She was in the hospital anyway. It was what she'd insisted to the nurse. She was in the hospital, and she wanted to see her. Jada glared at the pretty blonde nurse who was 'in charge' of her care. She wanted to see Vivian. “Bring me my wheelchair.” such an imperious tone!
“I have to get permission fro-”
“Bring. Me. My. Wheelchair.”
Jada decided it was guilt that was taking her to see Vivian this particular day. Almost two months since the other girl had come here, slipped in under the belief that she'd been hit by a car. Two months, and every time Jada had come to this hospital, it was for someone else. Only once had she seen her friend, lying so still. Only once before she'd run away, inwardly screaming, hating the fact that she had escaped that night. That she was still here. This wasn't the first time that Jada had wanted to go back to see Vivian, but this was the first time that she had no excuses.
“I will not.” the nurse insisted. “Not without a doctor to auth-”
“Let her go.” An old woman's voice from the door, tired. Jada glanced over to see her mother and Doctor A stepping in the door, her mother's arms filled with more papers. What was eerie to Jada was that it was her mother who had said the words. Szelem looked drawn, tired. “I need some time to set some things out, anyways.” The nurse opened her mouth, to protest one more time. “I said to get my daughter her damn wheelchair and let her go.” Szelem sat down on the couch, and Dr. A pressed a hand to her forehead.
The nurse scurried.
Jada pushed out of her bed, carefully unhooking all the lines and tubes, moving over to sit next to her mother. “Not too close, sweetie.” the doctor smiled at her. “Your mother has been neglecting her vitamin C to get everything finalized for the debut.”
“Oh, Mother.” a sigh of exasperation and Szelem laughed. “It is only a dance, Mother.”
“Not only a dance.” the older woman corrected. “This is your opportunity. In all the social circles-”
“I know. I have heard all the stories of what the debut meant in your day.”
“In mine too.” Doctor Anberlin laughed. “I met my husband at my debut. Forty years we were married.” she smiled, reaching into her medical bag and pulling out a small bottle of pills. “Forty wonderful years. He supported me in everything. My career, my children. My money was my own, set aside for when something happened. I was eighteen when we met. Twenty when we finally married. He was thirty years old. Ten years my senior.” the older woman clucked.
“Well, I'll not be finding my husband at my debut.” Jada said, looking amused. “Don't you know? I'm defiant, insisting on selecting my own husband.”
“A mother's matchmaking is never done.” Szelem blew her daughter off. “I have several gentlemen who have RSVP'd who are quite interested in your talents, Jada.”
“My talents, or my face?”
“Certainly not your back.” The air went still as none of the women in the room dared to breathe, the Chamberlyn women just staring at each other for a moment. Jada's face was pale enough to make the doctor actually stand for a moment, to reach out for her, before the door to the room opened back up and the nurse was there, wheelchair in hand. Ah, timing. Jada seated herself in the chair. “Enjoy your little visit.” Szelem said, and lifted back up her papers. “Make no plans for tomorrow, we have more decisions to make. Less than two weeks to the ball.”
“Yes ma'am.” Jada's face was still pale, but when the nurse wheeled her out of the room, her face twisted briefly, shoulders giving a shudder. Women didn't cry in public. Ladies, at least.
“If you have to cry, you never make a display of it. Crying is a cheap tactic.” Her father's voice, his hand stroking over her back. “You are my beautiful big girl. Big girls don't cry.”
“The Four Tops.” Jada had told him, giving her father a weepy smile. The older man had beamed at her, tugging on one black curl. “Right?”
“Right.” Michael had murmured, pulling her close. “Now, go say hi to your public, sweetheart.” He brushed link off the hem of her black dress. “For all that it is a funeral, you're the star of this show.” Sole inheritor to every penny that Lucian Montgomery had made in his life. One last strike at the daughter who had so disappointed him.
Jada glanced up as the nurse asked her another question. “I'm sorry, would you please repeat the question?”
“What is your little friends name?”
Jada turned her head, voice like ice. “My 'little friend' is Vivian Rothson.” she said finally. “And I'd appreciate you to not take such a snide tone with me, Nurse...” she peered at the nametag, “Nurse Nichols.” The older woman made a little noise, pushing Jada into the coma ward.
So much stillness. The only sound was the sound of beeping, with the occasional hushed whisper as people spoke to their loved ones. Jada ached to know: How many of these people were never going to wake up? How many had lost their starseeds to the Negaverse, and were being prayed over by loved ones who could never know what had been lost? At last Jada was pushed to a bedside, and 'parked.' “Is this your girl?” the nurse asked, glancing at a chart on the end of the bed. It was a room, with six people in there. A larger room, yes, separated by curtains, but six people? “Vivian Rothson, admitted after being hit by a car?”
