Chapter Text
“This night feels like it was never going to end.” Amber groans tome as I mop the floor. I just groan in response, giving half a nod in agreement. My head has been killing me for the past five hours and I’m ready to go home, take an Excedrin Migraine, and sleep till my next shift.
“Hey Mags, if you want to go a little early you can, I can finish up for you.” Amber offers gently.
“Really?” I groan.
“Yeah, you look green and I’d hate to mop up your mess.” She lightly teases me, but I hardly have the energy to smile or laugh with her.
“I’d really appreciate it if you could.” I tell her, almost desperate to get out of the bright lights of the restaurant.
“Yeah, totally. Go on, I’ll tell Pop you finished early.” She smiles, and I don’t wait for her to change her mind, grabbing my coat and purse before running out of the diner into the dark.
Everyone that works with me knows at least once or twice a month I get a horrible migraine and feel horrible for days. Pop has threatened my job when I’ve come in not feeling well, but I like most people in America need the money. I just try my best to hide it. Amber helps when she knows I’m struggling, taking tables with young children or people with louder voices. She’s a good friend.
I love working with Amber. She took me under her wing when I started working at the diner at 19. She is only a year older than me but acts like my mother sometimes. She’s worked at the diner since she was 16, Pop is her uncle so she got the job the day after her sweet 16. She’s a great waitress and enjoys the job as much as she can. It pays the bills, and she just hasn’t figured out what she wants to do yet. The job lets her do what she wants in her spare time, and rumor has it one day she’ll take over the business, so I’m not worried about her.
Not to be selfish but I’m more worried about myself. I’m 25 with barely any college, and also don’t know what I’m doing with my life, but I want to do something with my life besides serving greasy burgers to boomers. It’s hard with the migraines though. It’s caused me to fail out of numerous classes and then college itself. Unfortunately, painting doesn’t pay the bills either, or I’d be rich. My small apartment is covered in canvases, half-done paintings, and an ever-growing pile of paintings of a life I wish I could live. I paint oceans and in violent red, not having a consistent theme. If I could just find my style, I’m sure I’d make it.
I shiver on the sidewalk, rain drizzling down and wetting my hair. I curse the broken zipper on my jacket, jerking it violently trying to get it to work just this once. Just until I can go get a new coat, please.
Maybe if I had been looking up I would have seen the bright lights coming down the street as I stepped onto the slippery wet road. The car barely had time to stop, and soon I wasn’t so worried about my jacket.
“Little girl? Are you okay? Can you hear me?” If I thought my head hurt before, I wish I had the strength to laugh at how I had previously thought. “You, call 911!” I hear a firm voice order, and that pulls together the spaghetti noodles in my mind.
“Nugh…. No…. No Ninesss.” I hardly make sense, I know this, I have such a hard time getting the words out, but what’s left of my brain functions knows I can’t afford to go to the hospital.
“What? Sweetheart, can you repeat yourself?” The voice is much more gentle when it’s directed at me. It’s warm, welcoming. I like this voice.
“Nuh…. no nine… one…” I moan out, trying not to cry out at the burning pain that shoots through my body when I try to move.
“Your bleeding from your head, you’re going to a hospital.” The warm voice falls authoritative all too quickly. “What were you doing walking in the middle of the street?” He asks, mostly himself, but still.
“Home.” I mumble as he sighs. I get a look at him, as much as I can with the car headlights and street lights.
He’s thin, cheek almost hollow. There are some markings along his neck I figure out are tattoos easily enough. His hair is short, and I want to reach out and grab it for some reason.
“Jesus your shivering.” He mummers, pulling his jacket off and wrapping it over me as red and blue lights appear.
“What happened?”
“She walked out in front of my car.”
Things start to go fuzzy as they talk, and someone is putting me on a stretcher. I want to fight, but it hurts to move, and things get fuzzier. God, how am I going to afford this?
One beep. Two beeps. Three beeps. Four beeps.
I don’t have to open my eyes to figure I’m in a hospital. I do groan, more out of frustration rather than pain. I’m not in pain. Maybe I’m dead. God how pathetic, so much I haven’t done yet.
My eyes open, and the beautiful white room is dimmed luckily. My head is a little sore over all of this. I sigh seeing the wires coming from my body, the bandages on my arms. I can only imagine the rest.
I take in the room. It’s dead empty, a still silence beside the beeping on my machine. A cross hangs on the other side of the room, the lord watching over it seems. There are empty chairs, not that I expect them filled. I’m barely sure if I’m in a hospital or purgatory. Turning my head, there’s a large bouquet of flowers, all yellow in a white vase. A white teddy bear sits beside it holding a pink heart. There is no card though.
A nurse walks in as I reach for the bear, surprise on her face seeing me awake.
“Magnolia? Magnolia Becker?” She asks and I nod. “How are you? Do you remember what happened?” She asks me.
“A little bit.” I mumble out, my voice raspy.
“Well, to fill in blanks, you were hit by a car. The driver says you walked in front of them and they couldn’t stop in time.” She explains. “Gave yourself quite the bump on your head and a broken leg.” She tells me, far too cheery.
“Where are my things?” I mummer.
“Right here, your phone has been buzzing quite a bit.” She says handing it to me. “The doctor will be by shortly, and we can see about getting you on the correct level on pain meds. You’re currently on morphine, if you need any more let me know and we can consult the doctor.” I just shake my head, unlocking my phone. I frown at the large crack on it. Great. I just barely saved up for it.
I barely get to look at the long list of messages from a worried Amber and a few other friends from the diner when a nurse is poking her head back in.
“There’s a man who would like to speak with you, should I let him in?” She asks me.
“Sure?” I’m confused, but curiosity gets me.
Soon a tall man is stepping into the room. He smiles gently towards me, slowly walking in, as if he’s scared to hurt me or scare me.
“Hey there, see my flowers arrived at your bed.” He smiles.
“You sent them?” I ask and he nods. “Thank you.” I say softly, unsure why I’m blushing, but I am.
“It’s the least I could do considering I hit you with my car.” He chuckles sitting down in the chair next to the bed. “But didn’t your parents tell you not to walk in the middle of the street without looking both ways little girl?” He asks and I shrug, wincing at the soreness that course through my bones.
“Never thought I’d be the unlucky one.” I tell him as he just shakes his head.
“I’m Andy.” He introduces himself finally. I pause, looking at him for a long moment. This man hit me with his car, yet is being incredibly nice to me. Maybe its the drugs, but I’ll accept the niceness for a little while.
“Magnolia, but I would rather be called Maggie.” I explain to him as he nods.
“Noted.” He smiles. “Oh, here. The paramedics said they had to fight it out of your grip, I think you should have it.” He says setting a jacket beside me. I touch it barely recognizing it is what was set on top of me in the street.
“Oh no this isn’t mine, mine is right there.” I push it back towards him.
“I know, and yours is quite torn up now, so take this, till you get a new one.” He says pushing it back.
“Are you sure?” I ask him, not sure why he’s giving it to me.
“Yes, Maggie. I have another just like it at home.” He promises me, and I let myself smile. It is a soft jacket, and warm.
“Okay.” I say quietly, running my fingers between the fabric.
“Good girl.” He says leaning back in the chair. I don’t get to question him much more before a line of people are walking in, lead by what I assume is the doctor.
“Becker?” The man asks, and I give a light nod. “I’m Doctor Smith, I’m here to speak with you about your injuries.” He says as Andy stands.
“I’ll step out.” He says softly grabbing his things. He sends a soft smile before I can say anything and leaves, leaving me with doctors and nurses to explain my fate.