Top Fuel Thunder Ch. 02

"How're feeling Sherrie?"

"They've reduced my dosage on the pain killers so I kind of feel like shit."

"I'm so sorry."

"I've been worse."

"Where's Owen?"

"He just left a while ago to get lunch. I'm sure he'll be back soon."

Sherrie then motioned to Rachel to come closer. She squeezed her girlfriend's hand. "I'm kind of busted up. I know I can't drive top fuel again." She paused as tears started welling up in her eyes. "I'm not good for anything. Nobody's cares about me now that I can't drive."

"I care."

"Bullshit. Run along like the others." She pushed her call button and turned her head away from Rachel. The young brunette was crestfallen, standing with shoulders slumped amid the whirs and clicks of the equipment surrounding them. A tear meandered down Sherrie's cheek.

The door to the room was pushed open and a young nurse with short blonde hair interrupted them. She responded to the call button as the current duty nurse.

"I'm the nurse on charge, Charlene Watson. What can I do for you?" she asked of Sherrie. She walked over to the side of the bed opposite Rachel and bent over to receive Sherrie's whispered answer.

"My friend here is leaving," Sherrie told her.

The nurse stood up and straightened her uniform.

"I think Sherrie needs to rest now. She thought you would understand."

Rachel shuffled out of the room, discouraged, confused and hurt. She told herself that Sherrie was emotionally fragile and that she would try again in the morning. Her rental was only a few minutes away. It was a sixties vintage apartment building with a walk up to the second floor, where Rachel's unit was located. She punched the code she was given into the keypad on the door and the lock clicked to the open position. Rachel pushed the door open, seeing a sparsely furnished apartment with a small kitchenette, a folding table for the dining table, and folding chairs around it. She tossed her luggage in the corner and fell on the bed, asleep with her clothes on.

She woke up at 6 a.m., the same time she always woke up. Rachel usually enjoyed her leisurely mornings. She would read her tablet while using her stationary bike or play with her cat, Maurice, until it was time to get ready for work. This time, though, the morning wasn't enjoyable. She bolted upright, awake, at 6 a.m., but was disoriented by the strange surroundings. Then she remembered she was in a rented apartment. Then she thought about Sherrie. The long hill Sherrie would have to climb. And whether they would still be together.

* * *

The ride to the hospital took too little time for Rachel to gather her thoughts on what she would say to Sherrie. Even though she had thought about it for most of the previous day and the few hours in the morning but couldn't decide on whether she would throw caution to the wind and tell Sherrie that she loved her. She had never felt like this about another woman, but was now certain that she was in love with her.

To her, Sherrie was sexy, exciting, charming, when she wanted to be, and attractive. She could also be loving and compassionate. The Sherrie that was at the hospital wasn't herself. But she wondered how she would react if she was told she might never walk again? And then to put yourself in the position of a world class top fuel driver. A woman dominating a man's world. Now she might be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of her life. It was too much for Rachel to process, so she just put one foot in front of the other until she was at the entrance to the hospital. A woman leaving the hospital jarred Rachel out of her funk.

"Rachel ... Rachel!"

It was Mary Beth Hopkins. She waved her hand.

"Any news on Sherrie? They won't let me into her room to speak with her. Is she OK?"

"I haven't seen her today so I don't know anything."

"Do me a favor. Can you ask Sherrie if she'd talk to me, if just for a minute? I'm sure her fans will want to know."

Rachel shrugged. "I don't think I'll be able to help you."

"Well, just keep it in mind. I wish her well." Mary Beth walked into the surface parking lot to retrieve her car. Rachel watched her walk away, thinking to herself that she would be lucky to talk to Sherrie, let alone a reporter.

Rachel found her way to Sherrie's room on the fourth floor. The floor was relatively quiet, and Sherrie's door was open. Owen was sitting in the corner, reading a magazine, and Sherrie was taking a nap.

"How's she doing?" Rachel mouthed silently.

Owen gave a thumbs up.

Sherrie stirred. "Who's there?"

"Rachel."

"You came back," she said groggily.

"I did."

"I thought I asked you to leave."

"I did, but now I'm back."

"You know what I meant."

"Sherrie, I love you."

"I don't need your pity."

"You don't have my pity. You have my love."

"How can you love a cripple?"

"Sherrie, you're the same inside. We'll get you better."

"Fat chance of that. The doctor doesn't think I'm going to walk again."