After being hit by a giant ******** teddy bear? “This is her.” Jada said, and pushed out of her wheelchair to look down at her friend. One of the few she knew to still have her starseed. “Hi, Viv.” she murmured, and brushed a lock of red-rooted platinum hair back from the pale face. Vivian's chest rose and fell. “Man, do I have a lot to catch you up on.” And Jada started talking as the nurse closed the door, closing Jada in a room with six corpse-still people. She spoke of the people she had met. Spoke of the plans being made for her debut, and how Vivian would have loved it. Spoke of how sorry she was that she hadn't been able to help her, emptying her chest of her regrets. Told Vivi of Audrey, Elke and Fallon, Marlo and Elzo, Andrew, Cassius and Dylan. Things were left out, certainly. Nothing was mentioned of starseeds and Princesses. Handsome Princes were mentioned, but Jada knew so many. She told Vivian of her terror, the strange man who stalked her.
Finally Jada pushed off Vivian's bed, moving to another bed. “Mary.” She leaned down, clenched the girl's hand in her own. She didn't know her, but looking at the top of the chart on the end of her bed had told her the girl's name. She sat there for a few moments, quiet. Who knew how long it had been since anyone in this ward had someone to talk to them? These women were the mostly-forgotten. The ones who had been given up on by almost everyone, but who were lucky enough to have one person unwilling to pull the plug.
“Caroline.” The next girl was also given a few minutes, just soft whispering in her ear. After all, they said that if you spoke to a person in a coma, maybe they would hear it. “Jane. Elizabeth.” her hands were warmer than their, than all of theirs. She flexed their fingers, rubbed warmth into the emaciated, unused limbs. Some of them had been in here for... so long. And while Mary was an older woman, most of the others were young. She stroked her hands through matted hair, adjusted little things about their still bodies to make them more comfortable. Or what looked more comfortable. “Landscape?” her voice was amused. Then she saw the scratches on the chart, that no one had bothered to reprint. “Ah, Laney.” Like the others, the white-haired girl had her time. “I can't imagine a name like Landscape.” Jada made a face as she stroked blood into the small fingers.
No one of the strangers got any more time than the others. Each of them given warmed hands and hair detangled as best she could, each of them with soft words in their ear. Each of them told, right before she stood up and moved to the next girl: “Don't give up. Someone is waiting for you.” The fact that each of them was still alive meant someone was waiting for them. That someone loved them, and that they weren't forgotten. Finally she moved back to Vivian. Sat down on her bed, briefly, careful not to squish any tubes, and leaned down to give the girl a shaky hug. “I'll be back.” she promised. “I can promise that.”
She moved back to her wheelchair, sat down in it. “I'll be back and visit all of you.” she promised the quiet room. Her stomach knotted. “I promise.” she wheeled to the door, tugging it open with difficulty. A nurse caught her trying to get out and clucked at her, a disapproving little noise.
When Jada made it back to her room, her mother was gone, a small scrapbook of ideas sitting by her bedside.
“I have to get permission fro-”
“Bring. Me. My. Wheelchair.”
Jada decided it was guilt that was taking her to see Vivian this particular day. Almost two months since the other girl had come here, slipped in under the belief that she'd been hit by a car. Two months, and every time Jada had come to this hospital, it was for someone else. Only once had she seen her friend, lying so still. Only once before she'd run away, inwardly screaming, hating the fact that she had escaped that night. That she was still here. This wasn't the first time that Jada had wanted to go back to see Vivian, but this was the first time that she had no excuses.
“I will not.” the nurse insisted. “Not without a doctor to auth-”
“Let her go.” An old woman's voice from the door, tired. Jada glanced over to see her mother and Doctor A stepping in the door, her mother's arms filled with more papers. What was eerie to Jada was that it was her mother who had said the words. Szelem looked drawn, tired. “I need some time to set some things out, anyways.” The nurse opened her mouth, to protest one more time. “I said to get my daughter her damn wheelchair and let her go.” Szelem sat down on the couch, and Dr. A pressed a hand to her forehead.
The nurse scurried.
Jada pushed out of her bed, carefully unhooking all the lines and tubes, moving over to sit next to her mother. “Not too close, sweetie.” the doctor smiled at her. “Your mother has been neglecting her vitamin C to get everything finalized for the debut.”
“Oh, Mother.” a sigh of exasperation and Szelem laughed. “It is only a dance, Mother.”
“Not only a dance.” the older woman corrected. “This is your opportunity. In all the social circles-”
“I know. I have heard all the stories of what the debut meant in your day.”
“In mine too.” Doctor Anberlin laughed. “I met my husband at my debut. Forty years we were married.” she smiled, reaching into her medical bag and pulling out a small bottle of pills. “Forty wonderful years. He supported me in everything. My career, my children. My money was my own, set aside for when something happened. I was eighteen when we met. Twenty when we finally married. He was thirty years old. Ten years my senior.” the older woman clucked.
“Well, I'll not be finding my husband at my debut.” Jada said, looking amused. “Don't you know? I'm defiant, insisting on selecting my own husband.”
“A mother's matchmaking is never done.” Szelem blew her daughter off. “I have several gentlemen who have RSVP'd who are quite interested in your talents, Jada.”
“My talents, or my face?”
