me.

I found out a bit later why.

The next day, Cindy came to visit. She looked beautiful, but tired. Exhausted. Walking into the room, she stopped when she saw me awake, but connected to all of the machines. Hand to mouth, she gasped, but made no move towards me.

I smiled. "Hey babe."

She came to the bedside and sat in a chair. She was making small talk and besides a few tears and sniffles, she was emotionless. "You'll be out in a few days."

I nodded.

"I'll help you home, but I won't be staying with you. You'll need to get help from someone else while you recover." I heard her, but her words didn't make sense. She paused.

"Danny, I saw you with those two girls. You physically hurt me last weekend with sex, and then there I am talking with Stephanie when I see you with that girl from your office and some black girl." This was maybe the last thing I remembered. The entire accident was missing. I had no idea what happened, what the event was, but the last thing I remembered was being with Diana and her friend ... Cleo! Cleo on the way to get coffee before we went back to Cleo's for an afternoon session.

For the second time in two days, Cindy, Stephanie and Diana were in the same room with me in some parody of a grand alignment. No wonder the outcome was massively terrible.

Her tears were flowing now. I apologized but it was confused and I was honestly not in a position to refute anything she said. She tried remaining passive, but I could see her anguish. She had been having doubts, and there was something fishy. She even made a comment about Stephanie. But the crux was that I had crossed too many lines and she could no longer accept my excuses. Her trust had been broken and it would take too much to recover. This was it, I was being dumped in my hospital bed.

As she explained the logistics of her moving out and my recovery, there was a practicality in her voice, a detachment. I was despairing. I mean, I knew that this was inevitable, based on my past state, but there was piling on, and then there was this, the proverbial insult added to the injury.

Cindy stood up, and held my hand, being careful of the IV into my hand. "I'm grateful to you for so many things, Danny. I truly love you and will cherish our time, and the gift of life you gave me. But I can't forgive you for how this happened. I will see you when you are discharged, but after that?"

And then she was gone.

I was not the best person in the world. I knew that from the beginning, but this was a new low for me. Hours turned into days, and I thought about myself and what I wanted. Where was I going? How had I screwed up things so badly? Was there a point in going back? Cindy was a lot of things, naïve, innocent. But she was not a pushover. I had wronged her and hurt her and the woman I knew was firm in her decisions.

The night before my release, Diana showed up to the hospital. Her visit was brief. She looked lovely, and there was tenderness in her eyes and touch, but she was also there to break ties. The scene at the coffee shop was too much and she realized that her role in my own, almost physical, destruction was not how she wanted to live. Great sex was great, but the emotional toll it took on her was too rich a price. She noted that Cleo said thanks, but that she too was bowing out. She left with a sweet kiss and told me to take care of myself. "Maybe I'll see you?" she said, but I wasn't going to count on it.

True to her word, Cindy was there to see me home. I was discharged in a cast with both crutches and a wheelchair, heavily wrapped ribs and several potent pain medications. I was to rehabilitate with simple movement to keep the hip from setting poorly and take visits from a therapist for the next several weeks. Good enough recovery would take two to three months. Until then, I was a home-bound prisoner.

I arrived home to find the apartment was cleaned out with the exception of my few things. The contrast from what I left that Sunday and what I returned to was stark and depressing. She organized my medications and gave me one hug before saying goodbye and wishing me well.

I was now truly alone and broken.

The one person I didn't hear from, and the one I expected was Stevie. I reached out to her, but there was no response. I left messages but there was nothing.

Recovery began, as most things do, with small steps. I tried to do what I could on my own, but often was limited to small movements and to my thoughts. Therapy visits were painful, but much less than everything else I was going through in my head.

Cindy called a few times to see if I needed anything. I was grateful for the contact, and thanked her kindness, but did not try to extend conversations unless she was leading, despite my urges to speak with her. It was one of these calls, where Cindy had noted that Stephanie and Simon had split. In fact, this had happened the day of the coffee shop. I listened for clues, but she only said that Stephanie was taking it hard and was taking time off from work. She gave no further details.

That explained a few things, but not all.

I continued to recover and begged the office to send me some files to handle so I could stay up to speed mentally and not let things pile up. They were initially resistant, but I was able to convince them that my recovery was coming along well, and this would keep me occupied. Which was true.

The therapists were pleased as I pushed myself through their hoops; they thought I would recover fully. It was not without efforts though. On all fronts, I took my rehabilitation seriously and did all I could to recover in mind, body and spirit.

But it was so very hard. The physical pain was the relief, funny enough. It would keep my brain occupied and focused. Once the physical discomfort stopped, the downtime, was when the mental pain would start, and that nearly broke me.

At night, alone, I prayed for the void.

Section 3: O True Believers

Stevie

Nothing like a little drama to make you take stock of your life choices. And I had some accounts to settle.

Simon was a good man, a noble man doing his best. We had met through friends a few months after I returned from California. After my failures there, I was licking my wounds and he offered compassion and somewhat irregular companionship. He warned me that his work was his priority, and I went in with eyes open. And we were OK. Fundamentally we were aligned except in the bedroom and in the areas of my own independence. Eventually these issues were enough to divide us, even without JR coming back into the mix. You know, I think he was a bit relieved when I returned the ring to him; it was almost as if he were expecting it.