"You're not only going to walk again; you're going to drive again."

Sherrie turned her head away from Rachel. "Don't come back ... please." A tear was trickling down her cheek, but Rachel didn't see it. Sherrie was heartbroken, but also felt confused, alone and angry. A new relationship after a near death experience was not in the cards for her. Rachel, of course, didn't see it that way. It was precisely a time like this where you needed your true friends to help you pull yourself up by your bootstraps. Sherrie was in a very dark place, and no amount of light that Rachel could bring could take her out of that place. When your whole life is racing and that's taken away from you, it's hard to accept at age twenty-five.

Rachel left the hospital wondering why Sherrie was acting this way. She was wondering if she was in her position, what would she do, and came to the conclusion that pushing everyone away was an understandable first reaction. But even with that understanding, Sherrie had rejected Rachel not once, but twice, and each time it hurt deeply. She didn't want to antagonize Sherrie further so she decided to pack her things and catch a flight to the Bay Area.

The flight back was a difficult one for Rachel. She was leaving the person she loved, confined to a hospital bed and depressed, but also rejecting her help. That evening, after she arrived back at her apartment, a pile of mail waiting for her, as well as a week's worth of cleaning, as she tried to get her head back into her "normal" life. At least Maurice offered her his best brand of kitty love, and for that Rachel was grateful.

Sherrie was now on day three of her hospitalization. It wasn't getting easier. She had basically thrown out everyone except Owen (and that included Ray, who was as heartbroken as Rachel). She had developed an infection that the doctors couldn't completely control and was running a fever. Owen tried to reason with her.

"You pushed everyone away." Owen gestured to the empty room.

"I don't need anybody."

"You're wrong, and you know it. Rachel loves you."

"I'm doing her a favor. She'll lose interest in me, just like the others. I'm nobody now."

Owen thought maybe tough love was the answer. "You're feeling sorry for yourself. And you're being selfish." He underestimated the depth of Sherrie's depression and anger.

"You're God damn right I'm feeling sorry for myself. I've got two busted up legs and may never walk again. And as to your second comment, fuck you Owen. I just fucking wrecked my life. And you're calling me selfish? Go fuck yourself." She took an empty plastic water glass and threw it at him. It missed, and bounced harmlessly on the floor. "Get the fuck out of here."

Owen said nothing, and left the room, closing the door behind him. He'd let Sherrie vent her anger ... better on him than someone else. He went back that evening, after she calmed down.

"You're back for more," said Sherrie as Owen entered her room.

"You're never getting rid of me."

Inwardly, Sherrie was pleased to see him, but didn't want to admit it. "I could only wish."

Owen's phone chimed, indicating he had a text message.

Rachel: How is she?

"Who is that?" Sherrie demanded.

"No one."

"C'mon, tell me."

"Rachel."

"Oh. Tell her I'm fine."

Owen: She's still depressed.

Rachel: Tell her I love her.

"Little sister. Rachel says she loves you."

It warmed Sherrie to hear it, but she still wasn't ready to accept anyone, including Rachel. "Tell her that I hope she meets someone nice. She deserves it."

Owen: She still loves you.

Rachel: Did she really say that?

Owen: No, but I'm sure that's what she's thinking.

Rachel: You're sweet. Thank you for that. [heart emoji]

A nurse poked her head inside the door. "Excuse me. I need to take the lady's temperature."

Owen picked up his things. "I was just leaving. I'll be in the waiting room if you need me."

The nurse took Sherrie's temperature, then monitored her other vitals. He seemed concerned, and left the room, to return in a few minutes with the attending physician. The doctor examined Sherrie, clearly concerned. She asked that the nurse retrieve Owen from the waiting room. She waited until they returned. Sherrie was bracing herself for more bad news.

"I'm sorry to say that we haven't gotten this infection under control. You're running a fairly high fever and I've got to tell you that I'm worried, very worried."

Sherrie pressed a button on a remote control to raise the top half of the bed so she could see the doctor more clearly. "What do you mean?"

The doctor straightened her white coat and then looked at her patient. "It means that if we can't get a handle on this infection we may have to put you into a medically induced coma. It's a staph infection, and so far the antibiotics we've been using haven't helped enough. We may put you under to allow your body to concentrate on fighting the infection. It'll allow us to use more powerful antibiotics."