“Certainly not your back.” The air went still as none of the women in the room dared to breathe, the Chamberlyn women just staring at each other for a moment. Jada's face was pale enough to make the doctor actually stand for a moment, to reach out for her, before the door to the room opened back up and the nurse was there, wheelchair in hand. Ah, timing. Jada seated herself in the chair. “Enjoy your little visit.” Szelem said, and lifted back up her papers. “Make no plans for tomorrow, we have more decisions to make. Less than two weeks to the ball.”
“Yes ma'am.” Jada's face was still pale, but when the nurse wheeled her out of the room, her face twisted briefly, shoulders giving a shudder. Women didn't cry in public. Ladies, at least.
“If you have to cry, you never make a display of it. Crying is a cheap tactic.” Her father's voice, his hand stroking over her back. “You are my beautiful big girl. Big girls don't cry.”
“The Four Tops.” Jada had told him, giving her father a weepy smile. The older man had beamed at her, tugging on one black curl. “Right?”
“Right.” Michael had murmured, pulling her close. “Now, go say hi to your public, sweetheart.” He brushed link off the hem of her black dress. “For all that it is a funeral, you're the star of this show.” Sole inheritor to every penny that Lucian Montgomery had made in his life. One last strike at the daughter who had so disappointed him.
Jada glanced up as the nurse asked her another question. “I'm sorry, would you please repeat the question?”
“What is your little friends name?”
Jada turned her head, voice like ice. “My 'little friend' is Vivian Rothson.” she said finally. “And I'd appreciate you to not take such a snide tone with me, Nurse...” she peered at the nametag, “Nurse Nichols.” The older woman made a little noise, pushing Jada into the coma ward.
So much stillness. The only sound was the sound of beeping, with the occasional hushed whisper as people spoke to their loved ones. Jada ached to know: How many of these people were never going to wake up? How many had lost their starseeds to the Negaverse, and were being prayed over by loved ones who could never know what had been lost? At last Jada was pushed to a bedside, and 'parked.' “Is this your girl?” the nurse asked, glancing at a chart on the end of the bed. It was a room, with six people in there. A larger room, yes, separated by curtains, but six people? “Vivian Rothson, admitted after being hit by a car?”
After being hit by a giant ******** teddy bear? “This is her.” Jada said, and pushed out of her wheelchair to look down at her friend. One of the few she knew to still have her starseed. “Hi, Viv.” she murmured, and brushed a lock of red-rooted platinum hair back from the pale face. Vivian's chest rose and fell. “Man, do I have a lot to catch you up on.” And Jada started talking as the nurse closed the door, closing Jada in a room with six corpse-still people. She spoke of the people she had met. Spoke of the plans being made for her debut, and how Vivian would have loved it. Spoke of how sorry she was that she hadn't been able to help her, emptying her chest of her regrets. Told Vivi of Audrey, Elke and Fallon, Marlo and Elzo, Andrew, Cassius and Dylan. Things were left out, certainly. Nothing was mentioned of starseeds and Princesses. Handsome Princes were mentioned, but Jada knew so many. She told Vivian of her terror, the strange man who stalked her.
Finally Jada pushed off Vivian's bed, moving to another bed. “Mary.” She leaned down, clenched the girl's hand in her own. She didn't know her, but looking at the top of the chart on the end of her bed had told her the girl's name. She sat there for a few moments, quiet. Who knew how long it had been since anyone in this ward had someone to talk to them? These women were the mostly-forgotten. The ones who had been given up on by almost everyone, but who were lucky enough to have one person unwilling to pull the plug.
“Caroline.” The next girl was also given a few minutes, just soft whispering in her ear. After all, they said that if you spoke to a person in a coma, maybe they would hear it. “Jane. Elizabeth.” her hands were warmer than their, than all of theirs. She flexed their fingers, rubbed warmth into the emaciated, unused limbs. Some of them had been in here for... so long. And while Mary was an older woman, most of the others were young. She stroked her hands through matted hair, adjusted little things about their still bodies to make them more comfortable. Or what looked more comfortable. “Landscape?” her voice was amused. Then she saw the scratches on the chart, that no one had bothered to reprint. “Ah, Laney.” Like the others, the white-haired girl had her time. “I can't imagine a name like Landscape.” Jada made a face as she stroked blood into the small fingers.
No one of the strangers got any more time than the others. Each of them given warmed hands and hair detangled as best she could, each of them with soft words in their ear. Each of them told, right before she stood up and moved to the next girl: “Don't give up. Someone is waiting for you.” The fact that each of them was still alive meant someone was waiting for them. That someone loved them, and that they weren't forgotten. Finally she moved back to Vivian. Sat down on her bed, briefly, careful not to squish any tubes, and leaned down to give the girl a shaky hug. “I'll be back.” she promised. “I can promise that.”
She moved back to her wheelchair, sat down in it. “I'll be back and visit all of you.” she promised the quiet room. Her stomach knotted. “I promise.” she wheeled to the door, tugging it open with difficulty. A nurse caught her trying to get out and clucked at her, a disapproving little noise.
When Jada made it back to her room, her mother was gone, a small scrapbook of ideas sitting by her bedside.