Still, it hurt.

Cindy had been a good friend and a dependable colleague, and here I was sneaking around her back. Granted, there was the implied permission she gave me weeks ago to "steal my man back", but had she known the whole story, I kinda don't think she'd have given the same advice.

But she had dumped Danny and had moved in with me. She was a wreck and dumped all of her guilt and angst onto me, so I got it both barrels, from her side and from my own. As least she was someone that I could split a pint of Ben and Jerry's with on the couch and not get a side-eye. She was a wreck, and somehow, I was tasked with watching over her. I guess that's some symmetry.

JR? What a mess. He's cornered the market on bad luck and it's a miracle it hasn't killed him. And yes, I was partly responsible for this, I was extremely aware of that. I didn't make him get that Diana as a side piece. And who knows about the friend? That was a new one on me. But I did unleash the monster, and then watched as he escaped and terrorized the village. OK, not quite 'terrorize" but still, I set him loose, and I couldn't be surprised at what he'd done to himself.

Counting the black cats that have crossed his path: he ran into me again, I work with his live-in girlfriend, I reawaken his suppressed libido, he brings his mistress/mistresses into the same coffee shop as his girlfriend, he saves her from becoming street pizza, gets himself broken in the process, his girlfriend dumps him and leaves him alone to rehabilitate on his own. And those are only what I know about.

I owe him, but he's taking a back seat at the moment, as I seem to have contracted my own run of shit luck from him like it was VD when I blueballed him in his parking garage. I wish we would've just fucked and gotten this out of our systems.

Still, he was alone and it was tearing me up as if I was the one who was crushed.

Cindy

Stephanie was patient with me. I was intruding and making my problems into hers. But between the two of us, we were a nice two-person support team. Codependent, but we earned it the hard way.

I couldn't sleep at night. Well, I could, but I was afraid to. I had these dreams where I was lost in a crowd looking for my husband. Or my kid. Or ...

I'd wake up, sweating and still lost. I reached out for Danny, but the reminder that he was gone just gutted me further.

Stephanie asked me about it, so I told her. She looked at me; the closest emotion I could recognize was horror. She held me so tight and cried with me, shushing my sobs.

A few weeks of this and I was at the end of my rope. At the office I was useless. At home, I sat on the couch or in bed and cried. I had thoughts about Danny being a moment too slow in his rescue. These were some of my happier thoughts. I chafed from all the tissues I cried into.

Stephanie held me, wiping away each other's tears. I couldn't have done this without her. She was such a rock. We had to break out of this. And it had to start with me.

Over a bottle of wine, well a few if I was being honest, we finally talked about it.

"You need to go to him," I said. She looked over at me.

"Huh?"

"You need to go to him. Danny. You need to be with him. He loves you and he needs you now." Her eyes were huge. She just stared.

"I have, um, I'm not sure why you'd - "

I interrupted her. "It took me a while, but the pieces kinda fit while he was still in the hospital. I mean there were little hints here and there. You both told me stories that, looking back, seem really similar. Overlapping.

"But the party at our place. That girl. Diana. She was too much like you. There was too much going on there. And then he was with her at the coffee shop. He was trying to be with you but he couldn't. For so many reasons."

Tears were flowing from her, but I felt strong. I had mourned my part in this already and this was removing the venom that was left behind and hurting ... all of us. I had to get this all out. Excise it.

"He was your boyfriend in college, wasn't he? He was the one you left behind. You were the one I was replacing."

She nodded. "I'm so, so sorry," she whispered. I could see why he still loved her. At her most vulnerable, hair a mess and in sweatpants, eyes red and wet, she was ... what's the word? Transcendent. And the woman that I knew? Her inner strength, humor and kindness? I didn't know a man that could resist that combination. Of course, Danny loved her.

I'm no saint, but I try to be good. I still felt anger. I still felt some sadness, but at who? Danny? Stephanie? What did they do? I knew how the heart wants what it wants, no matter how we lie to ourselves and say otherwise.

She blew her nose. "He was past it. It was over. He loved you. Loves you," she said. "I know he was 100% into you. He had completely changed himself and his personality to make you love him. Until -- " she sobbed.

"Until you met him that night," I finished. She nodded. "Do you want to be with him?"

She thought for a moment. "I want ... I want to be happy." She wrung her hands. "I want all of us to be happy." I waited. "Yes," she said so quietly I read her lips more than heard her.

"Then you need to go to him. This will help all of us. We need to heal, and this is the start."

"But you, what is ..."

"Stop," I held up my hand. "Getting you two healed helps me. I don't know why, but I just feel it. You two are the most important people in my life now, and we're only wasting time and keeping ourselves from moving on."

"But how is this going to work?" she had slid closer to me on the couch.

"I love you both so much. How can I not want this for you?"

She jumped on me, holding me tightly, and the real crying started, from both of us. There was no stopping this; it was an ugly cry, but getting this out was making sure we were honest with each other.

"I can't do this alone," she sobbed. I didn't have an answer, but we started talking and ... well, to get an answer you need to start with what you do know.

Dan

Stephanie opened the door after I had finished my therapy session for the day. The PT was just leaving and looked at me. I waved her in, saying it was OK. I was moving around the place on my own, on crutches, although I hoped I would be through with them in a few weeks.