"What's the worst case?" Sherrie had to know.

The doctor nervously fingered her wedding ring while she spoke. "Staph infections are serious. You seem to have a particularly virulent strain. It's been fatal in some cases, which is why we're so concerned."

Sherrie slumped in her bed. "Do what you have to do." She had resigned herself to an endless dark tunnel with no light at the end.

"We will. We'll help you beat this."

They ran another panel of tests and the results weren't good. The next day Sherrie's condition worsened as her fever spiked and the toxins from the infection started to affect her breathing. A team of doctors debated next steps, including putting her on a ventilator. Finally, as Sherrie lapsed in and out of consciousness, Owen gave the doctors the go ahead to put her into a coma so they could more aggressively treat the infection. He stepped outside Sherrie's room to give Rachel an update.

Owen: Bad news. They're putting Sherrie into a coma so they can treat her infection.

Rachel: OMG. I didn't know her infection was that bad.

Owen: Apparently it could be life threatening.

Rachel: I'm coming.

Owen: There's nothing for you to do here.

Rachel: I don't care. I'll be there soon.

Rachel arrived late that evening. Sherrie was transferred to the ICU. As she entered Sherrie's new room, she noticed there were even more flowers from well-wishers. Sherrie was unconscious, surrounded by hoses, IV lines and beeping monitors. Her cheeks were hollow, indicating that she had already lost a significant amount of weight, and her complexion was pallid. Owen was sitting next to the bed. He looked like he hadn't slept in days.

"I've got this," Rachel said, pulling over a chair bedside. "Go get some sleep."

Owen didn't object. "Thanks. I think I will." He got up and gave Rachel a long hug, holding the young brunette tightly against him. "She won't admit it, but she missed you. I did too."

Rachel brushed a tear away from her eye. "I can't stand to see her like this. I want to make her better."

"We both do. Let's just take this one day at a time. Baby steps for my baby sister."

Rachel used her hands to turn Owen around and point him towards the door. "You get some sleep."

"Yes ma'am." Owen gave her a mock salute and dragged himself out.

Rachel pulled a book out of her backpack and put her feet on the edge of Sherrie's bed. She spent the night there, falling asleep with the book open on her lap, oblivious to the beeping noises going on around her.

* * *

It had been three long days and nights. Rachel and Owen traded off, maintaining a vigil at Sherrie's bedside as she fought the infection that threatened to overwhelm her immune system. The doctors chose to use the most aggressive treatments, opting for the most powerful antibiotics. Sherrie's fever finally came down and as she regained consciousness she weakly squeezed Rachel's hand.

"Baby, are you awake?" Rachel said excitedly. Sherrie didn't stir, but she gave Rachel's hand another squeeze. Rachel hit the call button for the nurse. She then texted Owen. While she was exchanging texts, the nurse came in and tended to Sherrie. She immediately called the attending physician on her phone.

"Yes, yes ... she seems to be conscious."

"No, her fever seems to have broken. It's dropped almost to normal ..."

"Yes, I decrease that dosage ... yes, yes, the family knows. OK, thank you doctor."

The nurse put her phone away and addressed Rachel. "Doctor should be here in fifteen minutes. This is very positive. It looks like we've beat the infection. I'm going to adjust her medication then I'll come back when the doctor is here."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Not yet. She's intubated right now so there's not a whole lot you can do until we take out the tube. Then you can talk to her."

Rachel watched Sherrie's eyelids flutter, then open.

"Hey ... welcome back."

Sherrie smiled. Tears formed in the corner of her eyes. She squeezed Rachel's hand again.

"You missed me, didn't you?"

Rachel felt a gentle squeeze.

"You do love me, don't you?"

Sherrie squeezed harder. Her eyes met Rachel's, and Rachel started crying as well.

"I won't leave you again, no matter what you say."

Rachel held Sherrie's hand until the doctor and nurse arrived. The doctor took one look at Sherrie and gave a thumbs up and a big smile. "Looks like you pulled through." She wasn't wearing her usual white coat, but instead was in a cute black A-line skirt and a white silk blouse that accentuated her figure. "You'll have to excuse me." She pointed to her clothes. "I live close to the hospital and came over from a party at a neighbor's house. When I got word that you were awake I had to be here."

Sherrie gave the doctor a faint smile.

