Surviving the Andersen Brothers

Love Is....

My room was a blinding white with light green trim near the top and the bottom. To my left, there was a window with white curtains covering the outside from my view. To my right, there were two doors: one to the bathroom and the other to the rest of the hospital.

I hated hospitals. They reminded me, too painfully, of the night my father died. My neighbors were kind enough to take me to the hospital that night after the hospital called to tell me that both of my parents were there—one of the only things they were able to get out of my mother was my name and our phone number.

They told me she had completely shut down, in shock or something.

First they told me of her injuries: a broken leg, a fractured wrist, a laceration to her forehead, and a concussion. They went over her injuries a few times and explained, slowly, the process used to fix her.

It was like they were avoiding something. They didn't want to tell me that my father was dead. When they eventually did tell me, I couldn't say anything for a while. They waited, though. They knew I would ask how and why did they not save him.

They couldn't save him, though. He died on the scene before paramedics arrived.

As I thought of these memories I took a deep breath to push back the tears that welled in my eyes. A deep, aching breath. Such a bad idea. It hurt just to take the smallest breaths. This one sent a sharp, piercing pain through my chest.

This physical pain was nothing compared to the pain of those memories.

Pulling me from my thoughts, James walked in with a man vaguely familiar to me, though; I could not recall where I'd seen him before. They both smiled at me.

"Hey, Jasmine," James greeted, his green eyes gleaming behind his glasses.

"Hi," the other man greeted. He could see the confusion in my eyes. "We danced together at the benefit. I am one of James' colleagues."

"Dr. Black," I said, suddenly remembering.

"Mr. Black," he clarified.

Strange… a doctor not wanting to go by doctor. I shrugged it off.

"Oh, yes," I mumbled. "I take it that you are my doctor then?"

He nodded. "That I am," Mr. Black confirmed. "I just need to run a few tests. We can talk about your injuries and what we did to fix them while I do this."

I swallowed hard. The memories were coming back. "I had a punctured lung," I said—mainly to myself to point out that I was different, that this wasn't my mother and my father we were talking about. "A broken finger. Severe road rash. Minor laceration. And a concussion."

James looked mildly surprised. Mr. Black just smiled as he moved his flashlight in front of my eyes.

"Yes, and a few broken ribs," he added. "Did you read your sheet?"

I shook my head. "James was telling Lilly," I said. "Vincent was there, too."

Mr. Black looked back at James. "I thought you said Michael came to drag your green-eyed boy home—I remember the commotion and the effect it had on Jasmine's heart monitor," said my doctor.

He took my right leg in his hand, just above my knee. He was testing my reflexes now.

"Lilly hasn't been to the hospital since the second day. Her morning sickness is acting up again," James explained. "I haven't had to explicate her injuries to anyone else...."

    "How long was I in the coma for?" I asked.

"Four days," James answered. "You were allowed to have two visitors the second day--we couldn't make Vincent leave the first day so there was no one with you but him. I came in once or twice because I work here and am not considered a visitor."