"Let's see what we've got here." The doctor first examined Sherrie, then reviewed the results of the last panel of lab tests. She took off her reading glasses and brushed a lock of stray grey tinged black hair off her forehead. She motioned for Owen and Rachel to step out into the hallway. They stood just outside Sherrie's door, now standing in a busy, and noisy, well-lighted hallway.

"I'm not going to lie. The lab results frighten me. Sherrie must be some kind of super woman because with the infection she had and the dosage of antibiotics we gave her, no other person would be conscious at this point. The lab results confirm it. Her vitals aren't anywhere near where they need to be. We need to keep for at least another week, but at the end of it she should be good. Questions?"

Hearing none, the doctor continued. "Good. Just give Sherrie some time to rest. She needs it as much as anything else."

The doctor picked up her purse, and as she bent over Rachel started to admire her figure, and then caught herself. It was a grueling three days, and the sight of a beautiful woman was a welcome one for her exhausted soul.

* * *

Three months later ... Napa, California

"We're going out to celebrate." Rachel tugged on Sherrie's shirt sleeve. "C'mon."

Sherrie pulled her arm back and Rachel let go. "Celebrate what?"

"Celebrate you getting the casts off your legs."

"These useless things?" She pointed to her atrophied legs, her slippers resting on the footrests of her wheelchair. "You go celebrate."

"Sherrie, we've been cooped up in my apartment for three months. You finally got your casts off. You can start your rehab tomorrow."

"I think I'm busy tomorrow."

"Sherrie, we've already been through this. You agreed to go to rehab as soon as possible. I agreed to do something naughty with you if you do." Rachel knelt next to the wheelchair and slipped her hand inside Sherrie's top and under her bra. She gripped Sherrie's nipple between her thumb and forefinger and pinched them together, hard enough to make the blonde gasp. There had been precious little intimate contact over the past three months. Sherrie's legs were encased in plaster, which made sex almost impossible. The intimate touch re-ignited a small flame of desire that continue to burn within the defeated racer.

"There's more of this ..." Rachel's hand dove into Sherrie's sweat pants, feeling the moist heat of her panties and the indentation between her labia. Sherrie instinctively wriggled in her chair, trying to press herself against Rachel's inquisitive fingers.

"Rehab?" Rachel pushed her finger hard against Sherrie's mound. The reluctant patient couldn't help but thrust her hips forward, searching for more pleasure, her body betraying her latent desire.

Sherrie shook her head, but her resistance was fading. Rachel was sure of it. She snaked her hands under the waistband of Sherrie's panties and used her thumb to grind it on Sherrie's clitoris while her finger was busy finding its way between the slippery folds of her pussy. "Rehab?"

"OK!" Sherrie blurted. "OK," she said in a softer voice. "You win. Rehab tomorrow. Now carry me to bed."

Rachel leaned in front of the wheelchair and Sherrie locked her hands behind Rachel's back, just below her armpits. As Rachel straightened up, Sherrie was able to lift herself up out of the wheelchair. Rachel went to the bed with Sherrie half walking, half dragging her feet on the carpeting. Sherrie sat up on the bed. Both woman wondered if they could recapture the heat and passion that existed between them.

"Let me help you." Sherrie lifted up her arms and Rachel helped her take off her top. Then, using her strong hands, Sherrie lifted her bottom off the bed so Rachel could slip off her sweat pants and dampened panties. Rachel saw her old Sherrie for the first time, the burns healed on her face, and her blonde hair regaining most of its length after being singed. Her breasts ... her breasts were as perfect as ever, conical, pure white with elongated pink nipples. Her abs were regaining their buffed look, thanks to the core exercises Sherrie was able to do. Her legs still bore the chaos of the crash, jagged scars, burn marks, and various shades of purple, her bones clearly visible, covered only by atrophied muscles. But her legs will get better, Rachel thought to herself. I'll help make her legs better. To Sherrie, looking at her legs was yet another reminder of her biggest defeat.

Sherrie leaned back and propped herself up by her arms as she sat on the edge of the bed. She was apprehensive - could she feel good again, feel alive again? Rachel was determined to bring back the old Sherrie, the one she wanted to spend her life with. She knelt on the carpeted floor between Sherrie's legs, using her hand to part them slightly. She bent forward and kissed Sherrie's inner thighs, unmarked by the accident, moving slowly upwards as Sherrie closed her eyes and threw her head back, the blonde feeling small jolts of pleasure with each measured kiss.